"What?! Five hundred thousand!"
A roar of shock rippled through the crowd below.
"Five hundred thousand? Ha! Grayson, are you so drunk on spotlight that you've lost your mind? Do you even know what half a million means?"
Sienna sneered, certain that Grayson had completely short-circuited his brain. "Let me ask you, Grayson: do you even have fifty dollars on you? I saw you earlier standing by the bus stop outside NovaMart—if you had five hundred thousand, would you be waiting for a bus?"
Her words were incendiary, and because she spoke with such confident certainty, it sounded like she had hard proof. One by one, people began to turn on Grayson, muttering nasty accusations.
But Grayson didn't bother arguing with Sienna. He strode over to the organizers' table, asked them for the donation account details, and immediately called Nathaniel Whitmore. Five hundred thousand dollars was nothing for Whitmore; within minutes, the money was wired over.
"Five hundred thousand dollars—Mr. Grayson has really donated half a million!" the host announced into the microphone as soon as the transfer went through.
"Once again, we'd like to thank Mr. Grayson for his generous contribution. On behalf of everyone organizing this fundraiser, I bow in gratitude!"
At that, the chairman of the event—a middle-aged man—hurried out from backstage to applaud Grayson. The entire audience joined in, clapping for a full minute until the host gently called for silence.
"I believe we can safely say that no one here doubts Mr. Cole's status as a second-generation heir, right?" the host asked, grinning.
Another wave of cheers and whistles rose from the crowd, firmly setting everyone's stance.
"I'd like to say a few more words," Grayson said, taking the microphone back from the host and sweeping his gaze around the audience of over a thousand.
The moment he had the mic, the crowd instantly quieted again, heads tilting upward in eager anticipation of his words.
"What matters is not whether I'm a genuine second-generation heir. What matters is that I donated this money so that children in impoverished areas can have a better learning environment. That's the most important thing," Grayson continued. "I think many of us fell into a trap earlier—we focused too much on my identity, questioning whether I was from money or not. Here, at this donor appreciation event, that was a mistake. We should be focusing on the fundraiser itself and, more importantly, on the kids who need help—not getting caught up in idle gossip about me. Am I right?"
For a few seconds, the hall was completely still. Then, like a tidal wave, thunderous applause swept through the room once more.
"That's absolutely right—so well said! Who cares whether he's from money when he's donated this much? His compassion and spirit alone are worth applauding!"
"Exactly—this is how a real second-generation heir behaves. You wouldn't see some nouveau riche or lottery winner at this level."
People nodded and praised Grayson in unison.
"Honestly, it's all that woman's fault. If she hadn't tried to stir drama, we'd never have been misled," someone muttered.
"Yeah, that woman—her motives are so obvious. She hasn't donated a single cent, yet she's here sowing dissension. Kick her out of here!"
In an instant, several people surged toward Sienna, grabbing and shoving her roughly, some even yanking her hair. Terrified, Sienna screamed as they shoved her toward the exit, and just like that, she was ejected from the auditorium.
Meanwhile, Grayson and Jasmine quietly slipped away from The Evergreen Commons at Willow Ridge.
"So you really are a second-generation heir, huh?"
The two of them found themselves by Mirror Lake—a place that had already become meaningful to them. It was here that Jasmine had once jumped into the water, and so this spot carried special memories.
"Yeah," Grayson said with a smile. Somehow, admitting it to Jasmine felt natural to him.
Jasmine neither smiled nor frowned; she simply gazed across the lake, her brow knotted in thought.
"You're upset, aren't you?" Grayson asked gently.
"No, I'm not," Jasmine replied hastily, snapping her gaze back. She forced a small smile before looking down at her feet, as though trying to hide whatever was weighing on her mind.
"Come on, tell me—are you mad because I lied to you for so long?" Grayson pressed on, sure that was what had upset her when she learned he was from money.
"No," Jasmine said, her head still bowed, fingers playing with the grass.
"Or do you think all second-generation heirs are arrogant, brats who only want power and status?" Grayson asked, inching closer. He dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, Jasmine was worried that he'd be unfaithful or spoiled. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth—if that was the case, it meant she cared enough to be jealous. "Trust me, I'm not that kind of person."
"It's not that!" Jasmine's voice turned sharper, almost agitated. Abruptly, she tossed the handful of grass into the lake and lifted her head, her eyes fixed on Grayson.
He paused, studying her. Her gaze was sorrowful—like moonlight filtered through clouds.
"It's not any of those things," she whispered. "I—I just feel that, because you're so wealthy, and I—well, I'm poor. I used to give you bruised, overripe fruit to eat, and now I'm thinking you must've thought I was so ridiculous. I don't deserve someone like you."
Tears spilled down Jasmine's cheeks, and without another word, she attempted to turn and walk away.
Grayson lunged to catch her—just a bit too forcefully. Jasmine, fragile as she was, let out a small cry as he pulled her into his arms. They tumbled onto the grass, entangled.
Lying on her back, Jasmine looked up at Grayson, who propped himself up on an elbow beside her, staring down at her intently.
"Our backgrounds are so different," Jasmine said, her voice trembling. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she tilted her head to the side.
Grayson chuckled. "What if our backgrounds are different? If I'm a second-generation heir and I still can't win over a girl from a poor family, I'd never hear the end of it. People would laugh me right back to my mansion."
Jasmine burst into a soft laugh. In that moment, her profile was breathtaking—her slender lashes, a few strands of hair curling around her petite ear, skin flawless as porcelain. She smiled at him sideways, a look that was both sweet and mischievous.
Grayson couldn't resist: he gently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Then, leaning in, he was about to kiss her cheek…
Suddenly, Jasmine sprang up, walked over to a weeping willow by the lake's edge, and picked something up.
"It's so pretty!" Jasmine exclaimed as she returned, revealing a small purse—a lady's purse in peacock-blue leather. It was beautiful. Grayson nearly groaned—if not for that purse, he would have kissed her.
"I guess someone lost it and didn't want it," Jasmine said, slipping the empty purse over her shoulder. "It's really nice." She beamed at it, and Grayson winced with a pang of sadness. This girl was so happy just to find a discarded purse. How had she managed before? How had her family gotten by?
"Go ahead and toss it," Grayson said softly. "I'll buy you a new one. As long as it's not Dolce & Gabbana, you name any designer bag, and I'll get it."
"No, I like this," Jasmine said, smiling. "It's pretty, and it works for me."
Before Grayson could reply, his phone buzzed with a text.
"All project group members, please report immediately to Room D203 for a meeting!" It was from the study-group leader, Luca Jameson Rhodes.
"My group's meeting is happening right now," Jasmine said, glancing at her own phone.
"Funny coincidence," Grayson muttered. Between Jasmine's group and his, he really couldn't skip a meeting. Besides, aside from Miles and Tyler—his dorm mates—and Chloe, whom he got along with, no one in his group had ever been friendly to him. Most had barely spoken to him; others openly looked down on him. Still, he couldn't miss it.
After parting ways with Jasmine, Grayson headed to Room D203. The moment he opened the door, he nearly ran into Tanner and a few other guys.
As soon as Tanner saw Grayson, he straightened up from his normally brash posture and subconsciously hunched his shoulders. Ryder and the rest behind him looked down as they passed by. Whatever had happened at The Evergreen Commons at Willow Ridge, they no longer dared treat Grayson the way they used to.
"Grayson!" Tyler and Miles, who were sitting near the front, waved him over.
"What's up?" Grayson asked casually.
"Who knows?" Tyler yawned. "Man, I was in the middle of a game when Luca—damn him—ripped the power cord out from under me. What emergency is so urgent that he had to yank me away?"
"Probably is something urgent," Miles said, patting Grayson on the shoulder. "Hey, did you see Sienna? She looks like hell—what's her deal?"
In the corner, Sienna sat alone, sullen and brooding, her mood clearly terrible.
"Bet ten bucks Sebastian broke up with her. That bitch got exactly what she deserved," Tyler said with a grimace.
Grayson just shook his head. He already knew why Sienna was in this state—everything that had happened earlier at Evergreen Commons came to mind. What exactly was she thinking now, though? He couldn't guess.
"Dr. Morgan's here!" Luca's voice echoed from the back of the classroom. Then a man in his mid-thirties walked in: Dr. Nathaniel Morgan, the advisor for Grayson's project group.
"Everyone, I called this meeting because something serious has come up," Dr. Morgan said, getting straight to the point as soon as he entered. "Ms. Camille Hart from the university's Financial Aid Office withdrew one million dollars in cash from the bank this morning. That money was supposed to be distributed as next semester's scholarships to all the students in need. But here's the problem—this morning, the money went missing. She's frantic, and she even fainted. Right now, she's receiving IV fluids in the campus clinic. If we don't recover this one million dollars, she'll be held personally responsible."
The room fell silent. Everyone exchanged anxious glances.
"So," Dr. Morgan continued, "if any of you have any clues—anything at all—please contact me immediately."
No one spoke for a moment as the gravity of his words settled over them all.