My Rolls-Royce Got Modified, and I Went on a Rampage

The dealership called to inform me that my Rolls-Royce Starlight Headliner had been replaced with a pink one and was ready for pickup.

I was bewildered. I hadn't driven that car in ages—why would anyone change the headliner without my knowledge?

I confronted my husband, who managed our garage, demanding an explanation.

"Honey, maybe they got their wires crossed. I'll swing by the dealership later and sort it out."

I wasn't about to waste my breath. Instead, I called my friend directly—she happened to own the dealership.

"William's having an affair. I'm going to catch him red-handed."

Chapter 1

That Rolls-Royce was my first car ever, an eighteenth birthday gift from my mother. I'd personally customized the starlight headliner. Though our collection had grown and I rarely drove it anymore, I still maintained it religiously.

After marrying William Smith, he'd eagerly taken over managing our fleet, and I'd let him. Foolishly, I'd stopped paying attention.

Now my beloved starlight headliner had been inexplicably replaced with pink, of all things. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

The moment I hung up with my friend, I floored the accelerator and headed straight to the dealership.

Despite the electric vehicle craze, the legacy luxury car dealerships still had lines of eager buyers.

I approached the front desk with my ownership documents, ready to inquire about my vehicle. The receptionist barely glanced at me.

"You're claiming to be Mrs. Smith?" She looked me up and down with open disdain. "Miss, I'm warning you—identity fraud is a crime. The real Mrs. Smith was here an hour ago. She inspected the new interior and gave us a glowing review."

I stared at her, stunned. "Are you certain the woman you served was Mrs. Smith—Grace Smith? Because this is my first time at this location."

The receptionist scrutinized me with thinly veiled contempt. "Miss, I deal with hundreds of clients daily. I've developed a photographic memory for faces, especially VIP clients like Mrs. Smith."

"Besides, even if I'd somehow made a mistake, you think Mr. Smith would've gotten it wrong too? They came in together."

"I've seen too many women like you—social climbers willing to commit fraud to get ahead. What a waste. A young woman like you could do so much better than this."

As she berated me, cold clarity washed over me. Someone had stolen my car. And stolen my husband.

I slammed my documents on the counter. "You're going to give me answers. Today. Because I'm the real Mrs. Smith."

Without hesitation, she summoned security. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside. Just because you can't afford a Rolls-Royce doesn't mean you can make a scene here."

I was physically escorted out of the reception area. My knee hit the pavement hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

That's when I spotted a familiar figure sweeping past.

Dripping in designer labels—logos prominently displayed like trophies.

She wore a white Hermès suit, carried a limited-edition Chanel Year of the Horse handbag, and on her wrist... a jade bracelet that caught the light. An heirloom piece. Identical to the one my grandmother had left me.

The bracelet I kept locked away in my jewelry box.

How was it on her wrist?

I focused on her face. William's new assistant—Clara Hayes.

The receptionist practically tripped over herself rushing to greet Clara, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Mrs. Smith, your pickup paperwork is ready. Please, right this way to our VIP lounge."

"Mrs. Smith, you wouldn't believe the drama we deal with. Some crazy woman outside was trying to impersonate you. Security's already handled it."

Clara followed the receptionist's gesture toward where I sat on the ground.

Our eyes met.

For a split second, I saw it clearly—panic flickering in her gaze.