Keep Scratching My Car, I'll Keep Leveling Up

When Dexter Welch, a security guard who works in the residential area, sees me driving my pink Toyota Corolla everywhere, he's very certain that I'm a sugar baby who's being backed by her own sugar daddy.

On the first day, I see one word getting carved into the car hood. It says "bitch".

I merely give the hood a wipedown without uttering a word. Later on, I swap out the current SD card of my dashcam to an SD card that has a 512 GB memory.

On the second day, my car windows get smashed in.

When I go over to the property management office to check the security footage, the front desk agent tells me that the security camera overseeing my car "happens" to be broken.

Dexter leans against the desk with a grin on his face.

"If that car of yours is ruined, then so be it. Tell your sugar daddy to buy you another one."

I crouch down and take a picture of the damage. Then, I save it into a folder called "evidence" in my phone.

On the third day, two of my tires have gone flat.

When I bend down to pick up a spare tire, Dexter hugs me from behind all of a sudden.

He murmurs into my ear, "What's so good about sleeping with an old codger? Why don't you date me instead? I'm young and strong—"

That's when I grab a wrench and smash it right into his arm.

As Dexter nurses his injured arm, he glares at me.

"How dare you lay a finger on me! Go ahead and lodge a report, then! My uncle's the property manager here! What can you do about me, hmm?"

I silently note down Dexter's work ID without saying anything.

On the fourth day, I drive another pink car back to the apartment.

As soon as Dexter notices the flash of pink in its usual parking slot, he smiles as he exits the guardhouse. Then, he pulls out a key from his pocket and scratches my car with all his strength.

An older gentleman who happens to be walking his dog nearby freezes in his tracks. He sounds so startled that his voice actually cracks.

"Have you gone nuts? Do you know the model of the car you've just scratched? That's a top-tier Rolls-Royce!"

Walter Lambert, an old man walking his dog nearby, called out, "That's a Rolls-Royce Phantom! There are only a few in the whole country!"

Dexter Welch, the security guard at my apartment complex, froze for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Are your eyes failing you? A Rolls-Royce? In pink?"

He smacked Walter's hand away when the old man tried to stop him. "This wretched woman is that Toyota Corolla driver. She probably slapped a fake exterior onto some cheap junk car. Did you actually fall for it?"

Dexter's shove sent Walter staggering backward. Walter's face flushed with rage, and his finger trembled as he pointed at Dexter. "Young man, you just damaged someone else's property! You could go to jail for that!"

Dexter spat on the ground. "Mind your own business, old man. What did she give you? I figured it out long ago. You hang around downstairs every morning just to stare at her legs!"

"You're absolutely unreasonable!" Walter shouted. He clutched his trembling Pomeranian tightly to his chest and turned to walk away unsteadily.

Dexter still wasn't satisfied, so he turned back and dragged his key along the car, scraping off the paint and exposing the primer underneath.

I crouched down and aimed my phone at the scratch before snapping a photo.

Dexter kicked my phone away with a loud clatter. "What do you think you're taking pictures of? Who gave you the guts to do that? Do you think I'm scared of you calling the cops? Go ahead!"

Just then, Jim Griffin, the property manager of the complex, walked over. His beer belly jiggled with each step. "What's going on? Why are you two arguing this early in the morning?"

Dexter's attitude shifted right away. "Jim, this woman is stirring up trouble again. She's been sneaking photos of me with her phone."

Jim nodded and walked up to me. He reached out to pat my shoulder, but I stepped aside before he could touch me.

His hand froze in midair, and his expression darkened. "Miss, my brother-in-law said you hit him with a wrench yesterday. We've already filed a report. If you don't want this to get ugly, delete those photos and videos. We can both back off, and you can continue living here peacefully."

I replied, "He harassed me, damaged my car, and punctured the tires. That's a crime."

The fake smile on Jim's face vanished. "Miss, watch your words. Dexter can be a bit reckless. He was just messing around. But you hit his forearm with a wrench, and that's a real assault. If he actually gets a medical exam, it would be enough to put you in jail for a few days."

"He grabbed me from behind and said filthy things to me. Is that your idea of messing around?" I said.

Jim spread his hands. "Who saw it? The surveillance cameras just happened to be broken. What evidence do you have? I manage this complex. Your water, electricity, access card, and trash collection all go through me. Think carefully."

I noted down his employee badge number. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

…

That evening, a string of messages popped up in the residents' group chat. An account named "Property Assistant" posted a blurry photo of my back as I leaned over to grab a spare tire.

"Recently, some residents reported that the occupant of Unit 365 in Building 5 frequently brings different men home late at night.

"This has seriously disrupted the environment of the complex, and we've already reported it to the relevant authorities. Please stay alert and keep an eye on your elderly family members and children."

The group chat exploded instantly.

"So, that's the kind of business she runs. How disgusting!"

"No wonder she drives that beat-up pink Corolla every day. It's probably a gift from some guy she's seeing."

"People like her should be kicked out of the neighborhood! She's bringing down the whole place!"

I turned off my phone and walked to my front door. A printed note was stuck to the door that read, "Get out of this complex, you whore!"

Someone had also drawn obscene graffiti beside the note with a red marker.