My Grandfather And His Pink Car

My grandfather, the company’s chairman, had an unmistakable obsession with pink.

Not only had he decorated his entire house in soft rosy hues, but he even had his newly purchased Rimac Nevera repainted in blush pink.

I was home for the summer. On the day he got his new car, he excitedly asked me to drive him to work.

We had just entered the underground parking garage when a black Rolls-Royce suddenly blared its horn and sped up to cut in front of me. It then slammed on the brakes without warning.

Unable to react in time, I crashed straight into it.

The driver lowered his window and cursed at me. His face was twisted with arrogance. “Are you blind? Vixen, can’t you drive?”

Swallowing my anger, I retorted, “You were the one who deliberately cut me off. How can you twist this around and blame me?”

He let out a mocking snort.

“You women in pink cars are hopeless drivers, yet you still blame others? You had it coming. You must be a new intern. Let me tell you something. You’ve just hit the chairman’s car. Get ready to go bankrupt!”

My grandfather and I exchanged a baffled look.

If that was the chairman’s car, what were we in?

Meeting my skeptical gaze, my grandfather, Harold Reid, flushed crimson and stomped his foot in anger.

“Isn’t this an insult to my taste? That pitch-black scrap of metal could never be my car!”

He lovingly caressed the soft, adorable pink interior of his own car. The blush paint gleamed as it caught the light.

“Just look at this color. This is what truly suits me,” he said with pride and satisfaction.

My grandfather had always been fond of anything soft and pink.

His house was covered in pink wallpaper, and he slept in a four-poster bed draped with a sheer canopy. Even the curtains glimmered in a sparkling pink hue.

As for the Rimac Nevera he recently purchased, he treated it as a prized treasure. The moment he acquired it, he immediately had it repainted in blush pink.

This was meant to be the first time he showed it off, but before he even had the chance, someone deliberately cut us off.

“That jerk! Let’s see who he is!”

My grandfather angrily rolled up the sleeves of his Hello Kitty shirt and was about to get out of the car to argue.

As I was afraid his blood pressure might spike, I quickly stopped him. “Please stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

By then, the Rolls-Royce owner had already walked over and was aggressively banging on my car door while muttering curses.

“What are you dawdling for? Get out of the car!”

When I stepped out, he took one look at how young I was and sneered, as if it had been exactly what he expected.

“I knew it. Just another ignorant woman. If you can’t drive, don’t get behind the wheel. Do you even know what kind of