Chapter 414: Are You Blind?

Soon, Donna Thorne transferred the money back to him.

The phone screen locked, and she turned to walk away.

Brandon Jacobs glanced at the long, empty road, hesitated for two seconds, and then called out to her.

"I’ll give you a ride home."

It would have been better if he hadn’t said anything. The moment he did, Donna Thorne turned back and smiled at him.

Still smiling, she walked backward for a few steps before suddenly spinning around and bolting into the woods across the road.

’She didn’t need anyone’s pity.’

’She couldn’t care less about a ride in his car.’

’She never wanted to see him again—not even his shadow. She would rather cut through the woods to get home.’

Back in his car, Brandon Jacobs received a call from Faye Fisher.

"Dad had another episode. He’s in the hospital now. I plan on returning to Veridia tomorrow morning. I’ve already booked my ticket. Are you coming back?"

’Dad had another episode? Even she, his daughter-in-law, knew she had to go back. Wouldn’t I be an unfilial son if I didn’t go?’

Brandon Jacobs grunted his assent over the phone.

"Alright then. I booked a ticket for you, too. The flight is at 9:10 tomorrow morning."

After saying her piece, Faye Fisher hung up without a single wasted word. She didn’t ask if he was coming back that night or where he had disappeared to yesterday.

Brandon Jacobs was glad for the peace and quiet. He drove leisurely back to his separate hotel.

That night, he suffered from insomnia again.

’Reason told him that Donna Thorne wasn’t Elsa, and that seeing her again would do nothing to help his own life.’

’Besides, her character was nowhere near the same level as Elsa’s.’

But his reason had no hold over him.

He finally white-knuckled his way to dawn. Just as he was about to leave, perhaps never to return to Seacliff, the image of Donna Thorne sitting behind her aluminum pot, head bowed and lost in thought, grew ever clearer in his mind.

Ultimately losing control, he drove back to her neighborhood.

To call it a residential complex was generous; it was really just a block of dilapidated buildings.

Early in the morning, the entrance was crowded with breakfast vendors.

Some operated out of small, street-facing shops, others had set up stalls on the ground, and still others, like Donna Thorne, hawked their wares from tricycle carts by the roadside.

He had just parked his car when he looked up and spotted her—the exceptionally young and eye-catching Donna Thorne—in the crowd.

It was a rare sight to see someone as young, beautiful, and tall as her working as a street food vendor.

Fortunately, business this morning seemed better than the previous night. A few young men were gathered around her stall, and Donna Thorne was busy at work.

The boys were positioned in a way that blocked his view of her face. Unable to see clearly, Brandon Jacobs got out of his car and took a few steps forward.

Then, he heard her talking to them.

"Your flatbreads are ready. That’ll be 40 total."

She handed them the food and pointed to the payment QR code taped to her tricycle cart.

One of the boys took the food but didn’t scan the code to pay. Instead, he just grinned at her.

"So, how old are you? What’s your name? You gonna be here every day? Let me get your number. That way, if you don’t show up, or if you’re early or late, we can message you. Or hey, when you’re not busy, maybe we could grab a drink sometime."

Donna Thorne had heard lines like this countless times growing up. She was exhausted and disgusted by it, but she couldn’t afford to lose her temper.

"I’m here every morning, right on time, so you’ll be able to find me without needing to message. I’m usually pretty busy and don’t check my phone much, sorry."

"No matter how busy you are, you must look at your phone sometimes. It’s not like you can go a whole day without seeing a single message, right? It’s fine, I’m patient. Just add me. Or, hey, I’ll call you. Just give me your number."

Donna Thorne held her polite smile and paused for a moment.

"It’s not that you can’t get my contact info, but I don’t just add anyone. Tell you what. How about each of you buys one hundred flatbreads? After you do that, I’ll add all of you."

The boys were stunned. They never expected her to say something like that, and their expressions instantly soured.

"Are you fucking crazy for money? A hundred? What are we supposed to do with them, feed them to the pigs? We were doing you a favor by asking for your number, and you really think you’re all that? What the hell!"

As he spoke, one of them even took a drag from his cigarette and maliciously blew the smoke right in her face.

"We tried to be nice, but you just had to be difficult. You new here? Do you have any idea who we are? You really think you’ll be able to keep doing business here after pissing us off?"

"Alright, alright, that’s enough. She’ll learn her lesson in time. Let’s leave her be for today. Give her some time to think it over. Sooner or later, she’ll come crying and begging us."

With that, the boys swaggered off with the food, not having paid a dime.

Donna Thorne instinctively moved to chase them, but an older woman selling porridge from the next stall grabbed her arm and shot her a discreet, meaningful look.

She waited until the boys were out of earshot before she spoke.

"Just let it go. Your only choices are to stop setting up shop here or get on their good side. Those little thugs dropped out of school at fifteen or sixteen and act like they own the place now. They’re completely unreasonable. You know the saying, ’Young devils are the hardest to handle.’ Don’t mess with their kind. It’s not worth it."

Donna Thorne had been bullied by men far too many times. She knew she was no match for them, so she wisely took the older woman’s advice.

She returned to her stall in silence and stood there for about a minute, composing herself. Then, she began to pack up.

"Thank you, Ma’am. I won’t be coming back here."

The woman replied, "Alright. It’s probably for the best. Business is slow here anyway. This spot’s only good enough for old folks like us who can’t get around anymore. If you want to make real money, you’ve got to travel a bit. It’s still early, and that electric cart of yours is fast. Hurry over to the entrance of Number One High. The kids love to buy snacks after their morning study session ends. Plus, the vocational school is right across the street. Either way, it’s much better than here."

"Thank you, Ma’am."

Taking her advice to heart, Donna Thorne immediately fired up her tricycle and sped towards Number One High.

But she was too late. By the time she arrived, classes had already let out. The school gate was swarming with a sea of people, and food stalls of every kind were lined up one after another.

There was no space for her to set up. With no other choice, she drove her cart over to the vocational school entrance.

That area was also crowded with stalls, but there was still one empty spot available.

Donna Thorne pulled up to the empty spot, cut the engine, and hopped off. She started pulling and pushing the cart from either side, trying to maneuver its body perfectly into the gap, like parallel parking a car.

Her full attention was on the cart, so she failed to notice that the man selling savory crepes at the neighboring stall had been eyeing her from the moment she arrived.

With a heavy pot of batter, a gas canister, various miscellaneous items, and the weight of the cart itself, the entire setup was incredibly heavy.

Donna Thorne strained, finally managing to push the front of the cart into the space. Just as she was about to move to the back, there was a sudden THUD, and the man from the neighboring stall cried out.

"Ow! Are you blind? Watch where you’re ramming that thing!"

Donna Thorne quickly ran around from the back of her cart.

She saw the savory crepe vendor standing between his stall and the front of her cart, clutching his chest with a pained expression on his face.

"You hit me! Ow, that really hurts! I think you broke a bone! Don’t you have eyes in your head? It’s the first thing in the morning!"