Chapter 52: Who Gave You Face

John arrived at the coffee shop at the appointed time, eager to meet the renowned international art master. The café exuded a high-class atmosphere, but after sitting and waiting for nearly half an hour, he began to lose patience.

How dare she stand me up?

He stood up, preparing to leave, when suddenly, the door swung open. Shelly entered—tall, poised, and unmistakably the woman from the video. However, there was a noticeable shift in her demeanor. She looked a bit displeased, perhaps from her experience outside.

Earlier, she had noticed a Bugatti parked outside and wondered if it was John's. But now, upon seeing him in person, she dismissed the idea. Which rich man would dress so casually?

With her experience and sharp eye, Shelly quickly surmised that John's outfit couldn't have cost more than $300, and the car outside, no matter how impressive, surely wasn't his.

John, unimpressed by her delay, greeted her bluntly. "You're late."

"Straightforward, huh?" Shelly shot him a sharp look. "It's normal for girls to take their time getting ready. You've only been waiting half an hour—consider yourself lucky."

Despite her irritation, she played the role of the reserved, slightly aloof woman, sitting down and preparing to go through the motions of the meeting.

"Since you're here, I'll give you a chance," she said, crossing her arms. "Let's hear about your conditions."

John frowned. "Conditions? What are you talking about?"

Shelly gave him a bemused look. "How big is your house? What car do you drive? What's your salary?"

"I don't have a salary," John replied casually. "But my house is as big as it needs to be, and my car is as luxurious as it should be."

"Are you some kind of second-generation rich kid?"

"No," John answered, his tone even.

"Then how do you afford such a lifestyle?" Shelly pressed, clearly skeptical.

"I just say the word, and people deliver things to me," John said, his response drawing a skeptical laugh from her.

"You're crazy," Shelly muttered under her breath. She couldn't take him seriously.

John, sensing the conversation was going nowhere, decided to flip the script. "Since you've asked me so many questions, let me ask you one."

Shelly stood up abruptly, clearly uninterested. "I don't think it's necessary," she said, turning toward the door.

Before leaving, she threw one last disdainful glance in John's direction. "I don't know where you got your neurosis from, but this is a waste of my time."

John sat there for a moment, contemplating the encounter. It seemed like Shelly truly was an international art master with a high opinion of herself.

Forget it, he thought. At least I met her in person and fulfilled Grandpa's request.

As John left the café, he noticed two women standing by his Bugatti, posing for selfies. He approached them with a smile.

"Excuse me, ladies, are you done?"

One of the women, who had been playfully posing for the camera, suddenly scowled at him. "It's none of your business, you idiot!"

The other woman, however, smiled and leaned toward him. "Hey, handsome. You're not dressed well, but you look decent. If you want to talk to me, just ask for my number. Maybe I'll say yes."

John shook his head. Women these days… He didn't care about appearances—he preferred simple clothes. Whether they were from a famous brand or not didn't matter to him. He'd developed this habit from his time during the border wars. Looking good was secondary; survival came first.

Ignoring the women's banter, John unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat.

Vroom!

The engine roared to life, and the women froze, their expressions changing from playful to stunned. As they turned to look at the car, they saw John sitting behind the wheel.

"Handsome boy," one of them said, her voice now full of interest, "is this sports car really yours?"

The other woman quickly followed up. "Little brother, we were just joking around. Don't be mad. Want to take a ride? I'd love to go for a spin with you."

Before John could respond, Shelly suddenly rushed over, pulling the two women away with force.

She had been watching from a distance, secretly amused by John's interaction with the women. But as she observed him driving the Bugatti, the reality hit her—That car really is his!

She approached him quickly, glaring at the women she had just pulled aside. "He's my boyfriend!" she declared fiercely. "Go away, you shameless women!"

John raised an eyebrow, looking at Shelly with an amused expression. "When did I become your boyfriend?"

"Aren't we?" Shelly asked with a cheeky smile. "Not only are we a couple, but we might even get married."

Shelly, confident in her charm and beauty, seemed to believe she was entitled to John's attention. She had returned from studying abroad, after all, and as a top student, she expected her success to translate into romantic victories.

John's smile deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Really? I don't think you have a crush on me."

"How could it be?" Shelly replied quickly, flustered. "I just got my makeup done. I'm very satisfied with your conditions."

John's grin widened. "You're satisfied with my conditions, but I'm not satisfied with yours."

Shelly blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You casually flirted with foreigners," John said, leaning back in his seat. "And now you have the audacity to show up for a blind date? Who gave you the face?"

With that, John revved the engine and drove off, leaving Shelly standing there, her mind racing.

How did he know…?

As Shelly processed John's words, she overheard the two women nearby laughing.

"I knew she looked familiar," one of them said. "She's the international art master!"

Shelly's face paled, her heart sinking. Her reputation, once the pride of her career, now felt like a burden. The weight of John's words hit her hard, and as the realization sank in, she fainted, overwhelmed by the shock.