Chapter 1

During the holiday, I went to visit my relatives in the countryside. A little brat scratched up my brand-new car.

I scolded him, but his parents didn't care. "What, are you showing off your new car?" they said. Then they secretly slashed my tires.

Later, that brat climbed a tree and ended up breaking his leg.

His parents were crying their eyes out, begging me to take them to the hospital.

I spread my hands. "Sorry, the tires are busted. Can't drive."

*****

Early on Christmas Eve, I drove back to my hometown to visit my grandma.

She was getting on in years and was now bedridden. Ever since my mom passed away over a decade ago, I hadn't been back here much.

The whole place was filled with holiday spirit, with relatives clustered together, chatting and catching up.

After spending some time with Grandma inside, I headed out, planning to grab some lobsters at the market, so we could enjoy them together while watching TV that night.

The yard was empty, with my car sitting there all by itself.

I'd just gotten the car a while ago. I spent two years saving up for it, and honestly, it still stung a bit when I thought about it.

But as long as it made me happy, it was worth every penny.

Just then, a little boy dashed out from behind my car, gripping a couple of rocks with sharp edges in each hand.

My gaze froze, and a sense of foreboding hit me.

Could I really be unlucky enough to run into one of those car-scratching little brats I always heard about on the news?

We were all family here. Even if the kid was a handful, he wouldn't actually go that far, right?

With a knot in my stomach, I walked over to the car and circled around to the passenger side.

There were scratches all over it, some deep, some shallow, and a few spots where the body had been dented from being smashed with rocks.

It wasn't just the body; the windows were scratched up, too, and the rear glass had cracks spreading out like a spiderweb. If it hadn't had a protective film, it would've shattered for sure.

I was totally stunned. This was my brand-new car!

It was totally fine when I parked it. How did it get wrecked so fast?

I was burning with rage and about to hunt down that brat. Then I turned around and saw him standing there, grinning smugly right behind me.

He looked about seven or eight, pudgy with big ears. His eyes nearly closed in a mischievous squint, and he was still clutching those two rocks in his hands.

The sharp edges were clearly worn down, showing he'd been using them to scratch up my car.

"Wow, this is really tough," the little boy suddenly said, pointing at the car door with a mean smirk. "No wonder it won't get scratched, no matter what I do.

"So you like tough stuff, huh?"

Just those sentences left me absolutely speechless. My mind was blown—cracked and splintered, just like the glass on my car.

Seriously, what was a kid that age even saying?

I stared at him. "Who are your parents? Do you even know it's wrong to scratch someone else's car?"

He snickered again, stuck his tongue out at me, made a silly face, and then tossed the rock in his right hand off to the side behind him.

With a thunderous bang, the rock dropped from above and slammed into the hood, leaving a deep dent.

I let out a scream.

He looked absolutely delighted by my reaction, cackled with glee, and raised his hand, about to hurl the other rock.

In a flash, I grabbed his stubby arm and stopped him. "That's my car! You shouldn't be wrecking it! Who are your parents, anyway? Do you have any manners at all?"

He suddenly let out a wild yell and chomped down hard on my wrist, his teeth sinking in viciously.

I recoiled in pain, stepping back.

Blood streamed from my wrist, the flesh torn open. He grinned, spat blood onto the ground, and dashed off.

I hissed in pain, about to grab the first-aid kit from my car and patch myself up, when a woman's shrill voice suddenly rang out behind me. "Sweetie, why are you bleeding from your mouth?"

I spun around.

The boy shot into the woman's arms like a missile, then pointed at me from afar and said something I couldn't make out.

I'd seen that woman around earlier. She was one of my cousins-in-law, Linda.

I'd never met that cousin, Gavin, before today. I didn't even know his name, so obviously I had no clue who their kid was.

After that boy finished talking, he pretended to wipe away tears, then turned back and made another goofy face at me.

I caught on immediately.

He flipped the script, making me the villain.

Linda shot me a deadly glare, and then yelled into the house, "Gavin, quit drinking! Get out here. Tommy's being bullied!"

In no time, Gavin burst out of the house.

He was tall and built like a tank, looking tanned. His voice was booming. "Who is it? Who's got the balls to mess with my kid?"

With Gavin backing her up, Linda marched right up to me, practically stabbing her finger at my nose. "You bitch! Why did you bully Tommy?"

I held up my bloody wrist and shot back, "Take a good look. Who's really the one getting bullied here?"

Linda sneered. "If you didn't bully Tommy, why would he bite you out of nowhere? He wouldn't do that for no reason."

I laughed angrily. "Oh, really? Then let me ask you. I've got no grudge against your family, and we literally just met today. So why did your son scratch up my car for no reason?"

Linda gave the car a quick glance and rolled her eyes. "Where's the damage? Looks perfectly fine to me."

I gritted my teeth, barely holding back my anger. "The hood, the back window, the doors, the windows—every bit of it is your kid's handiwork."

"What? Are you serious?" Linda flipped her freshly permed hair and strutted around the car. "Looks to me like your car was always this messed up.

"You're just trying to frame Tommy because he's little. Listen up, we're not easy targets!"

Gavin raised his fist. "Yeah, you heard her. We are not easy targets."