I hadn’t expected this to become Sophie Lane’s newest trophy for showing off and soaking in praise.

The moment they saw me arrive, the same classmates who had just been fawning over her instantly frowned, their faces twisting with disdain.

One of Sophie’s little cronies spotted the car behind me and immediately sneered:

"Claire Bennett, ten years on the job and this is all you drive—a piece of domestic junk?"

The others burst into loud laughter.

"Hilarious! If I had to drive a trash can like that, I’d rather die!"

"But wait—why does her plate have so many zeroes? You can’t buy that kind of special number at any price!"

"Obviously a fake plate. Like she could ever have a license plate like that on such a beat-up car!"

"No wonder she dared to show up—she slapped a fake plate on it so she could pretend she’s somebody! This is killing me!"

Unmoved by their jeers, I said evenly:

"The plate is real."

"And this isn’t a junk car—it’s a government-issued armored Cadillac."

I had barely finished speaking when Sophie suddenly stepped right up to me and slapped me hard across the face.

"Of course the plate is real—because this is my husband’s car!"

"I’ve long suspected he had some mistress stashed away, and I never imagined it’d be you, you shameless bitch!"

"You actually had the nerve to drive my husband’s car to my wedding to taunt me, the rightful wife?"

Her words made the onlookers’ eyes go wide.

"Sophie, that’s your husband’s car? Seriously?"

She lifted her chin proudly. "Would I lie? He’s picked me up in this very car before. I even took photos of the plate because it stood out so much."

She whipped out her phone and pulled up several pictures—some of her and Adrian Hughes cuddled inside the car, others leaning together on the hood. The plate and the interior details were clear as day.

It was the exact same car.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"So it really is Sophie’s husband’s car—no wonder it’s got such a crazy plate!"

"Looks like Claire’s definitely the other woman."

Sophie’s brows drew tight with rage, her voice sharp:

"No wonder you’ve never posted on social media all these years—you’ve been busy being a mistress."

Others chimed in, eyes full of contempt:

"Wow, I never would’ve guessed—Claire always looked so put-together, but she’s out here doing this."

"Seriously, I used to think she was the aloof top student in high school. I even wrote her a love letter. Now I just feel sick."

"Some people act all cold and pure, but underneath they’re as wild as they come—one glimpse of a rich man and their legs practically open on their own."

"And to drive the sugar daddy’s car here to provoke his wife? She just can’t stand Sophie marrying well and came to ruin the wedding."

Even our old homeroom teacher gave me a look of disgust.

"Claire Bennett, don’t you ever tell anyone you were my student. I never taught someone so morally bankrupt."

Their scolding drew more bystanders, many pointing and whispering. Some even lifted their phones to record me, one person spitting in my direction.

I slipped off my jacket and tossed it into a trash bin, then turned to face Sophie directly.

"You hit me in public without even knowing the facts—you really think you’re above the law?"

She jutted her chin in arrogance.

"So what if I hit you? What’s wrong with being above the law?"

"I’m the billionaire’s wife now. In Bayshore City, I can do whatever I want!"

Sophie Lane’s gaze shifted to the car behind me.

"Just thinking about my husband’s car being driven by a tramp like you makes me sick!"

"If something’s been tainted, I’d rather destroy it than let filth like you use it!"

She grabbed a brick from the roadside and started smashing my car—windows, headlights, hood—nothing was spared.

"Sophie’s the future billionaire’s wife! We can’t let her be bullied by a lowly homewrecker like Claire Bennett!"

Someone in the crowd of classmates shouted this, and the rest eagerly picked up whatever they could find, raining blows on my vehicle.

But the car was armored—after all their effort, all they managed were a few scratches.

"What kind of car is this? Why is it so damn tough?"

I looked at them and gave a measured warning:

"You’d better stop now. This isn’t just any car—damaging it isn’t something you can fix by throwing money at it."

Hearing that only made Sophie angrier.

"This is my husband’s car! I’ll smash it if I want—what’s the big deal?"

The next second, she and several others yanked open the doors, climbed inside, and began slashing at the seats and tearing at the interior. In moments, the once-pristine cabin looked wrecked and filthy.

Watching this mob lose all control, I quietly pulled out my phone and called my superior.

"Sir, the government-issued car assigned to me has just been vandalized."

Before he could answer, one of Sophie’s lackeys lunged forward, grabbed my phone, and hurled it to the ground, smashing it.

"Trying to snitch? You’re just a mistress who seduces men—what right do you have?"

"What, gonna call all your sugar daddies to crush us? Hah!"

"You’re addicted to showing off—everyone here knows exactly what you’re worth."

"Yeah, were you born in a trash can or something? You’re really committed to the act!"

My old classmates burst into raucous laughter, spitting mockery without restraint.

I stared at the shattered phone on the ground and said coldly,

"I hope you’re still laughing in a few minutes."

At that, Sophie grabbed my collar.

"You bitch—are you threatening us?"

As she spoke, her eyes landed on the jade pendant necklace at my collarbone. They lit up instantly, and she snatched it off in one swift motion.

"This necklace doesn’t look cheap—did my husband buy it for you?"

My expression changed instantly. "Give it back!"

Seeing my sudden urgency, Sophie sneered.

"Nervous, are we? Looks like it’s worth quite a bit."

"It’s not worth much, but it’s important to me. Give it back!" I said quickly, reaching to take it.

That jade pendant was the only keepsake my parents left me. They were heroes—martyrs—and my greatest role models.

The last time I saw them was the day before my eighteenth birthday.

They told me that after one final mission, they’d be back to make it up to me.

I waited.

And waited.

But they never came home—only two urns and this necklace were delivered to me.

My superior told me they’d given their lives for the country, and entrusted him to pass this necklace on to me before they died.

It was their belated birthday gift.

My most precious treasure.

My reverse scale.

And I would never—ever—allow anyone to destroy it.