Madam Dale started spewing foul language nonstop.
Anthony Varley didn't get angry: "Relax, I don't hit women."
He casually slipped the bucket over Madam Dale's head.
Now she looked just like some iron-headed brat.
Then Anthony walked up to Ryan Dale.
"Ah… it hurts… hahaha… haha…" Ryan Dale was still shouting and laughing at the same time.
Anthony knew—it was the itching powder his wife made.
He'd be stuck laughing and itching for a full 24 hours, no stopping it.
"So, you're the bastard trying to climb our wall to mess with my woman, huh?" Anthony leaned down and grinned as he asked.
This Ryan Dale was a scoundrel through and through.
Pulled this sleazy crap all the time.
Even now, he wouldn't back down: "I… fuck… I'm gonna fuck your bitch… ah!"
Ryan Dale let out a miserable scream.
Just then, Madam Dale had finally pulled the bucket off her head and saw something that left her stunned.
That young, good-looking man had his foot on her son's back!
