"That painting—I bought it at an art auction in Paris for three million dollars. Now tell me, how do you plan to pay for this?" Derek glared angrily at Lila.
Lila was stunned. As an art major, she knew exactly who Van Gogh was and understood what it meant to own an original. This was misfortune upon misfortune—just as she discovered Ryan's betrayal, she had to face this disaster. Three million dollars: that wasn't pocket change. Even her father, running a successful company, might earn that much in an entire year.
"Uncle, I…" Lila's voice wavered. Despair swept over her, and tears sprang to her eyes.
"Look, young lady, don't play the victim. Call your family right now." Despite Derek's respectful treatment of Grayson, he was a shrewd man—otherwise, he wouldn't have managed to get gang leaders to apologize at this very hotel. He had no sympathy for Lila's tears.
Lila dared not involve her father. If she called him now and told him she'd ruined a hotel painting and was sneaking out with Ryan in the middle of the night, would he believe she hadn't done more than just stumble out of a bathroom?
"Lila, what's going on?" Indie and Jace arrived just then. They saw Lila collapsed on the floor in tears and approached anxiously.
"Indie!" Lila hurled herself into Indie's arms and sobbed out the whole story: Ryan's deception and the smashed painting.
Indie and Jace stood there, mouths agape, nearly swooning on the spot.
"Holy shit!" Jace muttered, utterly speechless.
Indie's heart hammered. She forced herself calm and turned to Derek. "Sir, look, we're all students here. Three million dollars is a ridiculous sum—could you reduce it, even a bit?"
"Minimum two million," Derek said quietly, though seeing they were young and frightened, he felt a pang of sympathy. Still, two million would ruin Lila.
Lila could no longer bear it. She sank further to the floor and began wailing, paying no mind to her dignity.
Derek frowned. "Miss, running away and crying won't solve anything. You've been registered with your ID; I'll have a friend at the police station check your family's information, then call your father."
Hearing that, Lila panicked. She dropped to her knees, crawling to Derek's feet, face streaked with tears. "Uncle, please, I beg you—stop. You're so wealthy. You own this upscale hotel and can buy million-dollar paintings with ease. Please, spare me just this once! I'll work for you here every week, for free. I'll make you tea, I'll even dance for you—please, Uncle, anything!"
Lila's plea was half-madness, half-crazed desperation. The mere thought of Derek calling her father had unhinged her.
Indie and Jace slumped on the stairs, faces ashen.
Derek chuckled softly. "Miss, enough theatrics. Think about how you'll compensate."
Lila was utterly defeated—her world crumbling into despair.
Just then, Grayson emerged from the stairwell. He had heard most of the commotion. Originally, he had intended to ignore Lila and Ryan's quarrel, but upon learning that Lila had smashed a painting, he couldn't stand by. He cared about Indie and Jace, who were close friends with Lila; this scandal could drag them down too.
"Young…?" Derek began, startled to see Grayson. He realized that Grayson must have been awakened by the chaos earlier. Panic seized him—he feared showing any disrespect to the young master.
But Grayson beat him to it. He hurried over and blurted out, "Uncle, I know you paid three million for that painting. But think about it: the artist is a foreigner. You're an American—how can you justify spending so much on a foreign painting? Isn't America awash with great homegrown art?"
"Huh?" Derek stopped in his tracks, bewildered. What was Grayson doing? Lila looked up, eyes blazing with anger and disbelief—this boy must be here to mock her. At this moment, Grayson dared to lecture the manager like that? It felt like he was rubbing salt in her wounds.
But Lila was too exhausted to hurl more insults; she just sat dumbfounded on the floor.
"I mean, you're not wrong," Grayson continued in a concerned tone. "You shouldn't have spent so much on a foreign artist's work. So it seems to me we should just drop this whole thing. Don't make her pay."
What?! Lila's ears perked up. Did Grayson really just talk them out of paying? She couldn't believe it. Even a flicker of gratitude rose in her heart—if only for a moment. Of course, she immediately reminded herself that this was absurd. Three million dollars wasn't a trivial sum, and Derek had already made it clear compensation was nonnegotiable.
Indie and Jace forced wry smiles. Grayson's intentions were good, but talking about "American artists versus foreign artists" hardly seemed persuasive—what was he thinking? Only Ryan sat smirking; knowing it was all over, he secretly savored Lila's downfall.
Derek, however, was no fool. He'd fought his way up in the world, learned to read people and seize opportunity. Grayson's words—though odd—must have struck a chord. He looked at Grayson as if seeing him in a new light.
"Ah, young man, you're absolutely right!" Derek exclaimed, clasping Grayson's hand firmly. "I was foolish. As an American, there's so much great national art—John Singer Sargent, Edward Hopper, Georgia O'Keeffe—their masterpieces surpass those of any foreign painter. I would have spent millions on a foreign canvas when I could support our own artists? You've taught me a lesson, truly!"
Grayson inwardly chuckled. Lila and the others stared in amazement. How had his offhand comment—seemingly ridiculous—worked? The stern, imperious manager was suddenly acting like a contrite student.
"And what about the compensation?" Grayson asked, feigning concern.
"No need!" Derek declared loudly. Three million—or even two million—paletted in comparison to pleasing Young Master Grayson. If a few soothing words could make Grayson happy, it was worth it.
Lila couldn't believe her ears. It was really over? Just a few bizarre sentences from Grayson and the debt vanished? This kid was unbelievable.
"All right, let's go. Everyone get some rest," Grayson yawned, patting Derek on the shoulder as if to say he would remember this favor.
Derek beamed with satisfaction.
Back upstairs, Lila couldn't bear to stay with Ryan. He checked into his own room. No one paid him any mind now. Indie guided Lila back to her room to comfort her—this upheaval had shaken her deeply.
"Lila, I told you Ryan wasn't trustworthy," Indie said softly. "But at least nothing irreversible happened. You didn't…you know…sleep with him, right?"
"No," Lila admitted, cheeks red.
"Good. And today, Grayson really saved you. If it weren't for him, you'd be in real trouble."
Indie gave Grayson all the praise he deserved. Yet she couldn't help but wonder, "Lila, it's weird, right? We begged Derek and got nowhere. But then Grayson says something kind of nonsensical, and Derek agrees right away. How did that work? And why is Derek so respectful to Grayson? Do you think they know each other?"
"Know each other? No way!" Lila shook her head. "Derek's too big-time—buying multi-million-dollar paintings left and right. I can't imagine him being pals with someone like Grayson." She frowned. "If only I'd thought to say what Grayson said earlier—I could've avoided humiliating myself."
"Well, it's done—just remember to treat Grayson well from now on."
"We'll see." Lila waved her hand dismissively. "He just got lucky. Indie, don't go—sleep with me tonight."
"Okay," Indie agreed.
The next morning, Indie and Lila got up early and headed downstairs for breakfast. As they reached the stairwell, two young people burst through a nearby room—still in their pajamas—locked in a violent struggle.
The man shoved the woman, shouting, "You bitch, where do you think you're going?" He threw a wild punch at her head.
She shrank back, and his fist, aimed too hard, missed her and struck the painting on the wall. Crack! The picture frame shattered into pieces.
"Stop right there! You broke this painting?!" Derek, passing by, erupted in fury. Yesterday one painting had been ruined—today it had happened again. But yesterday, for Young Master Grayson's sake, he'd let it slide. Today, though, was different and there was no pardon.
"What's one lousy painting?" the young man sneered. He fished out his wallet and tossed a handful of bills on the floor. "Here—pay me how much you want."
"Pay? You think you can cover this?" Derek snorted. "Do you even realize that's an original Picasso? I spent a million on it!"
What?! The young man froze, then burst out laughing. "Uncle, you really don't get it, do you? You're an American—why buy a foreign painting? Don't you have any national pride? We Americans should buy American art! You messed up, Uncle."
"I love collecting foreign art, mind your own business!" Derek snapped. "A million dollars—any less, and you won't step foot outside this hotel!"
Lila and Indie watched, stunned, as the drama unfolded.