Chapter 1

On the night of the Valentine's Day, a big scene unfolded at the entrance of our neighborhood when seven luxury cars suddenly lifted off the ground.

My brother was yelling at the blown-off manhole cover, "Thanks for the rocket, bro!"

The property manager shoved the security footage at me: "Which one of you threw fireworks into the septic tank causing the methane explosion? The repair cost for the Rolls Royce Cullinan is 2.8 million!"

At the police station, my mom was in tears, pinching my arm, "Phoebe, just say it was you. Your brother can’t have a blemish on his record!"

I glanced at the family group chat filled with messages like "A sister should protect her brother."

I suddenly burst into laughter.

This time you can handle it yourself, dear brother—Logan "the Ground King."

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My brother Logan, known online as "Logan the Ground King," is a minor TikTok streamer, often performing awkward antics.

He couldn’t have picked a worse day—on Valentine's Day, he managed to blow up a manhole cover. That's real talent.

"Thanks to our top supporter for the rocket! Thanks, everyone!"

His altered voice, sounding like a raspy duck, was giving me a headache through the phone.

The camera focused on the dark manhole cover, while colorful comments filled the screen.

"Wow, thrilling!"

"This city knows how to play; even manhole covers can explode!"

"Why isn't the streamer showing his face this time? Is it really him?"

"Folks, today we're challenging ourselves to blow up a manhole cover! Thanks for the support! Double tap, mwah!"

His irritating altered voice came through the phone, making me want to reach through the internet and slap him.

In the live stream, I saw him light a string of firecrackers and toss them into the manhole.

The comments section erupted.

Before I could react, the screen shook violently, followed by a loud "boom."

A flash of white light filled the screen before it returned to normal.

In the camera, the manhole cover was gone, replaced by a deep, dark hole.

A few brightly colored sports cars suddenly appeared in the frame.

The nearest Cullinan had half a firecracker stuck on its starry roof, still smoking.

Another flashy Lamborghini had some yellow, unidentified object dangling from its undercarriage, fluttering in the wind.

The comments exploded.

"Cullinan owner: Thanks a lot!"

"Lamborghini: What did I do to deserve this?"

Seeing the familiar car logos on the screen, my hand shook, nearly dropping the phone.

Were those Mr. Wang and Mr. Li's cars? And my recently acquired Cullinan client's car?

The phone rang incessantly, displaying "Manager."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm: "Manager, happy holidays"

"happy holidays my foot! Phoebe! Look at what your wonderful brother did!"

"There are seven supercars at the community entrance! All of them got blown up! The Cullinan's starry roof is gone! Your client's cars! They're all your responsibility!"

"I... I know, Manager, I'm dealing with it now."

I hung up, my hands shaking.

Seven supercars, all my clients, and all with full damage coverage?

My mind buzzed, filled with emptiness.

My work group chat had over 99+ notifications already.

My boss's voice was cold: "Initial estimate, six million in losses! All have full damage coverage! Phoebe, tell me, who will pay for this?"

At this point, the family group chat was in an uproar.

My parents' calls were incessant, so I took a cab home.

Upon opening the door, everyone in the family was waiting in the living room.

The atmosphere was as heavy as a memorial service.

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