It was Grayson.
Before Jasmine could utter a word, Grayson took in the scene and immediately understood what was happening.
"Hey, isn't that the other broke loser from in front of the Häagen-Dazs shop the other day?" Kayla's voice cut through the hallway as she and two of her friends unexpectedly spotted Grayson. They exchanged glances between him and Jasmine, then burst into laughter.
"So those two broke losers are together now?" Kayla jeered.
"No wonder that little bitch Jasmine was giggling on her bed just now—turns out she's getting frisky, missing a guy," Tiffany Cruz chimed in, smirking.
Grayson had been on his way to confront them anyway, but Jasmine had stopped him out of worry. Now that Kayla's clique had come looking for a fight, Grayson had no intention of holding back.
"Did you guys beat her up? Why would you pick on her?" Grayson forced himself to keep his voice calm, though his anger roared beneath the surface.
"Why? Does someone need a reason to beat up trash like her?" Destiny sneered, as if Grayson's question were absurd.
"Fine, since you're so curious," Kayla shrugged, "this little bitch bought a bunch of rotten fruit and kept it in the dorm room. She even hogged the sink to wash it and chopped it up on the balcony, like she owns the place and uses our dorm as her own kitchen. I couldn't stand it, so I taught her a lesson. What's your problem with that?"
Grayson froze for a moment. Over the past few days—ever since he'd met Jasmine—she had often brought him neatly sliced fruit. He knew she had virtually no money; she could only afford half-rotten, discounted fruit. Yet she would take the time to cut it into perfect slices just for him.
"Got something to object with, or what?" Tiffany Cruz stared at Grayson like he was an idiot. "You defending this trash? You don't even know who you're dealing with."
Just then, a group of burly guys strolled over. They all looked like they'd spent countless hours pumping iron at the gym: bulging arm muscles, broad shoulders, towering frames.
One of them stood beside Kayla and said, "What's wrong, Fourth Sis? Has some clueless fool pissed you off? You don't need to get your hands dirty—let us brothers give him a little lesson."
He pointed directly at Grayson. "Kid, you wanna see if I can pick you up by one leg and drop you so hard you die?"
"Damn it," another snarled, spitting in Grayson's direction, "when did these broke bums forget their place? They don't know how the world works or how powerful some people can be. Ugh, pathetic."
"Kid, quit playing video games in your dorm like a loser. Get out there, learn the school gossip. Find out what "Iron Bald Eagle" is all about!" the first guy sneered.
Grayson was on the verge of laughing, but before he could say anything, a small, soft hand clamped around his. Jasmine squeezed his fingers and shook her head gently.
Jasmine didn't know about Grayson's true identity; she was just worried he would get hurt. Grayson felt his resolve soften. There was no point in sparring with Kayla and her gang right now—he could deal with them later. He took Jasmine's hand and began to turn away.
"Heh, what's the matter, scared?" Kayla taunted as Grayson tried to leave. She stepped forward, looking down on him like he was an ant. "Kid, if you've got any sense, dump that little bitch right now. You have no idea how powerful you're dealing with, or who exactly you've offended—a group you can't even begin to imagine."
Grayson led Jasmine out of La Trattoria and headed to the cafeteria. To be honest, he felt a knot of frustration in his chest. And also, Kayla's crew claimed to be part of something called "Iron Bald Eagle." He had no idea such bizarre cliques existed at his university—like a campus black market. What a ridiculous school.
"What's Iron Bald Eagle?" Grayson asked once they were seated.
"Kayla and her friends are all Iron Bald Eagles," Jasmine replied quietly as she ate. "It's an organization. Those gym guys are part of it too. Kayla is one of their core members—she's the fourth-ranked girl in the Iron Bald Eagle girl squad."
"Girl squad?"
"Yeah," Jasmine nodded. "There are seven of them—seven girls who form the leadership within Iron Bald Eagle."
Grayson nodded thoughtfully and then Jasmine spoke up again: "By the way, Grayson, I want to move out of the dorm. I'm going to rent a place off-campus."
Jasmine's tone was calm, as if she was used to being bullied. "There's a village outside the school that's about to be demolished. Rents there are insanely cheap—like two or three hundred dollars a month. A bit more expensive than the dorm, but I could work part-time nearby and earn something."
Grayson slapped his forehead. Of course—why hadn't he thought of that? Why keep letting Jasmine live in the dorm to be tormented by Kayla's crew? He would rent a place off-campus and surprise her later. He didn't tell Jasmine his plan now; he wanted to pull off the big reveal once he'd secured a place.
After dropping Jasmine back at the dorm, Grayson headed to his own room to grab a plastic bag bulging with cash, then set off to look for an apartment.
Not far from campus was a high-end residential complex. Grayson studied the community bulletin board and found a studio apartment that looked decent: 5,000 dollars a month.
He dialed the number.
Ten minutes later, he met the landlady, an elderly woman with a shrewd face—exactly the look of someone whose kindness had turned sour over time. When she saw Grayson in ragged clothes holding a trash bag, she frowned.
"You're here to rent?" she asked.
"Yeah." Grayson nodded.
"You're not some fraudster, are you?" she eyed him suspiciously.
"I'm a student at Hawthorne University," he said, pulling out his student ID for her.
Grayson didn't want to waste time. "Rent is 5,000 a month, three months' deposit plus first month's rent, so I'll give you 20,000 dollars now."
He reached into the trash bag to get the money. The landlady assumed his bag held clothes, so when she saw him pull out a stack of bills, she sneered even more—thinking poor people stash cash in old bags. She scowled and said, "Wait a minute. Deposit is actually six months, not three. If you want it, it'll be 35,000 dollars."
"But your ad said deposit was three months' rent," Grayson countered.
"Well, the ad was written incorrectly," the old woman lied, eyes darting. "Besides, I just renovated. The furniture and appliances here are expensive."
Grayson understood. She thought he would rob her the moment he moved in. Fine—he'd rather not rent from someone so untrustworthy. "I'll pass."
Whether three months' deposit or six, Grayson didn't care. But this landlady's character stank. If Jasmine moved in here, she'd only have more trouble. He walked away, annoyed.
Renting was a hassle. He thought about giving up—until a large advertisement loomed ahead:
🏡🌲 Luxury Home for Sale in Whispering Pines – Nature, Elegance, and Privacy Combined
📍 Location: Whispering Pines Estates, Asheville, North Carolina
💰 Price: $1,150,000
🏡 Size: 4 Beds • 3.5 Baths • 3,200 sq ft
🌳 Lot: 1.2 Acres – Private Wooded Lot
🚗 Garage: 3-Car Attached Garage
🛠️ Built in: 2019 – Modern Craftsman Style
Grayson laughed to himself. After three hard years, his mindset had really changed. Why rent when he could buy? A villa, even. Whispering Pines was just southeast of Hawthorne University—a top-tier neighborhood newly developed. He decided then and there to go to the sales office.
The sales office was breathtaking: soaring ceilings with a crystal chandelier, floors so polished they reflected every step, white and gold accents everywhere—utter luxury. And the hostesses? Each one more stunning than the last.
Grayson carried his plastic bag of cash and made a beeline for the restroom. When he emerged, a flashy woman in a tight skirt was in front of the sink, spitting spray-makeup onto her lips, batting her eyes at her own reflection. When she caught sight of Grayson, she frowned and shot him a contemptuous glance.
Grayson pretended not to notice and moved to the faucet beside her to wash his hands. The woman immediately scooted away, her posture stiff with disgust.
"Hey, you loser! You splashed water all over me!" she shrieked.
Grayson blinked, bewildered. The woman grabbed her purse and scurried away, utterly repulsed.
Outside the restroom, he saw that same woman draped over a young man—obviously a rich kid with designer clothes—who was chatting with a sales agent holding brochures.
"Honey, that's him! He got water all over me back there—so gross!" she clung to the guy's arm, whining coquettishly.
"Why are you letting some trash like him into a place like this?" the young man sneered, furious.
"Sir, I'm so sorry," the agent stammered, flashing a weak smile at Grayson. She's used to bums and beggars wandering in to use the restroom, so naturally she assumed Grayson was a vagrant because of the trash bag.
"Excuse me, sir, I have to ask you to leave," she spat.
Grayson shrugged. "Listen, this is a sales center—I'm just browsing. Trying to buy a house, if that's a problem."
He walked to the center of the showroom and stood before the scale model of Whispering Pines. He could see the entire layout at a glance: the outermost row were four-story duplex mansions; inside that ring were pairs of townhomes with their own courtyards; closer to the center, there were standalone villas. And dead center sat the pièce de résistance: a super-luxurious, single-family estate surrounded by the largest green space, a pool, lawns, rock gardens with fish ponds, and lush bamboo groves. A hidden oasis in the heart of urban splendor.
The agent rolled her eyes at Grayson; she was convinced he was just causing trouble. But when Grayson said he was interested, she had no choice but to treat him like any other potential buyer, though her face betrayed her contempt.
"Sir, the four-story duplex you're looking at—only one unit left. No options for layout. Of course, if you're willing to pay more, we have townhomes at $9,000 per square meter, or standalone villas at $8,000 per square meter…" she explained.
The young man from before waved his hand dismissively. "Forget it. We can't afford those. We can only buy one of those four-story duplexes on the edge."
"Very well. The edge units are $5,000 per square meter. It's 200 square meters total, which comes to $1,000,000."
"I'll take it!" the young man slapped the table triumphantly.
"Hubby, you're amazing!" the woman in black stockings cheered, hugging him tight.
"Great—sir, we'll need a $100,000 deposit," the agent said, beaming. Commissions were on the line.
"A $100,000 deposit?" The young man's face fell. "I don't have that much."
"Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do," the agent replied coolly. She was inwardly mocking them for nearly losing everything just to buy face.
"We have to get that place," the woman pleaded. "You have to figure something out. This is the last one we can afford!"
"Where am I supposed to find \$100,000 right now?" the young man raged, face red. "We sold everything we could, borrowed every penny—barely scraped together \$300,000 for the down payment. I thought \$10,000 deposit would be enough, but now you need \$100,000? Where the hell am I supposed to get that?"
"Sorry, sir, we can't hold it for you," the agent said without a hint of sympathy.
"Come on, let's just go borrow more money!" the woman in black stockings pleaded, shaking him frantically. Having a Whispering Pines address meant instant respect.
"It's too late," Grayson said, stepping forward. "I just bought that villa."