I fixed them with a steady, icy gaze.
“You’d better stop now. This isn’t just any car. Damaging it won’t be solved with money alone.”
My warning only made Chloe more furious.
“Just a cheap domestic piece of junk,” she sneered.
“I’ll smash it however I want—what can you do about it?”
The next second, she and several others yanked open the doors, climbed inside, and began tearing at the seats and scraping the interior with sharp objects.
In moments, the once pristine cabin was shredded into tatters.
My car was indeed manufactured domestically. But it was no ordinary car. It was a Cadillac Presidential Limousine, specially assigned to me by the Federal Intelligence Agency—a symbol of honor.
Watching this mob of lawless lunatics, I silently took out my phone and dialed my superior:
“Sir, the agency’s assigned vehicle has been vandalized.”
Before I could hear a reply, one of the parents suddenly snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it to the ground.
“You still dare complain? You’re nothing but a mistress feeding off men—where do you get the face to act so high and mighty?”
“She probably wanted to call one of her johns to come stage a show of support, hahaha!”