My Driver's Girlfriend Banned Me From My Own Car,Now She's Begging for Mercy

I thought that was the end of it.

Then one weekend, on a whim, I decided to spend a couple of days at the suburban villa for a little getaway.

I called Alfred. "Where are you right now? I need to go somewhere. Come pick me up."

He hemmed and hawed for a long time before finally answering, his voice careful and measured:

"Ms. Pruitt, I woke up this morning and found the car had a flat tire. I'm at the auto shop right now getting it fixed. The mechanic says it won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Where are you headed? I can call a car for you, if you'd like?"

I frowned, not wanting the hassle.

"Forget it. I'll grab a cab myself."

After hanging up, I hailed a ride to the suburban villa.

But when I arrived at the front gate, I froze.

My Maybach was parked right outside the villa. Completely intact.

I stared at it for several seconds. Once I confirmed it was definitely my car, I quickened my pace toward the front door.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open, and the sight inside knocked the air out of me.

The living room was destroyed.

The coffee table and floor were littered with empty bottles, fruit peels, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts. The sofa and carpet—worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—were covered in dirty footprints. In several spots, cigarette burns had eaten black holes straight through the fabric.

My fists clenched at my sides.

I had bought this villa specifically as a personal retreat. Every detail of the décor, every piece of furniture, had been chosen with care. I maintained it meticulously, treated it like a sanctuary. And now these people had turned it into a dump.

My gaze swept the room and landed on the couch directly facing the door.

Cara was sitting there, surrounded by a crowd.

"Cara, you're so lucky to have found such a powerful boyfriend."

"Right? Not just rich, but so good to you. You mentioned wanting roasted sweet potatoes and he ran out to buy them like a puppy."

"When you're a trophy wife, don't forget about us little people, okay?"

Cara's lips curled into a smug grin. She was about to respond when she glanced up and spotted me standing in the doorway.

Her smile vanished. She stood, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode toward me, chin raised.

Crack.

Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face.

"You shameless tramp. You followed my boyfriend here?"

The blow came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning.

Everyone in the room stared, wide-eyed.

"Cara, what's going on?"

Cara jabbed a finger at me, her face twisted with disgust.

"This is the freeloader I was just telling you about."

"Mooching rides off my boyfriend wasn't enough. Now she's shown up to mooch off his house."

I looked at her in disbelief.

"Who told you this is Alfred's house?"

Cara let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"He did. Told me himself."

"You pathetic little gold-digger. You found out my boyfriend is the CEO of the company, so now you're pulling every trick in the book to get close to him."

"Bumming rides every day, manufacturing excuses to be alone with him—that wasn't enough? Now you've come crawling to his villa to throw yourself at him?"

"Let me make one thing crystal clear. Alfred told me he only drives you to and from work because you're an employee at his company. He's being generous. Don't mistake his kindness for an invitation."

So that was the story Alfred had fed her.

No wonder Cara had always treated me like dirt.

In her mind, Alfred was the one who owned the luxury car and the villa. He was the CEO.

And I was just some employee who worked under him.