Chapter 1

I looked at the message and almost laughed at the sheer audacity of it. How could there be someone who took advantage of others so brazenly?

I simply ignored it.

Unexpectedly, Xenia Salter walked right up to my workstation and tapped on my partition. "I'm pregnant and need a private car for transportation. I think your car is quite good. Since you have to go home after work anyway, it wouldn't be a hassle for you to give me a ride on the way."

After a pause, she added matter-of-factly, "By the way, you have to leave work at 5pm. I also need to rush home to cook for my husband."

Her attitude was disgusting.

I usually had a driver for my outings. Who the hell was she, and what right did she have to make me her driver? Besides, I did not even know where she lived, so how could it be "on the way"?

Then I suddenly remembered that she was the company's HR; she must have checked the home address I filled in when I joined the company.

Not wanting to get into an argument, I directly said, "Sorry, Xenia. My driving skills are terrible; I can't differentiate between the accelerator and the brake, and I always brake too abruptly. For the safety of you and your baby, let's just forget it."

I thought a gentle refusal would deter her. Unexpectedly, her voice suddenly rose, "You can't drive, and you bought a car? You're way too young to own a car like this. Are you sure it's legit? Was it a gift from some 'sugar daddy' or ‘sugar mama’?

"Nowadays, young girls like to date rich men; are young men also chasing after wealthy women?"

Our colleagues around us all turned to look.

This pissed me off.

Yes, my dad was my "sugar daddy," so what was wrong with him buying me a car? This was already the most inconspicuous car in our home.

Just as I was about to speak, my team leader suddenly interrupted, adopting a peacemaker tone, "Alex Rockman, colleagues should help each other. Xenia had a hard time getting pregnant; what's wrong with giving her a ride? You're young and should learn more about social etiquette."

Listening to his condescending "lectures," I felt nauseous.

I wondered, 'I’m not the child's father; why should I give her a ride?'

I said nothing more. I simply stared at the screen and coldly replied, "I have to work."

After getting off work, I had just unlocked the car door when the passenger door was yanked open. Xenia nimbly climbed in and even fastened her seatbelt.

I stood frozen outside the driver's seat. "What are you doing? Get out. I want to go home."

"I'm going home too." She adjusted her posture without hesitation. "I notified you this morning. Look, it's already five minutes past closing time. This time, it’s just a reminder; next time you'll be fined according to the rules."

"I told you this morning that I’m a bad driver. It's inconvenient to give you a ride," I said curtly, my hand on the car door.

She chuckled, a smug glint in her eyes. "I checked the security footage and saw how you smoothly backed into that narrow parking space. You’re good. Why act like a newbie with me?”

The last bit of my patience dissipated. My voice turned cold. "Get out."

She crossed her arms, sitting firmly, even adjusting her seat back, with an attitude that said, "I won't get out; what can you do about it?"

I stopped arguing and turned to walk toward the security booth. "Security!"

I had just called out when a colleague who was about to drive away rushed over, grabbed my arm, and whispered urgently.