Driving to the airport, a Porsche attempted to cut me off. I didn't yield. To my disbelief, after it sped past, it continued to aggressively tailgate and cut in front of my car. Pressed for time, I decided against engaging with such a road-raged driver and opted for restraint. Yet, my forbearance only emboldened her—in less than a hundred yards, she braked hard, blocking me, five times. My patience snapped. I decided to call the police. But as I was about to report her license plate, a surge of adrenaline hit me. I floored the accelerator, slamming into her—because in that split second, I recognized the plate. This Porsche was the very birthday gift my husband had asked me for last week! … "CRASH!" My Volkswagen Phaeton collided heavily with the Porsche's rear. A young woman with dyed blonde hair, a cigarette dangling from her lips, climbed out. She swaggered to my car and kicked the door with insolent fury. "You pathetic pauper, did you even see the badge? Por—sche!" "Driving a beat-up Volkswagen and daring to hit a Porsche? Are you blind or just got a death wish?" Seeing that the driver was a young woman, my heart sank. Things were indeed as bad as I suspected. I rolled down my window, coldly scrutinizing her, trying to find a clue in her words and actions. "Five million! Not a cent less, or I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" She held up five fingers, shouting at me through the window. I suppressed the urge to get out and slap her, choosing to wait and see—I needed to understand her relationship with my husband. A luxury car collision in a busy district quickly drew a crowd of curious onlookers. "Now this is going to be good. That Porsche looks like it's worth millions. The Volkswagen driver is probably going to lose everything." "That's the price of stubbornness. A moment of patience keeps the peace. Why bother fighting over something like this?" Hearing the crowd's chatter, the blonde-haired young woman became even more arrogant. She kicked my car door again, her eyes blazing with aggression. "Driving a clapped-out Volkswagen, and you don't yield to a Porsche? Do you really think you're hot stuff?" "Now you're scared, hiding in your car like a coward? Too late!" "This is my new car, bought for me by my husband—a full five million! Pay up now, or I'll have you thrown in jail!" My husband? There it was! Marcus Thorne, you goddamn scoundrel, I'd like to see how you get out of this one! After a moment's thought, I slowly pushed open my car door, my gaze fixed on her arrogant, yet childish face. "If anyone's paying, it's you paying me—I was driving straight, you changed lanes and cut me off. It's entirely your fault!" "And speaking of jail, those two kicks you just gave my car door? That's intentional property damage. Those two kicks alone are enough to land you behind bars." "I don't know the law, so don't talk to me about it! All I know is, if I'm driving a Porsche, you yield!" She yelled back, "Jail? The jail that can hold Skye Dalton hasn't even been built yet!" Seeing her reckless defiance, I couldn't help but sneer—Marcus's taste truly was unique, to even want such an idiot. Among the onlookers, some saw Skye driving a luxury car and speaking with such authority, assuming she was some kind of spoiled princess. Hoping to curry favor, they chimed in: "That Volkswagen driver's got a big mouth. Hit a car and then demands compensation? Someone gets angry and kicks a car door, and she talks about sending them to jail? Probably thinks the young lady's an easy target." "Don't be afraid, sweetie. Add my number; Uncle can be your witness if needed!" "Exactly! I know a bit about the law. Property damage only becomes a felony if it exceeds five thousand. Her beat-up Volkswagen just has some paint chips; it's hardly worth five thousand!" Already arrogant, Skye was further emboldened by their encouragement. She slapped the hood of my car hard, shouting, "Today, you're not just paying for my car; you're kneeling and apologizing to me, or you're not leaving!" I smirked, pointing to the approaching traffic officer. "You ask the officer who should pay! As for kneeling, you might want to find yourself a comfortable spot for that first!" Enraged, Skye lunged at me, intending to strike, but I kicked her, sending her sprawling onto the ground. She scrambled up, still wanting to fight, but was stopped by the arriving traffic officer. "Stop! Or you're all coming back to the station with me!" "Officer! This old hag hit my car and then hit me! Arrest her, quick!" Skye clutched her hip, wailing to the officer. The officer ignored her dramatics and asked us to provide dashcam footage. I pulled up the recording on my phone. After watching it, the officer looked coldly at Skye. "It's clearly your fault, and you're still demanding compensation?" "You'd better negotiate compensation with the other driver quickly, or we'll take you in for reckless driving." "Do you traffic officers even know how to judge? Look closely, I'm driving a Porsche! My husband is a very important man; you can't afford to offend him..." "I don't care what car you're driving, or whose wife you are. Our job is to enforce the law fairly. I'm warning you, if you continue to refuse to comply with the ruling, we will take you to the station." Skye initially complained indignantly, but seeing the officer's stern expression, she dared not cause further trouble and chose to call for help. I glanced at the number; it was indeed my husband, Marcus Thorne. Though I couldn't hear their conversation, from the way Skye's face softened and her eyes twinkled, I knew they were flirting while discussing how to resolve the issue. After the call, Skye's arrogant demeanor returned. She pointed at her car, announcing haughtily, "Pay up, then! Big deal!" "My Porsche is insured for five million, more than enough to cover your crappy Volkswagen. The extra cash is just my tip for a beggar like you. Take the money and get lost!" I smirked inwardly. Your paltry insurance policy won't even cover my limited-edition Phaeton, let alone the fact that your reckless actions aren't even covered by insurance. Today, I would expose this adulterous pair for what they truly were. Soon, the insurance company's representative arrived. The adjuster looked like he knew cars. One glance at my car, and his face instantly paled. He only exhaled in relief after reading the accident report in Skye's hand. "Ma'am, this accident was caused by your aggressive lane changes, which falls outside our insurance company's coverage. Please resolve the compensation directly with the other party. Thank you!" Skye's face instantly twisted in fury when she heard she had to pay herself. She pointed at the adjuster and unleashed a torrent of curses. "What kind of garbage insurance company are you?! You don't pay out for accidents? Isn't this just stealing money from us policyholders?" The adjuster, unwilling to argue further, waved his hand and walked away. "So, what's it going to be? Pay up, or go to jail?" I looked at her coldly, stating calmly. Many righteous bystanders, having learned the truth, also began to scold her. "Just because you drive a Porsche, you're hot stuff? You cut people off aggressively if they don't yield? Do you think this road is your living room?" "You create your own trouble and then expect the insurance company to pay? Do you think the insurance company is a fool?" Her attempt to assert dominance had backfired, leaving her looking utterly mortified. The mocking whispers from the crowd only fueled her rage. She retrieved a baseball bat from her car and began to wildly smash my car, cursing all the while. "You want me to pay, do you? I'll smash your pathetic car to pieces right here in front of you! What's the worst that can happen? I'll buy you a new one!" "You dare demand money from me? I'll smash your face in!" Seeing her descend into madness, it was exactly what I wanted. I quietly stepped aside, waiting to watch her spectacle. After a furious outburst, she flung five hundred thousand dollars onto my car. "Beggar, this five hundred thousand is more than enough for your crappy car. The extra is my tip for a street rat. Take the money and vanish!" I smirked. "Your little bit of money won't even buy one of my headlights, let alone being 'more than enough'? You'd better find a way to get more cash, or you'll be rotting in jail!" Hearing this, she looked disdainful. "You pauper, are you so desperate for money you've gone mad? See me with cash and think you can extort me?" "Who doesn't know your beat-up Volkswagen is worth at most twenty-five thousand? I give you five hundred thousand and you're still blabbering?" "I'm telling you, this is extortion, and you'll go to jail for it. Don't think I don't know the law." The onlookers also started to advise me, "Sister, take the money and run. Your twenty-five-thousand-dollar Volkswagen, they're paying you five hundred thousand. Don't be too greedy." "Exactly. Don't be too ambitious and end up losing more than you gain by getting accused of fraud." Just then, the Volkswagen dealership appraiser arrived. "Who said this Volkswagen is only worth twenty-five thousand? This is a premium luxury car worth ten million, and even one headlight costs hundreds of thousands." Skye's face turned pale when she heard my car was worth ten million, but her expression remained defiant. The onlookers' faces also changed dramatically when they heard my car was worth ten million. "Oh, so this lady is the real wealthy one! She's truly low-key!" "Real rich people are always low-key, unlike some shallow young women who think they're hot stuff just because they drive a Porsche." "Exactly. Maybe her car is even rented. Now she's smashed someone's ten-million-dollar luxury car. She's going to have to pay up!" At this point, the appraiser finished his assessment and reported to me, "Ms. Evelyn, your car is severely damaged. The repair cost would be close to the price of a new car. It's no longer worth repairing." I nodded after hearing this, then looked coldly at Skye. "Pay up. Ten million. Not a single cent less." At my words, her defiant expression faltered, but she still stood her ground. "You say it's worth ten million, and it's ten million? You hired a fraudster to cooperate with you, just to extort money from me?" "This is fraud! I'm going to sue you!" To make her give up, I pulled out the purchase invoice and flung it at her. "Take a good look. Am I extorting you?" After seeing the invoice, her face showed a flicker of emotion, but she quickly reverted to her arrogant demeanor. She pulled out a black credit card, a prestige card, from her pocket and waved it in front of me. "Ten million? Big deal? I have fifty million in this card. I'll just pay you." Someone in the crowd gasped. "Wow, that's a Centurion Black Card. Only those with billions in assets are eligible to hold it. This young lady is truly a high roller." "So young and already worth billions, truly impressive!" Praised by everyone, she became even more smug, flaunting the black card with a flourish. But she didn't know that the card in her hand was a supplementary card I had given to my husband. If I notified the bank to stop its use, it would instantly become a useless piece of plastic. After notifying the bank to deactivate the supplementary card, I looked at her coldly. "Don't just flash a card and brag. Fifty million? I bet you can't even withdraw ten thousand from that card!" Hearing this, she immediately bristled. "Give me your account number! I'll transfer the money to you right now. If I successfully transfer the money, I'll smash your face in!" I promptly gave her my account number, instructing her to transfer the funds. However, after several attempts, the transaction repeatedly failed, showing the card was disabled. The onlookers began to jeer. "Another fake rich lady, with a black card, who probably can't even get ten thousand out of it." "Why pretend to be something you're not? If you can't afford it, just say so. Don't pull these ridiculous stunts." Skye, sweating profusely in frustration, quickly hid behind her car to make a call. Soon, my husband, Marcus Thorne, called. "Evelyn Sterling, what's wrong with my card? Why is it suspended? Quickly tell the bank to reactivate it, and raise the limit to a hundred million. I need it urgently." I replied calmly, "Why do you suddenly need so much money? What are you trying to do?" "I have my reasons for needing it! Why are you asking so many questions? Just go do it!" I bit my lip tightly and hung up the phone. It was all my fault for indulging this scoundrel so much that he became this arrogant. He was a live-in husband who had climbed up through my connections, yet he dared to boss me around. For the past ten years, due to special circumstances, I had rarely appeared publicly, allowing him to manage Sterling Industries on my behalf. I never imagined he would secretly keep a mistress behind my back. He was truly asking for trouble! He thought that just because I let him be a figurehead, Sterling Industries belonged to him. After I hung up, Marcus sent several messages, but I ignored them all. Soon, Skye held up her phone, displaying a ten-million-dollar transfer record she had just received from someone else, and looked at me with an arrogant smirk. "I'm telling you, my husband is worth billions. How could he possibly be short on a mere ten million for you?!" With that, she transferred the ten million to me. "The money's transferred! Now get lost!" She pointed at the successful transfer record, her head held high as she yelled at me. I scoffed. "You've only paid for one car. What about the other one?" At my words, everyone present was stunned. Skye's face turned furious. "Are you crazy, or just addicted to scamming people? When did I hit two of your cars?" I pointed to the Porsche. "This car is also mine. It's worth five million. Pay up, quickly." At this declaration, everyone was shocked. "Is this person crazy from the crash?" "Quite possibly. Otherwise, how could she not even know her own car?" Skye's face was contorted with rage. She pointed at me and cursed, "You crazy woman, are you never going to stop?!" I ignored her rabid frenzy and instead pulled out the Porsche's registration document, flinging it in front of her. "See for yourself. Is this car mine or not?" Skye picked up the registration. After confirming my photo was on it, she froze in shock, then erupted in fury. "This car was clearly a birthday gift from my husband! How did it become yours? You must have pulled a trick to extort me!" "Do you think I'm easy to bully? My husband is Marcus Thorne, the head of Sterling Industries! He's coming right now. Just wait and see how he deals with you!" Hearing that Skye's husband was the renowned head of Sterling Industries, the crowd's expressions changed. "Marcus Thorne, the head of Sterling Industries, is this young woman's husband? That's huge! In Gold Coast, who dares to offend Sterling Industries?" "Sister, take the money and run. I know you have some cash, but Sterling Industries is not someone ordinary people can afford to offend. Get out of here, fast." Skye, seeing my silence, assumed I was intimidated by her mention of Sterling Industries, and sneered, "What, scared now? Too late!" "Once my husband gets here, I'll have him completely ruin your company. Let's see if you can still be so arrogant then!" I smiled faintly. "We'll see about that." Just then, a convoy of cars arrived. From a Land Rover stepped a man in a perfectly tailored suit, his hair meticulously combed. Several bodyguards trailed behind him.
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