The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled-Chapter 177: A Symphony of Neon and Speed

Under normal circumstances, the vehicles that populated the subterranean garage were a testament to understated elegance and somber authority. They were invariably painted in shades of midnight black, gunmetal grey, or perhaps a deep, executive navy blue that swallowed the light rather than reflected it. Consequently, one rarely paid them much heed. They were simply tools of transport, blending seamlessly into the background of high society. However, today was evidently an exception to every rule Ethan Caldwell had ever established. The vehicle before them did not merely suggest a departure from the norm. It screamed it.

Julian Sterling narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the machine with a mixture of professional appraisal and personal bewilderment. He surmised that this particular car had undergone extensive modifications, likely stripped down and rebuilt from the chassis up, culminating in a paint job that defied all logic. It was true that BMW offered orange within their factory palette, but those shades were typically refined, a burnt metallic or a sophisticated sunset hue. This, however, was an assault on the senses. It was a shade of orange so violent, so blindingly luminous, that it resembled the ink of a fresh highlighter pen. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the garage, the bodywork didn’t just shine. It seemed to emit a radioactive glow, vibrating against the retina.

Damn it all. Driving this monstrosity out onto the public roads wouldn’t just turn heads. It would likely cause traffic accidents as drivers shielded their eyes. They would be the absolute focal point of the entire city, a moving beacon of ostentation that Julian found instinctively horrifying.

"You will understand in a little while. Just get in." Ethan urged, his voice laced with a maddeningly cryptic tone. The corner of his mouth quirked upward into a smile that was thick with hidden meaning, a subtle expression that left Julian feeling utterly perplexed. Despite the barrage of questions forming on the tip of his tongue, Julian chose to swallow them. He sighed, resigned to his fate, and obediently climbed into the passenger seat, clicking the seatbelt into place with a definitive snap.

Thinking it over as he settled into the low-slung bucket seat, Julian realized that his skepticism was well-founded. Based on the time they had spent living together, he had come to understand the man beside him quite well. Ethan Caldwell was not a man who indulged in hollow vanity or sought attention through garish displays. He certainly possessed no known predilection for psychedelic colors. One only had to look at the man’s wardrobe to confirm this. Ethan’s personal effects were a masterclass in minimalism, a stark rotation of monochromatic blacks and whites, crisp, clean, and utterly devoid of visual noise. Therefore, logic dictated that there must be a specific, perhaps even significant, reason for utilizing this rolling traffic cone for today’s excursion.

Ethan ignited the engine, and surprisingly, the sound that purred to life was smooth and disciplined, a stark contrast to the aggressive, flamboyant exterior of the vehicle. He navigated the car out of the estate and through the city streets with his usual competence, heading decisively toward the outskirts.

It was only after they had escaped the suffocating congestion of the urban center that the atmosphere shifted. Ethan turned the vehicle onto a secluded mountain pass, a stretch of asphalt flanked on both sides by dense, encroaching foliage that cast long, dappled shadows across the road. Julian glanced out the window, noting the absence of any speed limit signage. There were no warnings, but neither were there any indications of a maximum allowance.

It was at this precise moment that Ethan Caldwell underwent a transformation.

Shedding the calm, measured demeanor of the corporate titan, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator with a violence that shocked Julian to his core. The car, previously a docile machine, revealed its true nature. It surged forward like a wild beast finally unshackled after years of confinement, unleashing nearly every ounce of its horsepower in a single, breath-taking burst. The engine’s polite purr exploded into a guttural roar that tore through the tranquil silence of the mountains, a mechanical scream that echoed off the canyon walls.

The scenery outside the window ceased to be trees and rocks. It dissolved into a continuous, smeared blur of greens and greys, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. In the blink of an eye, they had devoured the straight stretch of the road and were hurtling headlong into a treacherous series of hairpin turns and switchbacks.

Ethan, however, seemed to be in his element. He navigated the curves with the grace of a conductor leading a symphony of chaos. The steering wheel spun fluidly in his large hands, his movements precise and economical. The tires screamed in protest, the high-pitched screech of rubber shredding against asphalt piercing the air as the car drifted through the bends, defying physics by mere inches.

Julian felt the brutal force of inertia pinning him against the leather seat, an invisible hand crushing his chest. He silently thanked whatever deities were listening that he had no history of heart palpitations and was not naturally prone to hysteria. Had he been of a weaker constitution, he surely would have been screaming his lungs out by now. What on earth was wrong with this man lately? First, it was the incessant teasing, and now he was subjecting Julian to some bizarre, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride.

Was this what happened when a man approached thirty? Was Ethan attempting to reclaim a rebellious youth he had never properly spent? Was this a mid-life crisis arriving a decade early?

"Hey! What exactly are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Slow down immediately!" Julian shouted over the roar of the engine, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle above the door. His face had drained of color, leaving him looking rather pale.

"Are you scared?" Ethan glanced sideways at him, his expression infuriatingly placid, as if they were discussing the weather rather than hurtling along a cliff edge.

"Scared? I’m scared your brain has malfunctioned! Where are you rushing to? Are we running a race against the Grim Reaper?"

"Be a good boy. Just wait a little longer, and you will see."

No sooner had the words left his lips than the man pressed down on the gas pedal once more. The car shot forward, slicing through a particularly sharp curve with such velocity that Julian was forced to inhale sharply, his breath catching in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm of panic and adrenaline.

So much for the image of the cold, aloof, and steady CEO. Ethan Caldwell had apparently rolled down the window and tossed that persona into the abyss.

Damn this lunatic of a man.

Julian felt that the number of profanities he had mentally uttered since meeting Ethan Caldwell must have equaled the total accumulation of his cursing from thirty years of his previous life, multiplied by ten. This man’s unpredictability was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity.

The car continued its reckless charge for another fifteen minutes, tires eating up the miles as they traversed increasingly bumpy and uneven terrain. Finally, Ethan slowed the vehicle, turning off the main road and passing through a large, rusted iron gate that looked as though it hadn’t been oiled in a century. They came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a dilapidated, single-story house. The structure looked old and ordinary, the kind of place one might overlook entirely, were it not for the colossal garage that had been built, or rather, aggressively expanded, alongside it.

At last, the man released the steering wheel and killed the engine. Silence rushed back in to fill the void. Ethan turned to look at Julian, a smile of immense self-satisfaction plastering his face: "We have arrived."

Julian leaned forward, peering through the windshield. His immediate reaction was to squeeze his eyes shut tightly. He took a long, stabilizing breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to verbalize his thoughts, which currently consisted of phrases like "an insult to aesthetics", "visual pollution", and "a crime against eyesight".

Because his line of sight was currently directed straight into the cavernous interior of that massive garage. Inside, packed closely together like sardines in a tin, were more than a dozen vehicles. It was an eclectic mix that defied categorization, there were low-slung, ultra-expensive supercars sitting bumper-to-bumper with cheap, common sedans that had been modified to within an inch of their lives.

However, despite the disparity in price and engineering, they all shared one singular, unifying characteristic. Every single one of them was painted in a color so garish it made one’s teeth ache. There was neon green that looked like radioactive slime, hot pink that burned the retina, lemon yellow, and a luminous purple that had no business existing on metal. It was a riot of tacky, flamboyant colors, a chaotic rainbow exploding in the middle of a desolate suburban landscape. The contrast between the bleak, rustic surroundings and this collection of high-octane Skittles was so ludicrous, so utterly devoid of taste, that it left Julian completely bereft of words.