After My Fiancé’s Secretary Crashed Into My Red Flag Car, I Humiliated Them Publicly

Grandfather called me from my classified department, asking me to come home. He said it was time I met the man I’d been betrothed to since childhood.

The man in question had an impressive background. Not only was he good-looking, but he was also one of the most prominent entrepreneurs in the Hamptons.

To support me, my superior at the lab awarded me a custom vehicle—a sleek, black Cadillac Escalade ESV, complete with a federal license plate. It was a quiet show of force for my trip home.

I set off at the agreed time to meet the so-called fiancé, but before I even made it halfway, a Bentley Continental GT worth over a million dollars rear-ended me on Montauk Highway.

Furious, I stepped out of the car to confront the driver.

A woman leaned out of the Bentley’s window, glanced at the Escalade’s emblem, and casually tossed two hundred dollars at my feet.

"That clunky old domestic thing?" she sneered. "Two hundred bucks should be enough to buy you a new one.”

“Take the money and get lost. Don’t block my way.”

I suppressed the anger building in my chest and frowned. “You rear-ended me. You’re at fault. You think two hundred dollars can settle this?”

She scoffed, laughing right in my face.

“Country bumpkin. Do you even know whose car this is? It belongs to the Sinclairs.”

“Forget two hundred. The Sinclair family could make you kneel, apologize, and still pay me twenty grand just for the trouble.”

I stared at her, stunned for a moment, then lifted my phone and dialed the number of the man I was supposed to meet—Nathan Sinclair.

“I heard from your assistant that the Sinclair family can do whatever it wants in the Hamptons. Is that true?”

---

There was silence on the line for two seconds, as if he was trying to recognize the number.

Then Nathan’s voice came through, filled with irritation.

“Don’t call my private number without an appointment. Talk to my assistant.”

He hung up.

I stood there, phone still in my hand, stunned.

The woman in the Bentley burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.

“Oh, wow. I thought you were somebody, but it turns out Mr. Sinclair won’t even take your call.”

She looked me over from head to toe, her gaze dripping with contempt.

“Now you get it, don’t you? You’re nothing—a nobody. What kind of desperate toad thinks she can latch onto someone like Mr. Sinclair?”

Her mocking tone made me frown.

I had been willing to let it go if she’d shown even a shred of decency.

But her arrogance was written all over her face, as if she was entitled to be above the law.

There was no point in being polite.

“You hit my car. You’re clearly at fault. Even if you don’t want to pay, the least you could do is apologize.”

“Apologize?” she laughed like I’d told her the sun had fallen from the sky. She patted the hood of her Bentley smugly.

“I’m Wendy Walsh. I’ve been in the Hamptons for years. I’ve never apologized to anyone.”

“You know what this car is? It’s a million-dollar Bentley. A Sinclair car! If anything, hitting your junker was a favor.”

What a joke.

I was Sophia Sullivan, daughter of the Sullivan family. I didn’t need favors from people like her.

I couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore. I raised a hand and cut her off.

“Cut the nonsense. The traffic laws are clear. You rear-ended me. You’re responsible.”

“You little brat, don’t you know who you’re talking to? You want to talk laws with me? Let me tell you something—here in the Hamptons, I make the rules.”

“A Sinclair car could crash into a tank and no one would dare say a word!”

“You think you can challenge me in that outdated Escalade? You must have a death wish!”

She kept shouting, spittle flying dangerously close to my face.

I looked at her and couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’ve been Nathan Sinclair’s secretary for so long. You really don’t recognize this Escalade?”

“So what if I do? So what if I don’t? It’s just some government-issued domestic SUV. I wouldn’t drive it if you paid me.”

“If you’re smart, take the money and walk away. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Seeing that she had no intention of admitting fault, I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone.

“In that case, if you won’t be reasonable, I’ll just call the traffic police.”

It wasn’t a big deal. But maybe because Wendy Walsh was such a high-profile name in the area, people started gathering around to watch.

“That’s Mr. Sinclair’s car, isn’t it? What’s it doing nose-to-nose with an Escalade?”

“Looks like a rear-end collision. That Escalade driver’s got guts, going up against the Sinclairs.”

“Probably someone from out of town. Doesn’t know how much pull the Sinclairs have around here.”

The gossip from the crowd made Wendy stand even taller, her smirk practically glued to her face as she waited for me to back down.

I tightened my grip on the phone. I already had the emergency number on screen.

“This is your last chance. Either handle it by the book or let the authorities deal with it.”

Wendy laughed coldly.

“Go ahead. Call them! I don’t care if it’s the police or the President himself—I’m not afraid of anyone.”

I smiled and pressed the call button.

“Just remember what you said. Don’t come crying later.”