"Are you crazy?" The woman in black stockings curled the corner of her mouth in utter disdain, then grabbed the young man's hand. "Honey, let's ignore this lunatic and go raise the money!"
She was certain Grayson had only co over to make trouble after being mocked, so she didn't take him seriously at all.
The salesperson sneered, "Buy? What are you going to buy it with?"
"With money," Grayson replied.
"Heh—do you know how much this villa costs? The deposit alone is a hundred thousand dollars. Do you have any idea what a hundred thousand dollars ans? Do you even grasp the concept of a hundred thousand?" The salesperson looked at Grayson as if he were an idiot.
To be honest, dealing with wealthy clients day in and day out had made her feel rich herself—she'd grown arrogant in her speech.
"I know."
Grayson smiled nonchalantly and tossed a plastic bag onto the desk. "The deposit is in here."
"madman—"
Before the salesperson could finish calling him crazy:
"Slap!"
The plastic bag burst open.
Stacks of cash covered the desk.
The salesperson's face went rigid, as though she'd been punched hard. She stood there speechless.
The woman in black stockings had already been pulling the young man toward the glass doors to go raise the money. They'd almost reached the exit when they turned back—and froze.
"This is nine hundred thousand dollars. I'll have the rest transferred to you in a bit," Grayson said, thinking he'd call Whitmore, the manager at Sterling Royce Private Bank, to send over the remaining hundred thousand.
"W-what?!"
The salesperson doubted her own ears. She'd already thought nine hundred thousand on the table was unbelievable—now he wanted to pay it all at once?
"You're not taking out a loan?"
"All cash—one million today, in full. Understood? If so, let's proceed with the paperwork." Grayson accepted a bottle of water from an assistant and sipped it leisurely.
Several staff mbers from the sales departnt were drawn over.
True, they'd seen so buyers who paid in full, but never soone in his early twenties, dressed in rags like a loser, casually carrying a plastic bag full of cash. They'd never encountered anyone like him—and they were fascinated.
"Sir, don't you want to tour the property first? Learn about the villa's layout? Oh, and I haven't told you its exact location yet..."
At last the salesperson's emotions settled, and her way of addressing Grayson changed. Just monts ago she'd spent ages explaining floor area, garden presence, orientation, number and position of garages—endless details—to that couple. After all, buying a villa is a major decision.
Grayson interrupted, "When you buy a bottle of water at the supermarket, do you ask the shopkeeper how many milliliters it holds, how much sugar it contains, what sweetness level it rates, or what material the bottle's made of?"
The salesperson blinked, dumbly: "No—I wouldn't."
"Exactly. So I won't ask all those questions, either. Just process the paperwork."
Her eyes widened in realization: this man buys a villa just like buying a bottle of water!
She dared not say another word and imdiately began the paperwork.
Grayson called Nathaniel, who—upon hearing it was Grayson—paid utmost respect and arranged to transfer the remaining one hundred thousand to the sales departnt account.
The couple watched, stunned. The black‐stockinged woman stared at Grayson with a mix of emotions.
"Mr. Cole, here are your keys. Your villa is Building 6 in Zone D, south side. All our villas are fully furnished and ready to move into—you can move in today."
Once the money was confird, everything moved swiftly. Soon the salesperson placed the keys respectfully into Grayson's hand. The gathered sales staff broke into spontaneous applause. They'd t many wealthy clients, but a young man in his early twenties paying cash in full—so carefree—was unprecedented. Naturally, their hearts raced.
The woman in black stockings now looked at Grayson with new interest.
"Move in? Who said I'm moving in?" Grayson sneered. "Does a garbage villa like this match my status? If I lived here, I'd be crawling with lice."
Everyone froze. To them, this million‐dollar villa was a dream. And now he claid it wasn't fit for him to live in?
"Mr. Cole, but you bought the villa..."
The salesperson felt awkward. The deal was done; she'd planned to offer congratulations and build rapport—but now Grayson had insulted her property. She stamred, unsure what to say.
"Must you live in every villa you buy? I just thought it'd be fun, so I bought it." Grayson replied.
The staff nearly fainted: "Bought it...for fun?"
So whispered doubts that he was showing off:
"Isn't he just putting on airs?"
"Sure, he paid a million cash, but that boasting is a bit much."
"If you're really that rich, why only buy the outer four‐story villas? Why not the townhouses? The standalone mansions?"
"So people buy a car then trash it as junk, buy a house then trash it as rubbish—it's all for show. They always end up moving in, though."
They thought Grayson was just posturing.
The salesperson, too, ntally smirked at the youth's arrogance: "Then, Mr. Cole—what is your aning?"
Grayson, having heard the whispers and noticed her smirk, remained unflustered. He pointed at the largest villa in the model—the only standalone villa in the center of the developnt.
"I an I want to buy that one, too."
The room erupted. Almost every eye in the sales office turned to him.
Whispering Pines had been on the market for almost a year; that central villa was never sold. Many had inquired, few could afford it, and even fewer committed. So had paid deposits, only to back out later. That villa alone covered two thousand square ters, with fifty ters separation from the nearest ho. It boasted its own pool, a private tennis court, even a basketball court—utter extravagance.
"Mr. Cole, you can't be serious?" the salesperson stamred.
"Just tell the price." Grayson said.
Silence fell. Even those who'd mocked him quieted down, still doubtful whether he was serious.
"Forty million dollars." The salesperson swallowed nervously. "Mr. Cole, that price reflects that you also get all the land within thirty ters around the villa, plus the basent is fully fitted with fresh‐air systems, HVAC, lighting, even hot water for showers. You could live in the basent. The design is avant‐garde—scientifically engineered—such as..."
"Stop." Grayson cut her off. "When you buy a bottle of mineral water, do you ask the shopkeeper about milliliters, sugar content, sweetness rating, or bottle material?"
The salesperson froze—she'd heard this before. Could it be that Mr. Cole truly did treat buying a villa like buying a bottle of water?
"Oh, and Mr. Cole, a young woman viewed this villa previously. She said she'd call in a week after discussing with her father..."
"Did she pay a deposit?"
"No—she said she'd think it over at ho with her dad."
"That's none of my concern."
Grayson wasted no more words and had Nathaniel transfer forty million imdiately—re pocket change to him.
As Grayson left the sales office, every staff mber lined up to bid him farewell.
The black‐stockinged woman's gaze clung to him like an octopus's tentacles, her shapely legs crossing and uncrossing as if swaying with spring's promise.
Pushing open the glass door, Grayson pictured moving in with Jasmine—what would her expression be, he chuckled to himself.
Just then, soone bumped his shoulder.
He snapped back to reality and saw a woman in her twenties with bright eyes, wearing earrings and high heels—the one who'd collided with him.
"Are you all right?" She looked kindly, not condescending. She surveyed him, then pulled fifty dollars from her pocket and offered it. "Sorry—that's my apology."
chanically, Grayson took the money.
The woman said no more, entered the sales office, glanced around, and then walked straight over to the young man and the black‐stockinged woman.
"Sis! Brother‐in‐law! You're really buying a villa here?" she asked.
"Heh, of course," the woman in black stockings responded, rising from her admiration of Grayson to embrace the young man. Coldly she turned to her sister: "You wouldn't have called just to ask that, would you? What's up?"
"I wanted to discuss planning Mom's birthday banquet," the younger sister smiled.
"Don't worry about that—I'll handle everything for Mom's birthday. You can keep your little salary for yourself!" The older sister said mockingly.
The younger sister smiled, used to such treatnt. "By the way, Lila had a car accident last ti. Though not serious, you should go see her—after all, you're her aunt."
"No need for you to teach that. I know." The woman in black stockings replied coldly.
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