"My family's restriction has been lifted, and I can use the family fortune now," Grayson said.
"Yes, I received the notice yesterday too. I was wondering when you'd call this old man—never expected you'd call so soon, haha." The man Grayson called Grandpa Jenkins sounded genuinely pleased.
"Grandpa Jenkins, I want to warn the Sterling Gate Group," Grayson said.
"No problem—it's a small matter. Hold on, I'll look into it." Jenkins's voice was calm. "I've traced Sterling Gate Group's operations to Oregon, under our family's western branch. I'll immediately contact the head of that branch, Sebastian Caldwell. Young Master Grayson, what do you want to tell Sterling Gate Group?"
"Tell them not to touch SilverStream Company…" Grayson briefly explained Lila's family situation.
"Understood."
"Quickly, please."
"Rest assured, Young Master Grayson. It'll be settled within half an hour at most."
"That's good."
As the saying goes, a word from a superior sends the subordinates running.
By the time Grayson hung up, Jenkins had already used the family's secure line to call Sebastian Caldwell, the western‑branch head, ordering him to deal with Sterling Gate immediately.
In Oregon, the State Tax Director's office phone rang at once.
Seeing the caller ID, Director Daniel Prescott immediately set down his papers and answered, "Hello, this is Daniel Prescott."
"I'm Sebastian Caldwell."
"President Caldwell—hello, hello."
"Mr. Prescott, there's a matter: Sterling Gate Group has been acting up lately…"
Sebastian subtly conveyed Grayson's warning.
"Don't worry, President Caldwell—I'll handle it right away!"
Daniel Prescott hung up and ordered his driver to prepare the car—he would personally go to Sterling Gate Group.
"Mr. Prescott, Mr. Prescott is waiting outside to see you," the director's secretary said as she approached.
"Tell him to come back tomorrow," Prescott waved her off impatiently.
"But Mr. Prescott has been waiting almost two hours," the secretary reminded him.
"I said tomorrow!" Prescott snapped, slightly angry. Mr. Prescott's business was nothing compared to Sebastian Caldwell's. Prescott knew exactly who Sebastian was: neither an official nor a businessman, but a man of limitless influence—someone even the governor dared not ignore.
Sebastian had instructed him: Sterling Gate threatened SilverStream. Prescott didn't know why Sebastian would care about such a small company, but he knew better than to ask—he simply obeyed. It was time to teach Sterling Gate a lesson. As tax director, all he had to do was make things difficult for them on the tax side, and their operations would suffer.
So Daniel Prescott set out for Sterling Gate Group, determined to give its CEO a warning.
Grayson sat alone by the campus lake. It was peaceful here: the clear water rippled under drifting willow branches; in the distance stood the white teaching buildings; occasionally a waterbird skimmed the surface, and the only sound was the wind in the leaves.
Grayson suddenly felt glad to be single. When he dated Sienna, she was so clingy—big or small matters, she relied on him. He bought her meals, washed her clothes, helped write her papers, even bought her sanitary products. His life revolved entirely around Sienna.
Now, in this sudden quiet and freedom, Grayson realized being alone felt good—he could savor the world for himself.
His phone rang. Not Grandpa Jenkins.
"Hey, Grayson—come to the tennis courts, Court 3 in Zone West‑4," a female voice ordered.
"Um, I—"
"No 'ums'—you dare to ignore the captain's orders? Hurry up, I'll only say it once!" Click—she hung up.
Grayson was enjoying his solitude and really didn't want to go, but he stood, brushed off his pants, and headed out.
At Tennis Court 3, Zone West‑4:
"Here he comes, the ball‑boy has arrived!"
"Over here—move, don't dawdle!"
"Damn, can't run a few steps!"
A group of students waved him over. Among them, the most beautiful was a girl in a baseball cap, a Nike tracksuit top, pink athletic shorts, and Adidas sneakers—youthful and radiant.
"Why are you so slow? I called you ten minutes ago. This court costs fifty dollars an hour. Because you didn't show up, we've wasted all this time," she scolded, glaring at Grayson.
"Sorry, Captain—sorry!" Grayson hurriedly apologized.
The girl was Quinn Maddox, president of the tennis club. The others, including Grayson, were members too.
"Alright, enough talking—stand by the court and fetch our balls!" Quinn said without another word, turning back to her friends. "Ball‑boy's here—let's start!"
"Sure!""Okay!"
Quinn and the others began their match, while Grayson sat in the nearby rest area, watching. Whenever someone's shot went awry, he ran to retrieve the ball and toss it back.
"Why do you only fetch balls for them? Why don't you play?" a girl walked over and sat beside him, striking up conversation.
Grayson didn't know her—she wasn't in their school's club, but a friend of Quinn's. She, too, was very pretty, her smiling eyes curved like a crescent moon.
"That's because he can't play—he's only here to fetch balls. Besides, we all split the court fee evenly. He couldn't afford it, so fetching balls is the best he can do," interjected a tennis‑club guy who'd just finished his set. His name was Matthew Johnson, who always looked down on Grayson.
"If you can't play, you can learn," the girl suggested.
"Learn? Can he afford it? The court fee's expensive," Matthew sneered with superiority. "I don't know why people like him join a prestigious tennis club—rackets cost hundreds of dollars. He can't buy or play, haha."
He brandished his racket. "Look—this Under Armour costs over two thousand dollars. Tennis is a sport for the wealthy, not for ordinary folks."
After his little display, Matthew turned to the girl. "I'm Matthew, also in the tennis club."
"Oh, I'm Lauren," she replied politely. "I'm not from your school—I came with Quinn to play, but I don't know tennis, hehe."
"That's easy—come on, I'll teach you! You'll pick it up in no time," Matthew perked up, brandishing his Under Armour racket. "With my racket, you'll learn fast!"
"No, thanks. I'll just watch," Lauren demurred, then turned back to Grayson. "By the way—what's your name?"
"Grayson."
"You've heard mine," Lauren smiled and looked at him—charming. "Since neither of us knows tennis, we could learn together sometime."
She paused, then added, "Don't worry about the fee—I'll cover the court."
Grayson couldn't help stealing a glance at her. She was beautiful, sunlight glinting through the leaves on her hair, making it shine. She smiled at him sincerely, unqualified by any hint of condescension—even though he, in his plain clothes, was merely retrieving balls. In her eyes, he saw only honesty and equality.
At that moment, Matthew called out loudly: "Hey, Grayson—are you dumb? Go fetch that ball!"
Matthew had tried to flirt with Lauren, but she paid him no mind, instead chatting with Grayson. Embarrassed, Matthew returned to the court—but his attention never left Grayson and Lauren standing close under the bright sun, eyes meeting. Envious, he smashed a shot so hard that the ball flew through the side fence into the shrubs beyond. Then he called Grayson again.
"Don't go," Lauren frowned. "That shot went way off—how do you get it? It's dangerous in those bushes."
"It's fine," Grayson said inwardly annoyed—but since he'd come, he'd fetch it to spare gossip.
The shrubs were dense and prickly, forcing Grayson to struggle, but he finally retrieved the ball and tossed it back to Matthew.
"Ouch—you cut your arm," Lauren exclaimed, pointing to a gash on his forearm. His shirt was torn and blood welled at the wound.
"Stop fussing," Grayson brushed the blood on his pants.
"That won't do—I'll help you stop the bleeding."Lauren took tissues from her bag and unscrewed her water bottle, gently rinsed his cut, and dabbed it dry.
Unexpectedly, Grayson felt a surge of warmth—this girl was so kind.
Just then, Quinn's large figure strode over to rest. She saw Lauren tending to Grayson's arm and scoffed, "Aren't you afraid of getting dirty?"
"What's dirty about it?" Lauren replied without looking up.
Quinn was surprised—she'd never expected Lauren to treat Grayson so well. She now regretted letting him join the tennis club.