Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Neither of us spoke on the way.

Dim streetlights filtered through the misted car window, sketching the silhouette of the man’s elegant, mountain-like nose. Curled up in the passenger seat, I kept puzzling over who he was, but no matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t figure it out.

As we were about to enter the city proper, he glanced at me.

“Sit properly. If the cameras catch you, I’ll lose points.”

“Okay.”

I obediently did as he said, then pretended to ask casually, “Driver, may I ask your surname?”

“Zhao.”

“You’re this handsome. You must have a girlfriend, right?”

He was silent for a moment.

“…No.”

Good. No girlfriend was good.

At the very least, it eased a lot of the guilt I would have felt over the incident I was planning.

When we arrived at the parking lot beneath my building, he parked the car in its spot but remained seated behind the wheel, simply fixing those calm, pale fox eyes on me.

Of course I understood what he meant. I immediately took out my phone and showed it to him.

“My phone’s dead. Why don’t you come upstairs with me so I can get the money?”

“No need. I’ll wait here.”

“That won’t do.” I flashed him a perfect eight-tooth smile. “What if you drive off with my car? Who am I supposed to complain to?”

“…”

This young and beautiful Master Xiao Zhao had quite a good temper. Hearing that, he didn’t say anything and silently followed me upstairs.

In the past, whenever I came home late from work, Tan Xi would always brew a pot of Da Hong Pao milk tea. The two of us would let the day’s exhaustion melt away and relax for a while on the breezy balcony.

Today was no exception. A sweet, fresh aroma drifted through the hallway. The girl wore a pale linen dress and stood behind the counter, giving me a warm smile.

“You’re back? I made scones for you. Whole wheat, so they won’t make you fat.”

Not bad. This was the Tan Xi I remembered.

Not that shameless bitch clinging to Yu Bixue’s thigh.

“I’m not hungry. I don’t want any.”

I turned her down, then, under her shocked gaze, led the man into the apartment.

To stall for as much time as possible, I charged my phone for quite a while. Then I turned it on and showed him my QR code. “Add me. I’ll transfer the money to you.”

At the mention of a transfer, he did as I said.

His profile picture was an advertisement with big red characters on a white background, and his display name was Muzi Repairs. I briskly transferred the money to him. He stared at the amount, clearly dissatisfied, his tone carrying no small amount of suspicion.

“Didn’t you say one thousand?”

“That’s right. Five hundred is the deposit.” I emphasized with righteous composure, “Tomorrow, help me drive the car to the shop. When the tire’s been replaced, I’ll give you the remaining five hundred.”

“Thanks for the trouble, Master Muzi.”

“…”