Chapter 1

My girlfriend Lester, whom I'd been dating for three years, always looked down on me for being just a designated driver with no ambition.

One evening, she went to a friend's party and still hadn't come home by 11 PM.

I offered to pick her up, but she refused over the phone.

Shortly after, I received a ride request. I accepted it as usual, arrived at the location, pulled open the car door, and slid into the driver's seat.

In the rearview mirror was a couple. The woman was drunk, slumped against the man. He had his head lowered, his hand slipping under her skirt.

The woman tilted her face up, seeking a kiss, her cheeks flushed.

That woman was Lester.

The necklace around her neck was the one I'd personally clasped on her three weeks ago, on our third anniversary.

She clearly didn't recognize me.

I deliberately took out my phone and called her.

A ringtone sounded in the backseat. Her body stiffened for a moment. She glanced sideways at the screen, then flipped her phone face-down on the seat and buried her face back in the man's neck without even lifting her head.

The phone rang six times before it cut off. I called again. It cut off again.

The third time, she reached out and hit decline—swift and decisive, like hanging up on a telemarketer.

I put my phone back in my pocket and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, my knuckles turning white.

The man in the backseat looked up and barked at me, "What are you looking at? Eyes on the road! Twenty minutes for three kilometers—are you deliberately taking the long route?"

I didn't say anything.

Lester laughed and patted his chest. "David, I know, right? I don't know how the platform assigns drivers. They send people like this—drives like a snail." She paused, her voice not lowering in the slightest. "And he keeps staring at my chest with those creepy eyes. Disgusting."

Her mocking tone made it sound like she was talking about a stray dog blocking the road.

David called out to me again. "Turn on the AC. Twenty-six degrees. Can't you figure that out? Your hands are shaking so much—did you buy your license off the internet?"

I adjusted the temperature to 26 and said nothing.

"I'm talking to you. Are you mute? Where's your customer service?"

Lester chimed in lazily from the backseat. "What kind of quality can you expect from a designated driver, David? Don't waste your time on him. These bottom-feeders have no perspective. Just let him drive. Don't expect him to understand what decency means."

Bottom-feeders. The words came out of her mouth with the same casual tone as saying "it's a bit cold today."

David smiled with satisfaction, tightening his arm around her waist, his thumb slowly rubbing circles on her side through her dress. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned closer to him.

I stared at the road ahead and didn't say a word as I pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of a hotel.

David got out first. He stood there, pulled some loose bills and coins from his pocket, and casually tossed them at my face.

The bills hit my forehead and bounced off. The coins clattered against the dashboard, one of them rolling into the gap between the seats.

"Go buy yourself a pack of cigarettes and reflect on yourself." He dusted off his hands like he was shaking off something dirty. "With your skills, you should stick to delivering packages. Being a designated driver is an insult to the profession."

Lester stepped out of the car in her high heels. As she passed my window, she stopped for a moment, bent down, and spat at me.

The saliva landed on my sleeve, spreading into a small dark stain.

Then she hooked her arm through David's, and the two of them pushed through the hotel's glass doors and walked inside.

I sat in the driver's seat without moving.

I bent down and picked up the bills from the floor mat one by one, dug the coin out from between the seats, and clutched them tightly in my palm.

I opened the dashcam playback and watched the footage from the backseat from start to finish. The quality wasn't crystal clear, but it was enough—her face, his hand, that necklace swaying in the frame, perfectly visible.

I saved the video to my phone.

I sent a message to the company's legal team:

Pull up everything on David from the last two years. I want the most detailed records possible.

Three years. From the first time she complained that I had no ambition as a designated driver to tonight, when she called me a bottom-feeder in the rearview mirror.

I'd been waiting for her to say something different.

I never heard it.