Driving My Ex-Wife Home

"You have a new designated driver request. Please accept it promptly." The notification dinged while I was gnawing on a cold meat bun by the roadside. The pickup address was the "JL" club—a place I used to visit often. I hopped on my foldable electric scooter, the night breeze rushing through my collar, carrying the city's lively scent. A row of luxury cars was parked outside the club. I gave the order number, and the attendant pointed toward a black luxury car. The moment I opened the car door, I froze. In the front passenger seat was Yolanda Cruz, my sister. In the back seat by the window was Caroline Larsen, my ex-wife. It had been three years since I'd last seen her. Yolanda had styled her hair in loose waves and wore flawless makeup — no longer the little girl who used to trail behind me asking for candy. Caroline wore a loose dress, gently cradling her belly, her face softened by the early glow of pregnancy. "Driver, please take us to XJ Manor." Yolanda Cruz didn't look up, her head bent over her phone. I replied, my voice slightly hoarse. As I started the car, my throat suddenly itched violently. I covered my mouth and tried to cough as quietly as possible. "Caroline, stay away from him." Yolanda's voice suddenly broke out, clearly disdainful, "You're pregnant—don't catch anything from him." Caroline's eyes landed on me, resting there for two seconds. I could feel that gaze, like tiny needles, stabbing into my back. My cough wouldn't stop, so I reached into my pocket for a tissue and covered my mouth. "If you're really sick, maybe we should switch drivers?" Yolanda frowned, her tone sharp with impatience. I shook my head, my voice hoarse, "I'm fine. It won't affect my driving." The cabin fell silent, broken only by the faint hum of the air vent. "Frank Cruz?" Caroline's voice trembled, cutting through the heavy silence. My hand gripping the steering wheel suddenly tensed, and the car jolted slightly. Yolanda froze too, looking up with wide eyes. "Caroline, what did you say? He is..." "I'm Frank Cruz." I spoke first, keeping my eyes on the road ahead, not daring to meet their gaze. The air seemed to thicken; even the air conditioning felt warm and oppressive. "What are you doing here?" Yolanda's voice grew sharp. "Didn't Dad say you..." "I've been discharged. I'm working as a designated driver." I cut her off, my tone so calm it sounded like I was talking about someone else's business. "How can you, carrying a 'dirty disease,' work in customer service?" Yolanda's words stabbed straight into my heart like a poisoned knife. "Yolanda!" Caroline snapped at her, then looked at me with a complicated expression. "Sorry, she's young and doesn't know when to hold back." I smiled bitterly. "It's okay. I'm used to it." "Next Saturday is Carlos's birthday. We're having a party at home. Do you... want to come back?" Caroline hesitated for a long moment before finally saying it. Carlos Cruz, the adopted son of the Cruz family, was also one of the "accomplices" who sent me to the psychiatric hospital back then. "I'm not going." I gave a clear, firm refusal, without any hesitation. "Frank, don't be ungrateful!" Yolanda snapped. "Carlos is the head of the company now. If you get on his good side, it'll do you no harm!" I said nothing more and pressed harder on the gas. Just as the car turned into the entrance of XJ Manor, a silver luxury car pulled up right in front of us.