Her Castoff Blind Date, My Road to Riches

When I opened the car door, a sharp, stale stench of cheap tobacco hit me in the face.

The passenger seat was coated in dust. It was as though the car had just been dragged out of a junkyard.

Henry Quinton gave me a sideways look. Holding a cigarette, he made no move to roll down the window.

I didn't frown. Instead, I took out a pack of wet wipes from my bag and carefully cleaned the seat. Only after that did I sit down obediently, placing my bag neatly on my lap like a grade schooler riding in a car for the first time.

Henry let out a cold laugh and flicked his finger.

A speck of burning ash dropped straight onto the hem of my white dress, scorching a tiny black mark into the fabric.

He waited for me to scream, or at least show some disgust.

But I only paused for a second. Then I quickly pulled out a tissue, not to wipe my dress, but to brush off his pant leg instead.

"Mr. Quinton, be careful," I said softly. "Don't burn yourself."

His hand froze midair, and a flicker of surprise flashed through his eyes.

He suddenly slammed his foot on the gas, and the beat-up Geely roared like a tractor.

Instead of slowing down over the speed bump, he sped up.

The jolt threw me upward, causing my head to knock against the roof. I clenched my teeth and didn't make a sound.

Finally, the car stopped at the entrance of a run-down alley in the slums.

Dirty water pooled on the ground, and the walls were covered with scrawled ads for fake IDs and drain-cleaning services.

"We're here. Get out."

He led me into a tiny, single-story shack barely over a hundred square feet. Empty bottles littered the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of mold. The only piece of furniture was a darkened, stained mattress.

He pointed at it and commanded, "Sit."

Without hesitation, I dropped onto it and reached down to set a fallen bottle upright.

"With a little cleaning, this place could feel pretty cozy," I said, looking up at him, my smile bright and full of admiration. "It faces south, too. Great lighting."

Henry said nothing. He turned and shut the door behind him with a sharp click.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

He stepped closer, and his tall frame swallowed me in shadow.

A gleaming switchblade slammed onto the rickety wooden table beside me.

The blade glinted coldly, hovering only an inch from my hand.

"I'll be honest with you," he said, bending down until his face was right in front of mine. His breath reeked of alcohol.

"I just got out. I owe millions to loan sharks, and I've got enemies everywhere. If you stick with me, you could get hacked to death any day. Scared?"

My body trembled violently, and tears instantly welled up in my eyes.

It was a visceral, instinctive fear, but I didn't back away.

Instead, I reached out with a shaking hand. Not to push him away, but to grab the handle of the knife.