Chapter 2

As night fell, the Food Truck Gatherings on the old street in the city's west came alive with activity.

The air was filled with the sizzling sound of fatty and lean lamb skewers cooking over the charcoal, grease popping and crackling.

"Hey, ma'am, another twenty lamb skewers and ten sausage skewers, please!" a customer called out.

"Coming right up!" Colette answered, flipping the skewers with practiced ease.

She wore an apron around her waist, with her hair tied up in a high bun, revealing her slender, graceful neck. Amidst the smoke and hustle of the Food Truck Gatherings, she really stood out.

"Colette, the customer at that table is getting impatient," a worker shouted.

"What's the rush? Good food takes time. Let him wait," Colette replied.

Not far from the barbecue stall, a black sedan pulled up.

The door opened, and Marcel stepped out in a sharp, dark gray bespoke suit. He crouched down, hiding behind Colette's truck.

"Damn it," Marcel muttered to himself. He never thought he'd end up hiding here to escape his family's matchmaking attempts.

Not far off, a woman in full Chanel attire and sky-high heels was scanning the crowd, shouting, "Marcel, where are you? I can see your car. Come out!"

That was Hadley Madden, the infamous princess of the capital's social scene. Ernesto Larsen, Marcel's grandfather, had chosen her as his match. No matter what, he couldn't shake her off.

"There's no way Marcel would ever come to a dump like this," Hadley muttered, almost turning to leave.

Suddenly, her gaze fell on the black Maybach. She immediately perked up. Her heels clicked loudly as she rushed over. "Marcel!"

She approached the car, only to find it empty. Irritated, she stomped her foot and began scanning the area for him.

Her eyes eventually landed on Colette, busy at the grill. She marched up to the stall. "Hey, you at the grill!"

Colette looked up, her expression flat as she eyed Hadley. "Yeah?"

"Did you see a super good-looking guy in a suit around here?" Hadley asked.

Colette glanced over at the figure huddled behind the truck. Even though only a sliver of his pants showed, she instantly recognized those shiny leather shoes. 'The spider and the fly,' she thought.

"Nope, I haven't seen any guys in suits. But I did notice a crazy lady in a dress," Colette said coolly, tossing a handful of chili powder onto the skewers.

Hadley choked, stumbling back, her eyes watering. "Seriously, how clueless can you be? Do you even know what this outfit costs? If you ruin it, can you afford to pay for it?" she snapped.

Colette rolled her eyes and kept flipping the chicken wings. "This is a barbecue stall, not your runway. And stop pointing at me. I have a temper. If I jab your plastic face by accident, that's on you."

"You—" Hadley spluttered.

Marcel, still crouching behind the truck, scowled. 'Those two women together are like two hurricanes colliding,' he thought. He was on the verge of making a break for it while they were distracted when he heard Colette's chuckle.

"Is this what you call manners, Ms. Madden? Always looking down on everyone, what makes you so superior?" Colette's eyes were sharp as daggers.

She went on, "And that nose of yours, did you get it shoved up too high? I can almost see straight through it. You had it done, right? It's still swollen, and you're already out here frightening people."

Colette didn't let Hadley get a word in. The customers around them couldn't hold back, bursting into laughter.

"Damn, Colette's savage!" someone in the crowd laughed.

Hadley was left speechless, instinctively covering her nose.

Colette scoffed, twirling a metal skewer in her hand with a flourish. "Guess you were born with a silicone face. Move away from my stall. If you're hungry, get in line. If not, beat it."

Hadley had a total meltdown. She clutched her face as she ran off in tears, forgetting all about Marcel.

Colette smirked, turned, and called out to Marcel. "Alright, time to come out. Had enough of the drama?"

Marcel stepped forward, awkward but more conflicted than anything as he met her gaze.

The smoke swirled around Colette, and the glow from the charcoal made her cheeks glow softly. Her words were harsh, but there was something oddly satisfying about hearing them from her.

For a moment, Marcel found himself oddly captivated by this fiery street vendor.

"Still not finished watching the show?" Colette raised an eyebrow, waving the skewer in front of Marcel's face. "Well, that drama was not free. I saved your ass from that crazy woman just now, didn't I? You still owe me for last night, so..."

She stuck her hand out with her palm up. "You gotta transfer 150 bucks to me."

Marcel was left speechless. Whatever good vibes he'd just felt vanished in an instant. 'Does this woman have dollar signs in her eyes or what?' he wondered.

"Colette," Marcel said through clenched teeth. "Do you really think it's that easy to trick me out of my money?"

Colette shrugged. "Fine, don't pay. I'll call her and tell her you're hiding here." She made a show of getting ready to shout.

"Shut up!" Marcel snapped, quickly pulling out his phone. With a beep, 150 dollars was sent.

Marcel felt like he was losing his mind. He was the CEO of Maxwell Group, but in two days, this same woman had already squeezed him for a total of 210 bucks.

"Thanks!" Colette grinned, slipping her phone away. "You're so generous. Here, have two lamb skewers on the house."

Marcel stared at the greasy skewers in his hand, his face turning red.

Suddenly, the screech of brakes shattered the night. Three black SUVs tore into the Food Truck Gatherings, throwing everything into chaos and sending people scattering in all directions.

The doors flung open, and about a dozen men in black, armed with baseball bats and machetes, jumped out.

The leader, Kyle, with a nasty scar cutting across his face, scanned the crowd with a cold, menacing glare before locking eyes with Marcel.

"Mr. Larsen, long time no see," Kyle sneered, striding forward. "Our boss wants a little chat with you."

Marcel's eyes turned icy. 'Uncle Pedro must have sent them. Looks like they can't wait to make their move against me,' he thought.

He glanced at Colette, half tempted to pull her out of danger. Even though she was money-hungry and could roast anyone with her words, he didn't want her caught up in this.

But Colette stayed put, watching calmly as the men in black boots smashed a nearby table.

Beer bottles shattered, and grilled chicken wings tumbled to the ground. Those were for a customer, 15 bucks a plate.

"Hey!" Colette gripped a metal skewer tightly. "Those were my chicken wings."

Kyle paused for a moment and then burst out laughing. "Move it, lady, or you'll get sliced, too." He raised his machete and swung it at Marcel. "Take this!"

Before Marcel could react, Colette, right beside him, sprang forward like a hunting leopard.

With a heavy thud, Kyle, rushing in first, didn't even catch what happened. All he felt was a jolt of pain exploding in his wrist. The gleaming machete hit the ground with a loud clang.

Without hesitation, Colette kicked him square in the chest.

Kyle flew backward, smashing through two tables before crashing to the ground. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

The rest of the men in black froze, staring in disbelief. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. 'No way. That sharp-tongued, money-hungry woman from the streets can actually fight like that?' they thought.

"Damn it. She's asking for it," one of the men in black snapped out of their shock. "Everyone, take her down!" With a roar, he charged at her with others.

Marcel's heart raced. "Watch out!" He moved to intervene, but then he quickly realized he wasn't needed.

Colette didn't need backup. She dodged, weaved, and moved with street-smart speed. In a flash, the skewers she had been using for grilling became deadly knives in her hands.

The air was filled with screams.

Colette didn't aim to kill, but every strike hit a vulnerable spot, such as wrists, knees, and joints.