Meanwhile, Grayson navigated the Mercedes through the streets with effortless flair, Lauren riding beside him in the passenger seat.
"I never expected you to be hiding so much from me—you even fooled me," Lauren said softly, her gaze fixed on Grayson's profile. At that moment, her expression was a complex blend of surprise, a hint of confusion, and, deep down, a trace of bewilderment.
"Do you like what you see?" Grayson asked, his heart stirring. He'd decided that there was no point in hiding anything from Lauren anymore. She was a genuinely kind soul, pure at heart—nothing like the scheming people he'd encountered before, clutching after profit at the expense of others' feelings. He felt no reason to keep his secret from her now.
"I…" Lauren hesitated, and to Grayson's amazement, she shook her head. "I… I don't really like it."
"Wait—why not?" Grayson asked, startled.
"I still prefer the old you." Without looking at him, Lauren turned her head to the window on Grayson's right and gazed out at the passing cityscape. "When I first met you, you wore tattered clothes, but your eyes were so bright. Though people barked orders at you all the time, you took it in stride. That day, watching you, I felt like you were a blade of grass—any breeze could ruffle you, yet you just kept growing, hardy and unbowed."
Her voice softened. "Plus, you were so genuine. Everybody else around us was fake: I could see how Matthew tried to undermine you out of jealousy whenever he saw me talking to you. And don't even get me started on Brandon and Jordan's smooth-talking tactics with girls—or Quinn's scheming, though Quinn and I are best friends, so I've learned to put up with her flaws."
"In a world where sincerity is rare and so many people are phony, you stood out as someone truly sincere. That made me believe you were a guy worth knowing—and so I liked the old you. But today, I discovered I was wrong. You were hiding even more than I thought, manipulating everyone around you—me included. You fooled us all so completely."
Hearing that, Grayson stood in stunned silence. Yet, strangely, he found himself admiring Lauren even more. In times like these, girls with insight and depth were so few and far between.
"But still—you got into my car," Grayson pointed out quietly. "And at the time, you told Quinn you don't like riding in fancy cars, but you do like riding in mine… Why was that?"
That question made Lauren burst out laughing. "You are so dense," she said, smiling at him. "Sure, compared to who you are now, I do prefer the old you. But compared to Brandon and Jordan—well, I'd still rather be riding with you, no matter what."
"Oh, I see," Grayson replied. He felt a spark of joy mixed with a faint sadness—Lauren still liked the version of him from before.
"All right, I'll level with you," Grayson said. "That Mercedes isn't actually mine."
"Really?" Lauren's eyes widened in surprise. Grayson felt his good feelings toward her deepen even further. He suspected that if Quinn had learned the car didn't belong to Grayson, she would have bolted instantly.
"Yeah. It belongs to someone else—I'm only borrowing it," Grayson explained. And the words were not a lie.
"That gave me quite a scare," Lauren admitted. "I really thought you were one of those ultra-rich second-generation brats who pretend to be poor before showing off. If I'm honest, I can't stand that type of person. Thankfully, you're not like that."
Grayson's heart skipped a beat. Clearly, from now on he'd have to be extra careful around Lauren—his secret identity simply had to stay hidden.
Lauren still stared out the window, but now a slight smile traced her lips as though she were imagining something pleasant. "Listen, when we have some free time, let's play tennis together. I already bought a pair of rackets—one for you, one for me. And I'll cover the court fees. How does that sound?"
Grayson felt a warm tingle in his chest. "Sounds great."
They chatted idly for a while longer until the car pulled up in front of Stanton State University's School of Education. As one of the nation's top teacher-training institutions, its gates bustled with activity—nearly as lively as Hawthorne University. And because it was a teachers' college, there seemed to be beautiful girls everywhere you looked, each one striking in her own way.
"Let's walk the rest of the way," Lauren said, shutting off the engine. "I'll be fine if you drop me off here."
"Absolutely," Grayson agreed. He parked the Mercedes neatly at the curb and climbed out. As he took his first step, his foot snagged on something. Looking down, he discovered an empty drink bottle lying on the pavement. Unlucky day: he'd just tripped over a loose soda can outside that Italian restaurant, and now this.
He bent to pick up the bottle, intending to toss it in a trash bin. As he did, he overheard a pair of students walking past behind him.
"Look at him—what a civic-minded guy. He saw litter and picked it up right away," one voice marveled.
"Yeah, he's a model citizen. And his Mercedes is so cool, too," the other admired.
Strange how things could flip like that: earlier, outside the Italian place, when he'd bent to pick up a crushed can, Madison Pierce had sneered at him, calling him a scavenger. Now, doing the same simple act—but stepping out of a Mercedes—suddenly made him a hero in the eyes of onlookers. If those same students hadn't seen him get out of a Benz, would they have gushed over him? Or would they have mocked him, just like Madison did?
"Hey Grayson, what are you daydreaming about? Are you ever going to walk me to class?" Lauren's voice jolted him back to reality. She'd already moved five or six steps ahead and now glanced back at him.
"Right, sorry," Grayson replied. He needed to catch up to her, but holding an empty bottle and not wanting to drop it on the sidewalk, he saw no trash can nearby. So he set it gently on the Mercedes's hood, intending to dispose of it later after seeing Lauren to her door.
Once that was taken care of, Grayson hurried to join Lauren. They entered through the side gate and strolled along the university's tree-lined path. After a short walk, they arrived at Lauren's building, and only then did Grayson turn to head back toward the Mercedes. He would have liked to chat longer, but the scratch on the Benz's fender demanded attention. He had to drive it to the repair shop.
As he approached the car, he was greeted by an unexpected sight. A small crowd of four or five girls, each with a strikingly voluptuous figure, had gathered around the Mercedes. They were all dressed to accentuate their curves: one in tight jeans, another in snug shorts, a third in a very short skirt. Each exuded a blend of confidence and flirtatiousness that made Grayson's cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"What—what are you all doing?" Grayson asked, confusion and annoyance flickering across his face as he tried to part them.
Suddenly, one of the girls noticed him. "Hey, is this your car?" she called, a note of surprise in her voice.
Another chimed in: "We thought it belonged to some old guy—turns out it's a handsome young man."
Grayson bristled. "Whether I'm an old guy or a handsome young man has nothing to do with you. Step aside. I have somewhere I need to be."
But instead of moving, the girls grew even bolder. They closed in on him, noses nearly touching the Benz's gleaming hood.
"Big brother, pick me! I'm on the dance team—I can do the splits and all kinds of flexible poses," one of them purred.
"Handsome guy, don't listen to them. I've got top grades and a high IQ. Here—this is my transcript from past years. See for yourself," another added, thrusting a sheet of paper forward.
"Ooh, handsome guy, you're so wealthy—why not take all five of us?" a third flirted.
"Well? How about it, handsome?" a fourth prodded. "Say something already."
Grayson felt suffocated by this onslaught of attention, borderlining on harassment. Fed up, he shoved at them in frustration. "Listen, what are you doing? Why would I pick any of you? Do I even know you? I'm sorry, but I have to go. Please move out of my way now." He spoke with an edge of severity in his voice.
For a moment, the girls froze at his stern expression. Then anger flared across their faces, and they hurled insults at him.
"How shameless! You're playing with us!"
"Exactly—if you didn't mean to toy with us, why are you toying with us?!"
"So disgusting—cheating in the dating game. Go on, scram! I hope you never find a girlfriend in your life!"
"What a jerk! You think having money means you can toy with others?"
Hearing their furious outburst, Grayson was speechless. They acted as if everything was his fault—and yet it was they who had blocked his path!
"Wait—what did I do to you?" Grayson said, exasperated. "You're the ones blocking my car. How does that turn into me playing games with you? Have you lost your minds?"
One girl jabbed a finger at the hood of the Mercedes. "Oh yeah? Then why was this bottle left here? Don't play dumb!"
Grayson touched his head, baffled by her accusation. He bent down and looked at the hood, where sure enough was the empty drink bottle he'd set there moments ago.
It finally clicked. A sudden understanding washed over him: here in Cleveland, there was a unique street culture dating back to the late 1990s. After a night out, it was common for local youths to place an empty drink or alcohol bottle on top of a car as a kind of social signal. Over time, it evolved into a way of indicating interest—an understood invitation. And right now, these girls assumed that by leaving the bottle on his hood, he was signaling to them.
Realizing his mistake, Grayson could only force a sheepish smile. "Right—so, uh, I'm really sorry. I wasn't aware of that custom. I couldn't find a trash can, so I set the bottle here temporarily. I had no idea it would be interpreted that way. I'm not from around here, and I genuinely didn't know it meant anything else. Please forgive me. I actually have something urgent to take care of, so I need to go."
Without waiting for a response, he hopped into the Mercedes, stomped on the gas pedal, and sped off.
First order of business: drop the car off at the repair shop. He instructed the mechanics to restore it to its original condition, even if they had to replace factory parts—money was no object. After all, it was Victoria's car, and he had to make sure it was made perfect again.
Once that was taken care of, Grayson found himself stuck with public transportation on the way back. By the time he arrived at Hawthorne University, he was exhausted from the day's chaos. Yet there was one bright spot he couldn't stop smiling about: he'd just purchased two new villas. He imagined showing them to Jasmine—she'd be thrilled. Thinking of that made him feel the money had been well spent.
He was about to send Jasmine a text when his phone rang first. "Hey, bro—what's up?" came Jace's voice over the line.
"Where are you? Come to Nineteen Bar," Jace said.
"Tell him Lila's coming, too," Indie's muffled voice added, showing she was standing beside Jace, relaying a message through the phone.