Chapter 1

The day my mother died, I watched helplessly as my father brought his mistress and her daughter Rose into our home.

So on my wedding day with Alexander, when I saw Alexander and Rose rolling around in bed together, I wasn't surprised.

I just thought to myself—the daughter of a homewrecker is destined to be a homewrecker too.

Then I used the Swiss Army knife Alexander gave me and slashed Rose's face.

Alexander immediately had me thrown in prison.

After I was imprisoned, Alexander divorced me and gave Rose a grand wedding.

Three years later, I was released.

Alexander hired twenty security guards, terrified I would hurt Rose again. He even set traps, trying to send me back to prison.

But he was overthinking it.

I disappeared from his life like a drop of water merging into the ocean.

We met again at my auto repair shop.

I spat out the toothpick I'd been chewing on, lifted the hood with my grease-stained fingers, and asked calmly:

"How old is this car?"

He suddenly clenched his jaw and spoke through gritted teeth:

"Scarlett, this car was the first gift you ever gave me."

My hand holding the wrench paused.

"Oh, then it's got some years on it. Needs a major overhaul."

My tone was too flat. Alexander froze slightly, opening his mouth several times but unable to speak.

I tapped each bolt with my wrench, checking them carefully and thoroughly.

As if the dazzling yellow sports car in front of me was no different from the thousands of other cars I'd repaired.

Perhaps finding the metallic clanging too grating, Alexander's expression changed several times before he finally pulled out a mocking smile:

"Scarlett, if you need money, you can just call me."

"There's no need to scatter nails on the road and lure me to this godforsaken place to watch you perform."

I smiled and made conversation, as if chatting casually with an ordinary customer:

"If I could act, I'd be a movie star."

"You came from Route 3, right? The news this morning said a truck carrying steel nails overturned there yesterday. Better be careful."

As I spoke, I casually grabbed a towel nearby and wiped the grease off my hands.

Alexander's eyes fixed on that towel.

Originally pink, it had been washed until it faded to white, with frayed edges. He seemed to finally lose his patience and raised his voice:

"Scarlett, you used to be proud as a swan."

"Claustrophobia, OCD, germaphobia—you had every spoiled rich girl ailment. You'd wipe a single speck of dust off your heels for ages, fire the maid over one grease spot on the table..."

"And now you..."

"Scarlett, take a look at my car! The AC isn't cooling anymore!"

With a booming female voice, the shop door was pushed open again. A woman in a floral shirt walked in and shoved her car keys into my hand.

"Sure thing, Bella. Leave it here, I'll check it out in a bit." I took the keys. "Probably just needs a recharge. Small problem."

"Alright, you're busy." Bella cheerfully patted my shoulder, then glanced at Alexander and lowered her voice.

"Got a customer? I'll head out then. Talk later."

After seeing Bella off, I remembered there was still a customer in the shop and gave Alexander a polite smile.

"So, Mr. Alexander, your car's fixed. Thanks for your business. Twenty dollars."

"You..."

Alexander stared at me blankly. It took him a long time to get out one word, but he had no strength to say the rest.

Instead, he quickly pulled out his phone and scanned the payment code.

Seeing the five hundred dollars that came through, I waved my hands repeatedly:

"Mr. Alexander, you overpaid. Let me transfer the difference back."

As I spoke, I instinctively tried to find Alexander's contact.

Then I suddenly remembered—after I went to prison, he'd blocked me.

Helplessly, I scratched my head. "This is awkward. Mr. Alexander, could you give me your payment code?"

"You... didn't you say the car needed a major overhaul?" Alexander's expression was complicated. "Check the other parts too. Is this enough?"

I was quite pleased.

"More than enough! Plenty to spare. Just wait right here then."

I grabbed the stool nearby and pushed it toward Alexander.

Seeing his crisp suit, I found a cleaner rag to place on it for him.

Alexander was silent for a long time before sitting down somewhat stiffly, posture elegant, palms resting on his knees.

The next second, he was startled by the creaking of the glass door.

"Scarlett, still fixing cars during lunch? Business must be good. No wonder you ordered two burgers today. Turns out you've got a luxury car customer."

It was the delivery guy who brought me food every day.

I chatted and joked with him for a bit, taking the takeout from his hands.

Meanwhile, Alexander seemed uncomfortable being called a "customer," turning his face slightly and letting out a soft breath.

But there was no helping it—the whole neighborhood was like this.

Mitch from the nail salon next door came over asking if I wanted to go to the bar tonight.

The office worker from upstairs came down with a big suitcase, asking to store it and pick it up tonight.

A passing female student rushed in asking if I had a power bank she could borrow.

Their gazes—curious or appraising—lingered on Alexander more or less.

Finally, he shifted uncomfortably and crossed his legs:

"Scarlett, is this how you've degraded yourself, mixing with... these poor people?"

His eyes seemed a bit red, though maybe I was mistaken.

After three years in prison, my eyesight had gotten worse.

"The car doesn't have any major problems." I straightened up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my elbow.

"Just some brake pad wear. Best to replace them, but this is a small shop—I don't have original parts. You'll need to go to a bigger place for that."

I pointed out the location of another repair shop, then eagerly opened my takeout.