"Grayson, where are you? Hurry up and get to class—this is Management, don't be late!"
Grayson's dorm mate Miles sent him a message.
The Management professor, Dr. Leonard Hayes, was notoriously sharp-tongued and despised tardiness. Rumor had it that three late arrivals meant an automatic fail.
Grayson didn't dare slack off. Grabbing the plastic bag, he sprinted all the way—there wasn't even time to go back to the dorm—and burst into the lecture hall.
"Report."
Despite the rush, he was still late.
Standing in the doorway, Grayson felt every eye in the room fixed on him. For a full thirty seconds, Professor Claire Whitman never so much as glanced his way, continuing her lecture as though he weren't there. The atmosphere was painfully awkward.
"Did you lose track of time picking through trash? Do you even realize you're late? Are you a student—or a bum?"
Finally, Professor Whitman looked up, pushing her glasses back into place and unleashing a volley of insults. Clearly, none of her questions required an answer—this was pure humiliation.
The whole class erupted in laughter.
Indeed, everyone could see Grayson clutching that huge black plastic bag—it stood out like a sore thumb, especially since it was stuffed with a million dollars. And with his shabby clothes plus a "trash bag," he looked every bit the scavenger.
"Come on—open that bag so we can see what treasures you've picked up."
Professor Whitman sneered.
Roars of laughter filled the room again.
"No, thanks."
Grayson replied calmly.
Although she was a professor, Claire Whitman's contempt for poor students was well known; she treated wealthy, well-connected students with a smile and kindness. Grayson despised such two-faced people.
"Hmph. Take your 'treasures' back to your seat! And remember: two more late marks, and you can forget any credit for this class. The poorer you are, the more useless you seem!"
Seeing his compliance, Professor Whitman lost interest and barked the order.
Grayson obediently trudged from the door to his desk. Many classmates stared at the plastic bag, whispering to one another with snickering laughs—no doubt about his so-called "garbage picking."
Back at his seat, Grayson didn't listen to the lecture. He leaned forward and fell asleep. After all the chaos that morning, he was exhausted. This was the beauty of university: as long as you don't talk, cause trouble, or disrupt others, you can do whatever you like.
Just as he drifted off, a tap on his arm roused him. He opened his eyes to find Sienna standing beside him.
"All this—yours?"
She pointed at the plastic bag, which was now open to reveal stacks of US dollar bills. Sienna's face, devoid of the cold contempt she'd worn at their breakup, now blossomed into a coquettish smile.
Grayson felt a wave of disgust. Without replying, he grabbed the bag and stood.
"Baby, baby!"
Sienna's urgent call stopped him in his tracks. Hearing her call him "Baby" made his heart flutter—he remembered the night they made their relationship official, when she no longer called him Grayson but "Baby." When a girl calls you that, any man feels a fierce urge to protect her forever.
Instinctively, he paused and turned back.
But laughter suddenly erupted around him. Grayson looked down to see that he had never left his seat—he'd simply sat up—and the plastic bag was still sealed at his feet. Sienna wasn't speaking to him at all. He'd been dreaming.
Yet the call of "Baby" was real. But she was calling to someone else: a boy standing by the door holding a huge bouquet of roses.
That boy was Sienna's new boyfriend, Sebastian Lowe.
Sebastian wasn't strikingly handsome—his features were rough, and he was short and stocky—but he wore only name brands: Levi's, Louis Vuitton. He clearly came from money.
Grayson quickly understood: class had just ended, and Sebastian was there to pick up Sienna. She'd called out "Baby" to him, and the familiarity of that name woke Grayson, prompting him to stand. The class burst into laughter again at his confusion.
"I was calling my boyfriend—why are you standing?"
Sienna linked arms with Sebastian. Noticing Grayson staring blankly at her, she curled her lips into a sneer.
"You idiot—if you dare bother Sienna again, I'll have someone come beat you up!" Sebastian jabbed a finger at Grayson, speaking arrogantly.
Of course Sebastian looked down on Grayson. Not only was he rich, he was also a local, and he kept company with local gangsters who worshipped him like royalty—gangsters who, not working themselves, depended on wealthy trust-funds like Sebastian.
Surprisingly, some of the boys in class felt indignant at Sebastian's bluster. They might not respect Grayson, but a stranger from another class swaggering into their lecture hall to flaunt his money—and steal their girls—hurt their pride.
"Don't get mad, baby," Sienna said, full of disdain. "He's just a poor loser."
At this, she had no trace of the affection she once held for Grayson.
"Sienna Monroe!"
Suddenly another girl stood. "Sienna, you've gone too far! I never expected you to dump Grayson—on your own!"
Her voice shook with emotion—she seemed to have held back many words. This was Chloe Ramirez, a mutual friend of both Grayson and Sienna. The three used to be inseparable when Grayson and Sienna were together: hanging out, dinners, the works.
"Chloe, you…" Sienna stammered.
"Don't act so vain, Sienna," Chloe said. "But I didn't think you'd be this vain—dump Grayson for someone like Sebastian Lowe. Don't you know his reputation? He changes girlfriends every few months and preys on freshmen. You're with him just for his money, right? But why hurt Grayson? Is money really that important to you? Don't you remember how far Grayson went for you? That night when you had a fever and couldn't get a cab, he carried you miles to the hospital. When you were hooked up to an IV in the cold, he gave you his coat and ran in place outside to keep warm. Then, later, you said you wanted Coke—despite the late hour, he ran out and came back with it! You forgot that?"
"He truly loved you and took care of you. You said you wanted a new phone—he worked at restaurants for over a month to buy you one. I was with him when he bought it—do you know how thrilled he was at seeing you finally get the phone you wanted? He was happier than if it were for himself!"
"Enough!"
Sienna, furious and ashamed, snapped back, "Chloe, if you're still my friend, you wouldn't say these things! Dumping Grayson was the right choice. Even if he'd starved himself, he'd still be stuck with an iPhone SE—while Sebastian got me an iPhone 16 Plus. Sorry, SE, but I prefer the 16 Plus."
"Sienna, you've changed—you've become so vain and shallow." Chloe's tone was desperate, as though scolding someone she still cared for.
"Chloe, who are you to judge me?" Sienna retorted. "Did you think I wanted to be friends with you? I only befriended you because I thought your dad was a department chief—turns out he's just a clerk. If I'd known, I never would've been your friend. Fine—if you can't deal with it, we're done!"
Sienna wrapped her arm around Sebastian's and cooed, "Darling, let's go. Don't let these trash ruin our mood. Oh, tonight we're having steak, right?"
With her nose in the air, Sienna and Sebastian left.
"All right, stop staring—the show's over."
Chloe, who knew Grayson well, patted him on the shoulder. "I know you're hurting from your breakup. Come on, big sis will treat you to a feast."
"Not today," Grayson said honestly—after everything that happened, he just didn't feel up to it. "But in a few days, I'll take you to a Michelin-starred restaurant."
"Really?!" Chloe's eyes lit up. But she laughed, thinking he was joking—surely a Michelin meal was way too expensive, something like two hundred dollars per person.
Little did she know, Grayson could easily afford it. Not just Michelin, but any top-tier restaurant in the world—three meals a day, every day, no problem.
Grayson hoisted his plastic bag and, together with his dorm mates Miles and Tyler Brooks, headed back to the dorm.
Halfway there…
"Hey, why's the dorm empty? I'm back—brothers, come eat something!"
A message popped up in the WhatsApp group for Dorm 306—each of its four members lived there.
"Jace's home? Let's hurry back for the grub!"
"What do you think he brought this time?"
The three quickened their pace toward 306. Jace was their roommate but in a different school—an art major whose department didn't have enough beds, so he was bunked with the management students. An avid plein-air artist, he traveled for weeks at a time and always brought back local specialties.
Bursting through the door, Miles blurted, "Jace, dear brother, where's the good stuff?"
But as soon as he spoke, Miles froze, his face flushing scarlet. Tyler had the same reaction. Grayson, last in, stopped in his tracks too, staring in shock.
On Jace's bed sat a girl.