At that moment, the valet's face went pale with panic. In a few hurried strides, he hustled over to where Jordan and the others were standing.
"Hey! What are you guys doing? How did you end up crashing this Mercedes?"
His eyes were locked onto the damaged G500; he didn't even notice Grayson and Lauren walking away side by side. After all, when Grayson first arrived here, he'd been alone—now that Lauren had joined him, the valet wasn't paying them any mind.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm really sorry," Jordan stammered.
"Telling me you're sorry won't help a damn thing! Go apologize to that fancy young master who was driving!" The valet's expression twisted in embarrassment. Although he hadn't caused the crash himself, he was the one assigned to park the car. And even if the owner didn't hold it against him, he'd lost his chance to curry favor. In that moment, he despised Jordan and Quinn more than ever.
"You two—don't you dare run away. Actually, I mean all of you—no one is going anywhere! Get over to the side and stay put!" The valet pointed at the group with a furious scowl. Now that a serious incident had occurred, his only option was to corral them all and wait for the so-called "noble young master" to come sort everything out.
"They're with us, too." Quinn suddenly pointed toward Grayson and Lauren's retreating silhouettes.
Even toward her best friend Lauren, Quinn was in no mood to be kind. She thought: I introduced you to Jordan—if you two had hit it off, I could've taken some credit. But instead, you're ignoring Jordan and practically flirting with that loser Grayson. And as for Grayson, Quinn had never cared for him. So seeing the valet lose his temper was the perfect moment to throw her friend under the bus. Hmph—once the owner shows up, you'll get your share of punishment.
Her words had the intended effect, instantly catching the valet's attention.
"Those two! Don't even think of running! Get back here!" the valet barked, his voice echoing across the lot. He suddenly remembered that when he'd first come over, he saw Grayson and Lauren speaking with this group—now he was even more convinced that the pair were part of the same conspiracy.
"Grayson, stop right there!"
"Hey, Grayson—don't you dare walk away!"
Everyone else joined in, shouting as well. People are like that: when they're deep in trouble, they drag everyone else into it. Even if it doesn't help them at all, it makes them feel more balanced, somehow.
"It's over, Grayson—run! If he catches you, we might be held responsible too!" Lauren glanced back and noticed the valet sprinting toward them; a flicker of realization crossed her face. She grabbed Grayson's hand and took off in a full run.
Grayson felt a rush of amusement, but being pulled along by Lauren's hand felt strangely tender, as if an invisible warmth was guiding him. Without meaning to, he raced alongside her.
"You two—chase them down! Make sure they don't get away!" the valet yelled at Quinn and the others.
No sooner had he said it than Brandon, Jordan, and the rest—already annoyed with Grayson—stepped forward to block his escape. So the valet and a large crowd were now in full pursuit, while Lauren dragged Grayson ahead, sprinting as fast as she could.
For some inexplicable reason, Grayson suddenly felt as if he and Lauren were a pair of fugitives fleeing a fortress of horrors, haunted by a horde of monsters closing in on them. In that moment, he imagined their fates were bound together—life and death interwoven.
For Lauren, the sensation was even stronger, because she didn't know the G500 belonged to Grayson. She sincerely just wanted to pull him away from the mob chasing them.
"Stop! Stop right there!"
Eventually, they were caught. The valet had chased them with the desperation of someone running for his life, while Lauren, being a girl, simply couldn't outrun him.
"You punk, I told you to run! You really thought you could get away?" The valet grabbed Grayson's shoulder, yanking him backward with all his might.
Jordan and Brandon smirked coldly at Grayson—this loser must be scared stiff by now. Especially Quinn, who inwardly reveled in his misery: I told you to leave, but you didn't. Now look—caught red-handed.
Then the valet froze in his tracks. Although he'd only met Grayson once before, Grayson's shabby clothes paired with this million-dollar Mercedes had left a deep, unforgettable impression.
"Noble young master—i-is that really you?" he stuttered.
"Sigh." Grayson exhaled, a note of irony in his breath. Fate had a cruel sense of timing: after all his efforts to stay hidden, he was exposed now.
"Noble young master, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I mistook you for someone else, I-I thought you were…" the valet babbled, panic in his voice.
"Sir, why are you apologizing? You didn't make a mistake—he really was with us!" Quinn, momentarily confused, didn't grasp the valet's change in how he addressed Grayson. She assumed he thought Grayson wasn't part of their group. Of course, no one was paying attention to her.
"Noble young master, your keys, and… your car…" The valet respectfully handed Grayson the Mercedes key, about to continue.
Grayson waved him off. He suspected he already knew more about this situation than the valet did. "There's nothing more for you to do here. You can go."
"Huh?" The valet blinked, astonished. So he could just leave? The noble young master wasn't going to blame him for not minding the Mercedes?
"It's fine, sir. This doesn't concern you anymore. Go on about your work. I don't have any cash to give you a tip, or I would." Grayson offered a small smile as he said it.
Only then did the valet believe he meant it. Grayson wasn't angry with him—he let out a silent sigh of relief. He wouldn't dare hope for a tip now; instead, he bowed his thanks and hurried away.
Everyone else just stood there, dumbfounded, staring at Grayson.
"Grayson—th-that Mercedes… is it really yours?" Quinn could scarcely believe it. She was so stunned she could barely form words; her mind refused to connect Grayson with that magnificent vehicle. Yet the proof was right in front of her.
*Beep…*
Grayson remained silent. He pressed the panic button on his key fob, and the Mercedes parked not far away blinked its headlights twice—a definitive confirmation.
"I told you all earlier to leave—those of you heading to the bar, go to the bar; those planning to have fun, go have fun. But you wouldn't listen," Grayson said, and without another word, he strode straight toward the G500. He opened the driver's door and slid into the leather seat.
"No wonder when we finished dinner and came back out, Grayson didn't leave—his car was still here!"
"If he wanted, he could've come along with us and driven his own car, but he chose not to. That's real low-key."
"Exactly, and Jordan only crashed into his car a while after we left. He wasn't here for the spectacle—he thought we'd gone, so he came to retrieve his car."
"Right—if Jordan hadn't hit his car, we would've left ages ago. Wow, he drives such an awesome ride yet stays completely under the radar!"
"Oh, and remember when Jordan said he was late because he spent so long looking for a parking space? Grayson then asked him, 'Wasn't there a valet?'…"
"Holy cow, and you still had the nerve to talk? You said Grayson had no clue!"
"Sigh, I put my foot in my mouth. Turns out he's got a million-dollar car—of course there's a valet. We were just too narrow-minded to understand how the rich live."
"But this is unreal—Grayson's been in the tennis club for years, right? I always thought he was such a loser…"
The members of the tennis club whispered among themselves as they watched Grayson from inside the Mercedes. It was a shock none of them would forget.
Of course, the person most shaken was Quinn. In that moment, her brain simply couldn't process everything—she felt like a puppet, mute and immobilized, unsure what to say. She could only watch as Grayson started the engine and drove the Benz slowly in their direction.
*Beep!*
The Mercedes's horn blared, cutting off Brandon and Jordan's path. They leaped aside, scrambling to clear the way. The car glided to a smooth stop beside Lauren. Grayson rolled down his window.
"Lauren—want a ride? I'll drive you back to campus." He smiled warmly as he spoke.
"Sure!" Lauren, by now, had regained her composure. Yet her eyes shone with a new confidence and delight as she looked at Grayson.
Just as Victoria had done that morning, Grayson thoughtfully opened the front passenger door for her.
"Lauren, didn't you say you prefer the bus and don't like fancy cars?" Quinn's tone dripped with sourness.
"Huh?" Lauren smiled. "I did say that—except for one exception: I like riding in the fancy cars driven by Grayson."
With that, Lauren stepped into the Mercedes.
But Quinn still wasn't ready to give up. She suddenly turned back to Grayson. "Grayson—can you give me a ride, too?"
"Aren't you off to the bar?" Grayson asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not going," Quinn said at once, her eyes lighting up.
At a moment like this, who would want to hang out with Jordan and Brandon in a bar? If she could just sit in this million-dollar ride, snap a few selfies, and post them online—oh, that would be amazing. And she could talk to Grayson, learn more about him. She never imagined he was hiding something so impressive.
"Oh, you know what? Maybe it's best if you don't," Grayson said with a soft chuckle. "My car doesn't have seat warmers like a BMW 3 Series—sitting in it might be uncomfortable. You should take Jordan's car instead."
He shut the window, shut the door firmly, and pressed the accelerator. The Mercedes G500 roared to life and vanished down the street in a cloud of dust.
Even as it sped away, Quinn couldn't resist pulling out her phone and snapping a photo of its taillights.