Chapter 299 Does Anne Live in the Slums?
After getting out of the detention center, I was in a foul mood.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out and saw it was Nicholas. Remembering how Anne said it was Nicholas who kept her out of jail only made my mood worse. I didn't want to answer, but considering Nicholas was my godfather, I had no choice.
"Hey, Godfather. What's up?" I tried to keep my voice steady.
"Diana, we need to talk. Meet me at the club where you last visited me, tonight at 8 PM. I'll be waiting." Nicholas's tone left no room for argument.
"Godfather, I have a question," I quickly said. "I don't get why you helped Anne. She's messed up so many times, yet you used your influence to get her out of the detention center."
"Diana," Nicholas interrupted me. "Things aren't as simple as you think. We'll discuss it when we meet."
I was about to ask more, but the line went dead.
Holding my phone, I was filled with confusion. What other connections were hidden in this mess?
I slowly drove away from the detention center, which was situated in a remote area, as if the city had almost forgotten it existed. The road in front of the detention center was full of potholes, making my car jolt continuously. The wheels kicked up dust, enveloping the car. All around me was nothing but desolation.
The engine's constant roar, combined with the wind rushing past, created a monotonous and annoying noise that unsettlingly disturbed my mind.
Through the rearview mirror, I watched the detention center fade into the distance. Its gray walls stood lonely in the barren landscape. Suddenly, someone blocked the road ahead. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively hit the brakes. The car shook violently, the tires screeching against the ground, raising a cloud of dust that quickly surrounded the car.
"Damn it! What's going on?" I cursed.
As the dust settled, I rolled down the window and squinted against the glaring sunlight. To my surprise, it was Anne.
She stood there with a smug, eerie smile on her face.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" I couldn't help but shout.
However, Anne ignored my outburst, walking provocatively to the other side of the car and tapping on the window with her finger. The sound was like a hammer on my heart, filling me with disgust.
I wanted to ignore her and drive away, but she held onto the door handle firmly, showing no intention of leaving.
After a moment of standoff, I reluctantly rolled down the window again.
"Diana, give me a ride home." Anne tilted her head slightly, her tone as arrogant as if she were giving an order.
"Why should I?" I suppressed my anger and asked coldly.
Anne replied, "If you don't, I'll just stand here and see what you can do about it."
She laughed, turning around and leaning against my car door with her arms crossed. Though I couldn't see her face, I could imagine the annoying expression she wore.I wanted to floor the gas pedal and leave her behind, but I knew that would only injure her, and she'd probably use it against me later.
After a long standoff, Anne showed no signs of giving up, and I had to get back to the office for a meeting. I had no choice but to agree to her demand.
"Get in," I said impatiently.
Anne smirked and opened the passenger door, plopping down into the seat.
Suppressing my irritation, I asked coldly, "Where to?"
Anne hesitated, seemingly surprised by my directness, then said nonchalantly, "Dawn Street."
"The slums?" I frowned instinctively, skepticism creeping into my voice. "You actually live there?"
Anne's expression darkened, as if I had touched a nerve, and she raised her voice. "What, surprised? Do you think I want to live there? It's only temporary. Once I have some money, I'll buy a place in a nice neighborhood or a luxury villa. You'll be the one who's jealous then."
I ignored her, silently turning on the GPS and starting the car.
But before I could hit the gas, Anne acted like she was at home, rummaging through my glove compartment and complaining, "These past few days in that hellhole have made me look awful."
She started applying makeup, her rough movements sending powder into the air, some of it drifting over to my side. Then she grabbed a lipstick and began applying it.
Seeing this, I asked, "What are you doing?"
I glared at Anne, barely containing my anger. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
However, Anne didn't care about my anger and kept applying makeup while teasing, "What's the matter? Upset that I'm using your stuff? Your taste really isn't that great anyway—nowhere near what I used to have. But then again, your taste has always been like this."
The car moved forward, but Anne's antics didn't stop. She tossed the used makeup items onto the seat and started fiddling with her hair, muttering, "Staying in that dump for a few days has ruined my hair. I wonder if you have any decent hair products in here."
She began searching through the car's other compartments.
Barely holding back my anger, I said coldly, "Can you sit still? Stop messing with my stuff!"
Anne shrugged, responding sarcastically, "Mad again? You think throwing a tantrum will change anything?"
Seeing she wouldn't stop, I slammed on the brakes. The car jolted, and dust rose again.
I turned to Anne, staring her down, and said slowly, "Anne, I'm warning you. If you touch my stuff again, I'll kick you out right now, and you can walk home."
Anne was startled, a flash of panic crossing her face, but she quickly regained her composure.
She pouted, muttering, "Fine, you win."
Reluctantly, she put the items back in the glove compartment and sat quietly, occasionally muttering under her breath but not daring to make any more big moves.
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