10 Revenge

Gemma's POV.

During my lunch break, I go to the coffee shop next door as usual to get a coffee.

It's a national chain with a distinctive decor—wooden tables and chairs paired with lush green plants, and the air is filled with the rich aroma of coffee beans.

Every afternoon, I habitually order an iced Americano to perk myself up.

Today, there's a young employee at the cashier, probably around 21 or 22 years old. He's wearing a simple black T-shirt with a black cap pulled low over his forehead, almost covering his eyebrows, but I can still see a hint of a silver eyebrow piercing.

He has one hand resting on the counter, and the other is holding a phone.

I approach the counter and place my order. "One iced Americano."

He puts down his phone, barely lifts up his eyes to glance at me, and casually says, "Sold out."

I'm taken aback, assuming they might be out of ice, so I ask, "Then, an espresso?"

He's still in that lazy demeanor, responding indifferently, "Sold out."

My brows furrow as my annoyance starts to build up, but I still try to ask, "Then... a cappuccino?"

He finally looks up, his expression filled with impatience, "all sold out."

At this point, I'm furious. The coffee machine is right behind him, with coffee beans sitting on top of it, and there are other customers in the shop enjoying their drinks. And yet, he's telling me they don't have coffee?

Just as I'm about to confront him, the manager walks over. The manager is a bit older, wearing a professional smile.

He gently moves the young employee aside and sincerely apologizes to me, "This is our new employee, just started today. Sorry about that. What would you like to order?"

"One iced Americano."

The manager nods quickly and continues to apologize, "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. I'll prepare a double shot for you, on the house as compensation."

As he prepares my coffee, he turns to the young employee and says, "The table over there just emptied. Please go clean it up."

The young employee, with a reluctant expression, picks up a rag and goes to the table. He wipes it half-heartedly, just dragging the cloth across the surface a few times. But the circular coffee stains from the cups remain clearly visible on the table.

Seeing this, I can't hold back any longer.

As a car salesperson, and as a member of the broader service industry, I cannot tolerate someone like this tarnishing our profession and dragging down our image.

So, I take out my phone, and without hesitation, I leave a negative review for their shop, writing, "The employee at the front with the black cap and eyebrow piercing has a terrible attitude. He's bringing down the entire coffee shop's service standard."

Then I grab my coffee and head back to the dealership.

In the afternoon, I throw myself back into work, showing customers the new car models and accompanying them on test drives.

Before I realize it, it's almost time to go home. I notice that Luke is still busy in the office, so to avoid running into him, I quickly pack up and prepare to leave.

As winter approaches, the sky is already starting to darken, and the flow of people on the streets is gradually thinning out.

I'm walking, focused on my steps, when suddenly a man jumps out from the side and blocks my path.

"Are you the one who left me that bad review?" His tone is laced with anger.

I look closely and realize that it's the young employee from the coffee shop. He's changed out of his work uniform and is now dressed in flashy, over-the-top streetwear. He's wearing a pair of bright, eye-catching sneakers, and his hair is so heavily gelled that it looks like even a fly would slip off.

I play dumb, "What are you talking about? I don't understand."

"There was only one customer who ordered from me at the counter today, and it was you!" He glares at me, clearly not letting me off the hook.

I cross my arms and give him a cold smile, "Maybe someone else couldn't stand it either? They probably think your service is just as bad as I thought."

Upon hearing this, his face twists with rage, and his nostrils flare angrily. He spits out a vicious curse, "You bitch!"

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry." I move around him, continuing on my way.

However, he suddenly steps forward, blocking my path again.

"Delete the bad review!" he says through gritted teeth.

I can't help but laugh. This college guy, not even graduated yet, thinks he can boss me around?

Smirking, I look up at him. "Why should I?"

"The manager's docking my pay," he snarls.

"How much?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"A hundred bucks."

"Well deserved." I chuckle disdainfully and try to walk past him again.

But suddenly, he grabs my arm so tightly that I almost lose my balance. "You can't leave. I'm broke this month. I need that paycheck to survive."

I sigh, turning to face him. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Delete the review!"

He's clearly begging me now, but oddly enough, there's no desperation or pleading in his voice. If anything, it's more of a command.

Without hesitation, I refuse. "No."

His expression grows even more twisted with anger, and he suddenly raises his hand.

Instinctively, I close my eyes, bracing for the hit. This guy isn't just temperamental—he's violent too. I might actually get punched.

But the blow never comes.

After a few seconds, I slowly open my eyes, only to find that the guy's hand is being firmly held by another, much more elegant hand.

The fingers are long and smooth, with a texture like polished pearls. Yet the veins bulging under the skin exude a strong, intimidating force.

I turn slightly to see who the hand belongs to and find, to my surprise, that it's Luke.

He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit, standing tall and handsome, shielding me with his broad back. His entire presence radiates a powerful, mature charisma.

Suddenly, my heart feels like it's blooming with flowers.

I knew it! I didn't choose Luke as my boyfriend just because of his looks. I admire his masculinity—the courage and decisiveness to step up at critical moments!

The young guy isn't short either, but he's still a bit shorter than Luke. And with Luke's mature, professional aura, the guy's confidence visibly wanes.

Surprised, the guy's eyes narrow, but he quickly regains his guard, his body tensing up. "What, trying to play the hero and save her?"

To my astonishment, Luke smiles and calmly replies, "No."

"Then why are you stopping me?" the guy demands, still wary of Luke.

Luke gives a slight smile. "Because this woman should be dealt with by me."

I'm stunned, not understanding what he means.

Before I can fully process it, Luke has already turned around and, without hesitation, flicks me hard on the forehead.

With a loud "thud," a sharp pain radiates from my forehead, and I instinctively clutch it with both hands, crouching down.

Luke turns back around, as if nothing happened, and calmly takes out a tissue to wipe his hand.

After cleaning his hand, he casually says to the now-stunned guy, "Hey, I've paid her back for you. It's getting late, you'd better leave."

The guy looks at me, then at Luke, clearly not expecting this outcome. "Who are you to her?"

"That's none of your business," Luke replies coldly.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, but in the end, it's Luke's imposing presence that wins out. The young guy huffs in frustration and walks away.

Meanwhile, I'm still crouching on the ground, holding my forehead, and deciding to take back every compliment I've ever given Luke.

"Why you did that to me?!" I slowly stand up, my anger mixed with a hint of hurt as I confront him.

Luke glances at me nonchalantly, his hands still tucked in his pockets, looking completely unfazed. "What did I do to you?"

I point to my forehead, furious. "You hit me! That's domestic abuse! Are you even a man?"

Luke chuckles softly, then points to his own forehead. "Now we're even."