The Heavenly Demon of Terror

After grabbing a pack of cigarettes, I casually walked out of the shop, expecting Abigail to have disappeared by now.

But no.

She was still there.

And not just standing there—she had completely lost her damn mind.

I stopped in my tracks as I saw the shattered glass of my Maserati's passenger-side window, the shards reflecting under the streetlights.

Abigail stood beside it, breathing heavily, her hand bleeding slightly from whatever she used to smash it.

I smirked, lighting my cigarette as I leaned against the shop's doorframe. "Tch. Persistent, aren't you?"

She turned to me, furious. "You have some nerve driving a car like this when—"

I held up a finger, cutting her off. "Ah-ah, Abigail. I don't give a damn what's coming out of your mouth." I took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke before smirking. "But I do know one thing..."

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of the damage.

Then another.