The Bentley driver was a young man, dressed in a suit and leather shoes which were clearly not cheap. He didn't seem like a full-time chauffeur.
He took a couple of steps toward the taxi, roared angrily, and then turned back, inspecting the front of his car with a face full of gloom.
The front of the car was scraped, and the headlights were broken.
How was he supposed to pick up anyone now!
"Get out! Can't you f*cking drive!"
The Bentley-driving young man bellowed furiously and hastily fished out a cellphone, dialing a number in a rush.
"Dad! I can't make it, the car's been scratched. Send someone else to pick them up..."
"Yes, yes, I know, but it's not my fault this time!"
The young man quickly explained what happened and seemingly ended the call, sinking into some despair.
Sensing that someone was getting out of the taxi, the young man immediately glared angrily over.
It wasn't just one person getting out of the taxi but four.
