Borrow My Car Daily? Enjoy My Divorce Papers

The woman's voice was sweet and coy, yet it carried an underlying, unquestionable sense of entitlement.

She was a new resident who had moved in half a month ago. Her name was Charlotte Ellis. Whenever we crossed paths in the neighborhood, she always had her chin tilted up, putting on the haughty airs of a wealthy mistress.

Her audacious demand made me scoff. I said, "I'm not used to having strangers in my car, Ms. Ellis."

"Oh, don't be like that, Olivia. My husband is the CEO of a major company. Get on my good side, and there will definitely be something in it for you down the line.

"That beat-up black Audi of yours may look a little old, but it'll do. Eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't be late." She spoke in a tone that sounded like she was granting a charitable favor, and immediately hung up the phone.

As I stared at the darkened screen of my phone, I was baffled. I was indeed driving a black car, but it wasn't a beat-up Audi. It was a custom-built, bulletproof RS6 Avant—one of only three in the world, handcrafted by Virelden's top engineering team. In fact, the interior alone cost more than two luxury penthouses in this upscale neighborhood.

I ignored her self-absorbed rambling, put my phone on silent, and went to sleep.

…

Early the next morning, I went downstairs on time and headed toward my reserved parking space. As soon as I pulled open the car door, a figure suddenly darted out from the side and grabbed the passenger door.

It was Charlotte; she was wearing an incredibly over-the-top, sequined slip dress and a pair of four-inch heels. Worst of all, she was holding a steaming bowl of pungent chitlin stew.

"What took you so long, Olivia? I've been waiting for you for ten minutes!" she grumbled as she ruthlessly threw the door open and made a move to slide into the passenger seat.

I immediately reached out to stop her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm catching a ride to work! Didn't we agree on this last night?"

"I never agreed to anything," I spat out, eyeing her coldly. "Also, you're forbidden from eating in my car, especially food with such a strong smell."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, it's just a beat-up Audi. Why are you acting like it's made of gold? I usually ride in my husband's Porsche and eat whatever I want, and he never breathes a single word about it.

"We're neighbors. Why can't you give me a lift? Don't be so selfish!" Her voice was so loud that it immediately echoed through the underground garage.

Several neighbors who were about to drive off stuck their heads out and looked over.

Noticing that she had an audience, Charlotte raised her voice. "Listen to this, everyone! This woman has zero compassion. We're going the same way, yet she won't even give me a ride. Is this what passes for a reasonable owner?"

I was astounded by her shamelessness. "First of all, we're not going in the same way. Secondly, this is my personal property, and I'm under no obligation to provide you with transportation."