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.

I tore off the note, turned around, and headed downstairs to the property management office. "I want to pull up the hallway surveillance footage and find out who stuck the note on my door."

The receptionist rolled her eyes. "The hallway cameras aren't under our control. They've been broken for two months, and we have no money to fix them. You did something shameful yourself, and now you're afraid of people leaving notes on your door?"

"Is this how your management team treats residents?" I asked.

She replied, "We only provide good service to normal residents. For someone like you who's ruining the environment of this complex, we're already being generous by not throwing you out."

Two residents waiting for the elevator nearby glanced over, covering their mouths as they whispered to each other.

"So, that's her?"

"She looks like a total slut. Serves her right."

Not a single person stepped forward to say anything. I looked at the employee badge on the receptionist's chest and took out my phone to snap a picture.

The receptionist sprang to her feet and pointed at me. "What are you doing? That violates my privacy!"

I ignored her and walked out of the lobby.

…

At 2:00 am, I sat on the living room floor with a black notebook spread open in front of me. The pages were filled with handwritten timelines, badge numbers, incidents, and evidence references. The list had already reached item 37.

I picked up a separate encrypted phone and dialed a number. It barely rang before someone answered.

"Ms. Stanton, do we need to step in early?" the person on the other end asked.

My gaze fell on Dexter's name in the notebook as I replied, "Wait two more days."

…

Dexter leaned against the guard booth window and let out a wolf whistle before raising his phone and snapping a series of photos of my back. "Hey, the beauty of the neighborhood is wearing a pretty short skirt today."

He had already added vulgar captions to the photo of me bending over to change my tire in the underground parking lot. "Free trial. 150 dollars for the night."

The photo quickly spread beyond the residents' group chat to the secondhand trading groups of several nearby complexes. My phone number was exposed, and I received hundreds of harassing text messages within a single day.

"Hey, gorgeous, how much for one night?"

"Add me on WhatsApp. I'm great in bed."

I took screenshots of each number and saved them to my evidence folder. Just as I reached the entrance to the stairwell, three older women stepped in front of me and blocked my path. The heavyset woman in front held a dirty mop across the stairway, completely blocking the way.

She said, "You shameless thing! Do you know my grandson lives here? A filthy woman like you struts around the hallway every day. What if you lead my grandson astray? Get out of here right now!"

I lowered my head and turned sideways, trying to squeeze through the gap beside them.

Another woman with permed hair grabbed my collar, her nails digging hard into my neck. "Where do you think you're going?"

With a sharp rip, the collar of my silk blouse tore open. All three women immediately looked at me with disgust. "Who are you trying to seduce dressed like that?"

I stared at them coldly. "Let go."

The woman with permed hair flinched under my gaze and instinctively released her grip. I smoothed down my torn collar and headed upstairs in my heels. A wave of curses poured out from behind me.

…

Over the next three days, the harassment escalated on every front.

Someone took my food delivery from my doorstep and threw it into the food waste bin along with the packaging. Someone else violently tore open my packages, rummaged through my belongings, and scattered everything across the hallway.

The valve on my water meter box was deliberately shut off. I turned it back on, but someone shut it off again the next day.

At 1:00 am, I was reviewing quarterly financial statements when someone suddenly started pounding on my front door. Fists slammed against it with deafening force.

"Open up! Open this damn door!"

Outside the door, Dexter was shouting drunkenly while another security guard laughed beside him.

Dexter continued, "Weren't you acting tough before? Why are you scared to open the door now? Come out and have a few drinks with us! Stop acting so innocent. I'm gonna see what you're wearing under those clothes today!"

The pounding went on for 15 minutes. The neighbor's cat across the hall shrieked in terror inside their apartment, but not a single door opened the entire time.

I called the police. Ten minutes later, a police officer arrived.

Dexter immediately changed his tune, nodding and pleading as he held out a cigarette. "Officer, this is all just a misunderstanding."

Jim appeared out of nowhere and produced a statement he had prepared in advance, stamped with the property management's official seal. "Officer, this resident previously attacked one of our security guards with a wrench.

"She seems mentally unstable and often starts hallucinating in the middle of the night. My brother-in-law was worried something might happen to her, so he came to check on her."

The officer glanced at my torn collar, then at Jim's earnest expression. "This is just a dispute between neighbors. It's late at night, so both of you should calm down and take a step back."

Right then, I took out my dashcam's memory card and handed it to the officer. "There's footage on here of him harassing me over an extended period."

Dexter's expression shifted in an instant.

Before the officer could take the memory card, Dexter lunged forward and snatched it away, hurling it down onto the concrete floor. He crushed it under the heel of his leather shoe until the plastic casing shattered into pieces.

Dexter shrugged. "What memory card? I didn't see anything."

Jim immediately supported his claim. "I didn't see it either. Officer, she's having another episode and keeps insisting there was some kind of card."

The officer frowned but ultimately wrote only a single line in the report, stating that both parties had failed to reach an agreement.

Before leaving, the officer pulled me aside and whispered, "Miss, you're not completely innocent in this either. He's just doing his job. Don't take things so seriously. Just let this one go."

"How far should I let it go? Until he breaks down my door and rapes me?" I asked.

The officer's expression stiffened. He said nothing more, got in his car, and drove off.

…

Early the next morning, I headed downstairs to the underground parking lot.

Construction debris was piled waist-high in my parking space, including broken bricks, chunks of concrete, and renovation waste. The pink Rolls-Royce Phantom was covered in a thick layer of brick dust, and several fresh scratches were clearly visible across the paint.

Just then, rain started pouring down. I took off my blazer, rolled up my sleeves, and cleared the bricks and rubble alone in the pouring rain.

Dexter sat beneath the awning at the parking lot entrance, legs crossed, smoking and laughing loudly with his coworker. "See that? That's what happens when people don't listen. Can you believe she called the cops? I'll make sure she gets out of this complex!"

Another security guard held up his phone to record me, doubling over with laughter.

After clearing the last brick, I was soaked through. I got into the car, opened the hidden compartment in the passenger-side glove box, and pulled out a black waterproof metal case. Inside, three brand-new memory cards lay neatly arranged.

The one that had been crushed was just a blank card worth less than a dollar. All the original data had already been automatically uploaded to a private cloud server through the car's built-in system three days earlier.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Dexter's smug grin.

Then, Dexter stood with his hands on his hips, blocking the gate at the complex entrance. "What memory card? I genuinely didn't see one. Prove that you got this car legally, and I'll let you through.

"This car of yours probably came from somewhere shady, right? Did some guy give you a stolen car? We don't allow criminals in this complex!"

He deliberately raised his voice, drawing the attention of nearby residents.

I didn't argue with him. I shifted into reverse, parked the car in the public parking area outside, and began walking in and out of the complex instead.

…

That afternoon, I returned to the complex carrying my briefcase.

Dexter stopped me right at the security booth. "Stop! Routine inspection! We've had things go missing around here lately. We suspect someone may be smuggling stolen goods out of the complex."

He snatched my bag and flipped it upside down onto the pavement. My lipstick, keys, notebook, and several packs of sanitary pads scattered across the ground.

Dexter nudged the lipstick with the tip of his shoe. He bent down, picked up a pack of sanitary pads, and waved it in front of more than ten residents. "Oh, this brand is pretty expensive. These are imported, right? Did your sugar daddy buy these for you, or did you earn the money by sleeping with someone?"

Passersby covered their mouths as they snickered, while a few older women pointed at me and whispered among themselves.

A young security guard who had only recently joined the team stood by the booth, his face flushed red. He stepped forward and tugged at Dexter's sleeve. "Dexter, that's enough. She's a woman."

Dexter spun around and smacked the young guard hard on the back of the head. "Who the hell asked for your opinion? Are you taking her side now? Get lost if you don't want this job anymore!"

That same afternoon, Jim fired the young guard. The guard passed by me while carrying a cardboard box, not even daring to look up. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry."