Grayson never expected Emily to actually strike Quinn. Sensing the tension escalating, he found an excuse—that he had somewhere else to be—and politely exited the café.
Once he'd gone, Quinn rubbed her reddened cheek and glared at Emily in fury. But after a moment, she burst into giggles.
"Cousin, you really smacked me for real—so convincing that filthy loser must believe you truly fancied him! Now he'll be head‑over‑heels for you, the ultimate rich beauty. Mission accomplished!" Quinn chortled, then winced. "But ouch—why did it have to hurt so much? You owe me big time for this!"
Quinn didn't realize Emily had been genuinely enraged; she'd thought the slap was just for show. Emily merely smiled and said, "Don't worry—I'll make it up to you," concealing that the blow had been entirely intentional.
"You'd better," Quinn replied, her grin widening. "If you land Dylan with this trick, I deserve all the credit—you'll have to really thank me."
"Sure, sure," Emily said on the surface, while her mind raced: Ha! Mercer is a total worm—I'd rather reel in Mr. Cole myself! Fate has given me another chance.
"By the way," Quinn said, as if remembering something, "while you're pretending to date Grayson these next few days, be careful around him."
"Why? What's wrong?" Emily asked.
"That loser may seem simple, but he's a real creep inside," Quinn warned. "My best friend Lauren—you met her once, right? When Lauren spoke to him at the tennis courts, he got all enamored with her. He even asked me if Lauren would show up here today." Quinn sneered. "He's a toad lusting after a swan. You'd better watch your back—if he actually fancies you and clings, that's trouble. And don't ever go off somewhere private with him, or he might make a move."
Emily's face registered surprise, but her heart leapt: If Mr. Cole actually fancies me, that would be heaven! Still, Quinn's warning stoked her competitive spirit. She had to charm Mr. Cole first, before anyone else did.
"Hey, cousin, didn't you tell me about that top‑tier heir who uses fingerprint withdrawals and has a secret vault at our bank? Next time he comes in, find a way to get his contact info for me!" Quinn said eagerly.
"Why on earth would I give you his info?" Emily pretended confusion.
"But you already have Mercer lined up!" Quinn pointed out.
Emily merely laughed inwardly—if only Quinn knew that the "loser" was the very heir she'd once snubbed! All the more reason not to let Quinn in on the secret; she'd become a direct rival if she found out.
Meanwhile, Grayson had reached the school gate, in front of a Häagen‑Dazs shop whose entrance was lined with well‑dressed students from wealthy families. A single sundae cost upward of two hundred yuan—an impossible luxury for most.
Normally he'd ignore the place, but today he thought, Why not treat myself? He joined the long queue, head down.
Just then, he heard ironic giggles from behind—clearly a group of girls.
"Look at that raggedy outfit—buying Häagen‑Dazs!"
"Pathetic. Poor girls should stick to supermarket ice cream; leave the fancy stuff to us rich girls."
"One sundae and he'll be drinking plain water for a month!"
"So vain—probably photographing it for social media!"
"What a disgrace to his parents. If your family's poor, okay, but to be so gluttonous…worthless."
Their scorn stung Grayson's pride. Enough! He turned to see who they were. Three girls stood behind him, all attractive and dressed in current brands—no doubt from affluent homes. The tallest and prettiest, in a black leather jacket and gray "box braid" hair, chewed gum with a queen‑like air. The others, similarly well‑heeled, exuded the confidence of privilege.
Yet their glances weren't aimed at him—they were watching a different line beside his. Curious, Grayson followed their gaze: in the next queue stood a girl of slight build, wearing a plain ten‑yuan T‑shirt and baggy jeans. Her skin was fair and flawless, her thick hair framing a delicately featured face; her thin lips hinted at a graceful smile, though now her head stayed bowed in shame.
Grayson was puzzled. If she came from poverty, why queue for Häagen‑Dazs?
The loudest of the three girls strutted over and taunted, "Jasmine, are you deaf? We're talking to you!" Then she grabbed the girl's braid and yanked her head up. Grayson gasped at the sight: the girl was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her dark brows arched like inked charcoal; her eyes glimmered like mist‑veiled autumn pools—sad yet resolute. Her lips were set in a firm line, though her braid tug surely pained her. Still, Jasmine spoke not a word.
"Pathetic loser!" The girls grew bored of tormenting her, delivered a kick to her side, and released her braid. Amid the crowd's whispered disapproval, Jasmine meekly bought a single vanilla ice‑cream cup and slipped away, head bowed.
"What a shame," murmured onlookers. "That sundae could have paid her family's wages for days." Grayson felt a pang of sorrow: how could someone so lovely stoop to this? He peered as Jasmine passed and decided to follow—he had a mind to offer her a kind word.