Chapter 11: I will not marry you!
JJ blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She tossed her hair over her shoulder dramatically. "I'm beautiful. Maybe they want to ask for my number."
JJ nearly had an aneurysm. "Have your brains finally boiled over?! Is this the result of untreated stupidity?!"
Unfortunately, fate didn't give him time to scold her into next week because a black car abruptly swerved in from a side street, cutting them off.
Tires screeched like an angry banshee on rollerblades.
JJ's reflexes kicked in just in time, and he jerked the steering wheel hard, narrowly avoiding another crash. He immediately turned to Yeri. "Are you alright?!"
Yeri groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Almost got up close and personal with the dashboard, but yeah."
They both turned to look outside.
Men in tailored black suits spilled out of surrounding vehicles like synchronized dancers in a mafia-themed flash mob. They didn't speak, didn't blink, didn't even sneeze—just stood there, stoic and ominous, like action figures waiting to be unboxed.
Then came the final boss entrance: the car in front of them rolled to the side, making way for a sleek, arrogant Lamborghini Alston that looked like it came with a built-in growl.
From the passenger's side emerged a man who could have been sculpted by ancient gods in a particularly vengeful mood—impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome enough to cause international incidents.