Chapter 34: Gentleness Is Worthless in Front of Me

Several other pedestrians had gathered under the eaves to shelter from the rain, and when they saw the approaching vehicle, they were all stunned.

Unbelievable!

A Bugatti Veyron! That car alone was worth tens of millions!

What shocked them even more was the young man's casual remark:

"I walked around and couldn't find a store that sold umbrellas. But I did find an auto showroom, so I bought a car to keep us out of the rain."

He bought a sports car—just because it was raining?

Was this how the wealthy pursued women?

No wonder people envied them.

Even Tracy, normally unshaken, was dumbfounded. This is way too over the top, she thought—but she had to admit, it did help cool her anger.

With the awestruck stares of the crowd upon her, she lifted her chin proudly and stepped into the car.

As for Ada, she remained frozen in place.

Was there even a need for John to say anything more?

Your boyfriend's so-called gentleness doesn't stand a chance against my Bugatti Veyron.

But John wasn't finished. His gaze shifted to the elderly man beside Ada, and he said meaningfully:

"If you don't exercise restraint in your youth, you'll shed tears in your old age."

The old man's hand twitched involuntarily. How did this kid know?

Before he could ask, the Bugatti Veyron roared to life, its engine purring as it rolled forward—splashing a large puddle of dirty water right onto Ada.

The old man chuckled awkwardly and reached to help, "Your clothes are dirty, honey. Let me wipe it off for you."

"Get away from me! I don't want to see you again!"

Ada screamed, slapping the old man hard across the face before running off into the heavy rain.

Inside the car, the cabin was quiet and luxurious. Tracy glanced around in curiosity and asked her younger brother, "How much does this cost?"

She wasn't too familiar with high-end car brands. Like most people, she could recognize the usual ones—Mercedes-Benz, BMW, Volkswagen—but she'd never seen a Bugatti Veyron up close.

Just from the feel of the interior and the way the engine hummed, it was obviously expensive.

"Around one or two million, give or take. I didn't ask for the exact price. I just swiped the card."

Ever since returning to New York, John hadn't owned a car. He usually borrowed his sister's whenever he needed to go out, but that was often inconvenient.

Today, when they happened to run into Ada—and after being mocked by her—John decided to retaliate with flair.

In truth, he hadn't even asked about the price. He'd walked into the dealership, pointed at the Veyron, handed over his VIP card, and said:

"No need for introductions. I'll take this one. Full payment."

The saleswoman nearly lost her composure when she saw the card.

It was a supreme VIP card issued by the Chamber of Commerce—something only influential families or celebrities could obtain.

The staff immediately sprang into action. What normally took over half an hour—getting a temporary license plate—was done in minutes.

Instead of heading straight back to the clinic, John drove slowly along the riverside with Tracy.

The rain had stopped, and the sun began peeking through the clouds, casting a golden light on the water. The river sparkled, and a few playful fish leapt from its surface, adding to the tranquility of the moment.

John relished this peaceful drive with his sister.

After a while, Tracy broke the silence.

"So, have Queenie or Alice arranged a job for you yet?"

John gave a bitter smile and shook his head.

Queenie, the eldest, had once given him a cushy title—personnel manager of Queenie Group—and promised he wouldn't need to do anything. But John had declined. It wasn't his style.

As for Alice?

Forget it. What was he going to do—tend bar? Serve drinks?

Tracy thought for a moment, then said, "Well, you could come help me at the clinic. Only issue is, you don't have a medical license. That might cause trouble."

"That's fine. I can help out in the pharmacy. No license needed for that."

Tracy grinned mischievously.

"Perfect. I was waiting for you to say that. Deal. Tomorrow, Dr. Lynn is on duty, and we're expecting a crowd. But I have to head to the provincial capital to pick up some traditional Chinese herbs—so I'm counting on you."

John groaned.

"Sis! You totally set me up."

He reached over to tickle her waist. Tracy yelped and slapped his hand away.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"Alright, alright."

A few moments later, John's eyes narrowed. Up ahead, a frail-looking old woman was wobbling her way into the road, directly toward their car.

No way.

On the very first day of buying this car, he was about to get scammed?

He quickly hit the brakes, and both he and Tracy stepped out.

The old woman collapsed against the front of the car, groaning and clutching her leg as if in pain.

"Help! Someone's hit me! Somebody, call for help!"

Almost instantly, a group of young thugs came running from the side of the road.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" one of them asked, acting concerned.

"It was them," the old woman wailed. "They hit me. Oh, my leg..."

The punks turned their attention to John and Tracy. Their eyes lit up when they saw Tracy's beauty, but their primary target was clear.

The Bugatti Veyron.

One of the punks, with bleached yellow hair and a forced righteous tone, said, "Hey, buddy. You hit this old lady. You gotta pay for it."

Tracy exploded with anger.

"That's a lie! She threw herself at the car!"

The punk sneered. "Oh really? 'Cause I saw you hit her. Didn't I, guys?"

He turned to his crew, who all nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, we all saw it. That car hit her, no question."

The yellow-haired punk stepped closer to John.

"Look, man. You drive a car like this, a couple thousand dollars in medical expenses is nothing, right? Or should I take a video, upload it online, and let the internet teach you a lesson?"

In today's online culture, where misinformation spreads like wildfire and facts can be twisted with a single caption, people like this made a living exploiting emotional narratives.

John had seen it before—during the Queenie Group scandal. If he hadn't stepped in, the public's outrage could've destroyed them.

These thugs knew that, which is why they acted so brazenly. They'd blackmail rich folks, vanish to another district, and do it again. No fear of retribution.

And for many people, paying a small amount to avoid trouble was easier.

But not today.

They had picked the wrong target.