Watching Jasmine's retreating figure, Grayson felt as if his heart was bleeding. In that mont, it was as though the sky itself had darkened—everything seed utterly aningless.
Jasmine... I'm so sorry. I had no choice. Soday you'll understand. One day you'll know the truth.
"Take him away!"
The dean of student affairs barked, and a few staff mbers shoved Grayson out of the infirmary.
"Wait a second," Sienna protested, her voice tense with resentnt. "That girl who ran out earlier—she must be in on this, too. You can't just let her go; she has to be brought in for questioning!"
Her face was stormy, her teeth clenched. Yes, at that mont she felt an inexplicable hatred toward Jasmine. Especially after watching Grayson and Jasmine each trying to shoulder all the bla for the other—Sienna's teeth felt like they were grinding to dust in her head. Even though Jasmine had fled, Sienna's mind refused to let it go.
"If you try to go after her, I swear I'll never admit I found that money," Grayson warned, glaring at the dean of student affairs, enunciating each word as if setting in stone.
To be honest, the dean was utterly exhausted by now. They already had Grayson. Just closing the case with his confession was enough—he ignored Sienna's demands and led Grayson out of the infirmary.
Back inside the dean's office, the dean didn't bother calling the police—after all, they were all students. Instead, he simply asked Grayson if he could repay the one million U.S. dollars within a year.
Of course he could, Grayson said. Although he was now broke, he promised to gather the money and pay it back in a month.
The dean nodded and said that since they'd confird who had "found" the money, the school would front the one million dollars to Professor Camille Hart for the ti being. Grayson would replenish that amount once he had the funds.
Of course, punishnt was unavoidable. The school imposed a formal disciplinary action, and the fact that Grayson owed the university one million dollars was publicly announced. But none of it mattered to Grayson at that point.
After leaving the office, his mind was consud by thoughts of Jasmine. He sent her a text asking where she was, but waited a long ti without receiving any reply.
Eventually, he walked to Mirror Lake—the place he and Jasmine often visited. Everything there was tinged with mories of her. Every drooping willow branch, every bush seed to carry her presence.
"Jasmine, I'm at Mirror Lake. I'm waiting here for you. I have so much to tell you," he texted again. Then he lay back on the grass, closed his eyes, and let the gentle breeze wash over him. If only Jasmine were lying beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
Exhaustion finally overtook him, and he drifted into a deep sleep.
Suddenly, he sensed movent beside him.
"Jasmine!" he awoke with a jolt, heart racing. But there was nobody there—just a waterfowl skimming over the lake.
For so reason, irritation welled inside him. He grabbed his phone and saw no new ssages. No sign of Jasmine. Disappointnt washed over him, and he tossed the phone onto the grass. No sooner had it landed than it rang.
Filled with hope, he snatched it up—only to deflate when he saw who was calling. At that mont, there was no one he wanted to speak with except Jasmine.
It was Quinn. Letting it ring stubbornly for a while, Grayson finally picked up with reluctance.
"Oh, President," he muttered.
"Grayson, what's wrong with you? Why did it take you so long to answer? Can you be any more oblivious?" Quinn began, scolding him in her usual brusque manner.
After finishing her lecture, she said, "So... are you free today? At Horizon Plaza? My cousin's off work today. You two t once already, and since there's mutual interest, why not et again and—"
Right then, Grayson rembered what she was talking about. Quinn's cousin, Emily, had been "courted" by a guy nad Dylan rcer, but she didn't like him. So she'd asked Grayson to pretend to be her boyfriend. And he had agreed. Today was supposed to be that date.
But at that mont, Grayson really had no mind for anything but Jasmine.
"President... actually, I have sothing going on today. Maybe next ti? Next ti I'll treat you and your cousin to dinner..." Grayson started, but Quinn cut him off.
"Grayson, are you kidding ? Who do you think you are? I told you to be there, and you're just going to blow off? My cousin's gorgeous, from a great family. You should consider it your luck that she's interested in you. Do you think I'm asking your opinion? No. I'm ordering you. I want you there!"
Then she added, "And don't move at a snail's pace. Her ti is precious!" She slamd the phone down before Grayson could respond.
He thought it over and figured he might as well go. He'd already promised Emily, and outright canceling would be rude. Even though his heart ached to see Jasmine, he knew that after his confession in the infirmary—admitting he'd "found" that million—Jasmine was still reeling. She needed ti to process the shock of believing he'd lied out of greed.
With that in mind, Grayson got to his feet and headed for Horizon Plaza.
anwhile, after hanging up, Quinn turned to Emily, who was sitting at her vanity, ticulously applying makeup. "Alright, Cousin, he's confird. That loser will be here."
"Hm. Good." Emily nodded. She'd overheard Quinn's call. Listening to her cousin's scornful tone towards Grayson, Emily didn't feel the need to correct her or suggest she be more gentle.
In fact, Emily had her own reasons for going along. Quinn, attractive as she was, was also competition. Emily secretly wanted Grayson to dislike Quinn, so she wouldn't be threatened later. And Emily hadn't yet discovered that Grayson was actually a super-rich heir. There was no way she would tip off her cousin. Let Quinn keep believing Grayson was a penniless nobody; that would work to Emily's advantage.
"By the way, Cousin, I need to tell you sothing else," Quinn announced suddenly.
"What?" Emily asked, lightly brushing mascara onto her lashes. This ti, she'd taken extra care with her makeup. At their last eting—at the Italian restaurant—she hadn't known Quinn had set her up with Grayson. She thought he was a lowlife, so she'd applied only a light layer of makeup. Now that she knew it was Mr. Cole, she was determined to look perfect. She wanted him to fall for her.
"Rember the dinner at Il Forno Trattoria—my boyfriend's friend was visiting from abroad? Guess who showed up unexpectedly?" Quinn asked, a taunting smile on her lips.
"Who?" Emily tried to act indifferent, though her pulse quickened.
"Grayson, that loser. I saw him at the entrance holding a crushed soda can. He was dressed like a total ss—like he was scavenging for trash. Ha!"
"Ha," Emily forced herself to laugh, inwardly delighted. Very good. Let her cousin think he was trash—let her mock him. The more contempt she showed, the more she could plant the idea that Grayson was beneath her.
"But get this," Quinn continued. "We really underestimated him. He didn't walk there—he drove. Do you know what he was driving?"
Emily's heart skipped. Not again—was Mr. Cole flaunting wealth?
"What car?" she managed to ask, trying to keep her voice calm.
"A rcedes G500. I heard it's imported—costs about a million dollars," Quinn revealed.
"Seriously?!"
Emily nearly jumped out of her seat. No way—Mr. Cole was actually showing off. That ant all sorts of other girls would flock to him. Her own competition was just getting fiercer. She chastised herself for not having pursued him sooner.
"Heh!" Quinn laughed triumphantly at Emily's reaction. "You probably thought he was one of those 'poor heirs' flaunting a rented car, right?"
"Actually, at first, I did..." Emily admitted, surprised at herself. She had believed he was a pretend-rich kid. But watching Quinn's contempt, she realized neither she nor her cousin had recognized that Mr. Cole was actually wealthy. Why?
"At first, I thought he was a genuinely wealthy heir, and I regretted not realizing it sooner," Quinn continued. "But then I snapped a photo of the license plate. I looked it up—turns out he's not the owner at all. He just rented it. That's why I say he's a pathetic poser. Makes sick!"
Hearing this, Emily felt relief flood through her. She nearly dropped her powder compact. She'd been terrified that Mr. Cole really was that wealthy, but if he'd only rented the G-Wagon, that ant he was still scrapping by.
"Isn't it laughable?" Quinn asked, grinning.
"Absolutely laughable," Emily agreed, her heart finally settling. "What a joke."
However, Quinn's next words made Emily freeze.
"But you still have to watch out," Quinn said, leaning in like she was about to share a secret.
"For what?" Emily asked absently, her brush pausing mid-air as she dabbed on foundation.
"I think that loser might actually be into you. He might be trying to win you over. So you'd better be careful," Quinn whispered conspiratorially.
Emily almost dropped her makeup. Both thrilled and bewildered, she forced herself to sound composed. "Cousin, why do you say that?"
"He rented that G-Wagon to look good for you," Quinn explained. "Otherwise, why would he—who's never shown off anything expensive—suddenly rent a rcedes right after I introduced you two?"
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