It began as a sort of metallic bang which morphed into a screech Like nails scraping a chalkboard.

Luckily, Erica was driving at less than twenty miles per hour, and the black Emperor was a sturdy vehicle. Whatever had hit them wasn't going very fast, either; neither she nor Matthew felt anything worse than a slight tremor.

Sensing his driver's panic even though she didn't make a sound, Matthew commanded, “Stay calm! Just whatever you do, don‘t—"

But before he could finish the sentence, Erica did exactly what he was hoping to prevent and slammed on the brake pedal.

Rubber squealed against the road as they were thrown forward against their seat belts. Then there was a bang, and the car itself lurched forward a short distance.

As Matthew's wits came back to him, he guessed that they had been scraped by one car, then rear-ended by another.

Just then his assistant answered the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Matthew."

Sinking into the passenger seat, Matthew rubbed the spot between his brows and said in a helpless tone, "I'm on Sunny Road. There's been an accident; scratching and a rear-end collision. Arrange a driver to come and pick me up. Also, send someone else to deal with this mess."

He didn't open his eyes until he'd hung up the phone. Beside him, Erica seemed frozen in fear and dismay. As she gazed out the windshield, she held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

Matthew sighed quietly.

“Let's get out of the car and have a Look."

“O-okay." Gradually, Erica seemed to emerge from her catatonic state.

She was still unbuckling her seat belt when someone tapped on the window. From farther back, behind the black Emperor, someone shouted,

“Who the hell is in that car?!"

Instead of yelling back, Erica opened the door, got out, and took in the scene.

The car that had rear-ended them was a Volkswagen Phaeton-Luxurious vehicles, and this one was the still-more prized lengthened sub-model.

One could only imagine how rich its owner was.

The vehicle that had scraped then on the side was a Mercedes Benz,

G-Class. Despite barely being able to drive, Erica recognized both models.

In fact, she knew the Latter model at once; she had once mentioned it to Wesley. She'd asked, "Dad, if I get my license, can you buy me a

Mercedes Benz, G-Class? It looks so cool!"

Her father had squinted at her and mildly shook his head.

"Not the right car for you."

“No? I think it suits me well. I'll turn it pink after you buy it for me. It'll be such a cute little car..." Erica hadn't thought her request was unreasonable. At two million dollars, it certainly wasn't prohibitively expensive; for her family, such a price was pocket change.