He Threw Garbage at My Place, I Made His Home a Garbage Yard

To evaluate the living experience of our condo development, I randomly chose an apartment and moved in.

I didn’t expect that within just half a month, the neighbor had already thrown trash at my doorstep for three consecutive days.

When I went to confront her, she pointed her finger in my face and cursed,

“You bitch! Living alone in such a big place, would it kill you to take out a bag of trash for me?”

With that, she flung a bag of wet garbage right into my face. The liquid splattered, foul and reeking.

I stood there, not wiping my face, not saying a word.

What she didn’t know was that I had another mission here—

to designate one of the units on this floor as the garbage transfer station for the entire building.

Since she loved throwing trash so much,

I didn’t mind making her place the “perfect location.”

…

“Karen Miller, what reason do you have to throw trash at someone else’s door?”

I glared at the spiteful woman in front of me, forcing down my anger.

“Oh wow, so fierce at such a young age? Careful, you’ll scare off your chances of getting married.”

“Didn’t I just leave a few bags of garbage at your door? Throwing away trash gets rid of bad luck! The more bags, the more bad luck is gone! I didn’t even ask you for money, you should be thanking me.”

Her tone was mocking, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

Her words made my veins throb.

I picked up the bag she had just tossed and threw it back at her feet. “Fine! I’ve gotten rid of enough bad luck today. Why don’t I help you get rid of some too?”

Karen, who had sounded so nonchalant a moment ago, jumped back in fright from the bag at her feet. “We can talk, but why are you throwing things?!”

Then she started fake-crying, “Robert! Jason! Someone’s trying to hit me at the door! Aren’t you going to do something?”

Right on cue, a little boy’s voice rang from inside the apartment: “Let me see who’s shameless enough to bully my mom!”

The door swung open. Robert Miller and his son, Jason Miller, stepped out and stood on either side of Karen.

The three of them looked down at me with arrogant disdain, as if their mere numbers gave them the right to do whatever they pleased.

I raised my voice firmly. “Open your eyes and see clearly—it was your family who dumped trash first!

All I did was give it back. I never once threatened this woman’s safety!”

But Karen kept shouting, “All you ever do is go to work and hide at home. What’s the big deal about a few extra bags of trash? Would it kill you?”

So she even timed her dumping to match my schedule.

I shot back mercilessly, “And you—useless as ever—if all you can do is dump trash at other people’s doors, why haven’t you cremated yourself in advance?”

Karen’s face flushed red with rage. “You dare curse me to die!”

She hurled another bag of wet garbage straight at me.

Caught off guard, I took the hit square in the face.

Rotten liquid ran down from my forehead all the way to my legs.

I stood frozen, stunned.

Never in my entire life had I been treated this way.

The stench clung to me, choking me until I nearly vomited.

Across from me, the family of three pointed at my sorry state and burst into cruel laughter.

I wished right then and there that they’d all drop dead.

The only reason I had moved into this condo community was because my father was preparing me to take over the family company. He had given me a basic position to build experience—

and moving into one of our own developments was part of that process.