Emily watched Grayson's retreating figure as he disappeared down the hallway toward the elevators. Her heart sank with a small regret—she had almost kissed him. Still, she couldn't help feeling pleased: on her very first real "date," she and Grayson had progressed so quickly, and things had gone this far. With a few more outings like this, she was certain she could succeed.
"Cousin, you were amazing," Quinn called out, stepping up beside Emily with a knowing smile. From her hiding spot just outside the elevator doors, Quinn had seen everything clearly through the glass. "Wow—cousin, you really threw yourself into that. You were practically drooling over Grayson—hooking him like that just to rile up Dylan. It must've been delightful to watch. Honestly, you've gained so much. After you and Grayson left, Dylan just stood there dumbfounded, pounding his chest like he was in agony. If I had to guess, he's definitely going to start chasing after you now. Ha! Finally, you're free—ditch that loser Grayson and let Dylan pick up the pieces!"
Emily offered a quiet chuckle. She didn't bother to respond—there was no reason to dignify Quinn's teasing with an answer.
Meanwhile, Grayson had walked out of Horizon Plaza clutching the bouquet of flowers he'd just purchased. He checked his phone again—still no reply from Jasmine. His chest tightened. He felt like slapping himself. *Grayson, what are you doing?* he scolded himself internally. *While Jasmine is suffering, you're off here, tangled up with Emily? You should be with Jasmine right now, not wrapped up in someone else's arms.*
Even as the sky deepened into twilight, he knew Jasmine must have gone home to rest. Yes—he needed to go to the villa tonight and explain everything to her in person.
Grayson headed back toward Whispering Pines, the gated community where he and Jasmine shared the villa. Just as he was about to step inside, he saw a little flower shop still open by the front gate. An idea sparked in his mind, and he turned his steps toward it.
"Hello, sir—are you looking to buy flowers?" A young salesgirl, cute and freckled, with two little fangs visible when she smiled, greeted him warmly.
"Yes," Grayson replied. "There's a girl—she's kind and beautiful. I hurt her, and I want to ask for her forgiveness. What should I send?"
The salesgirl tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hmm… I'd recommend a combination of pink roses and white Eleanor orchids. Pink roses stand for gentle remorse and sincere appreciation, while the white Eleanor—also known as a 'Summergrass orchid'—means 'hoping for reconciliation.' Together, they're a perfect message. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great—let's do those two," Grayson said with relief.
Moments later, the girl had prepared a large, lavish bouquet of a dozen pink roses intertwined with white Eleanor orchids, all wrapped in pale green tissue.
"Sir, that comes to eighty-five dollars—twelve pink roses plus the white Eleanor orchid arrangement. I hope these help you succeed!" She handed him the bouquet with a bright smile.
Grayson rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a hundred. "Keep the change—consider it a tip!" he said, gratitude lighting his eyes. He felt a rush of happiness that he'd found this flower shop, and this sweet salesgirl had recommended exactly the right blooms.
"Wow—thank you so much!" the girl exclaimed, practically beaming. "Oh, sir, wait—let me write a little note for you. It'll make your gift even more meaningful."
"Absolutely—please do," Grayson agreed.
She took a delicate sheet of stationery and carefully wrote in neat looping letters:
Hello, beautiful. Your boyfriend is the best customer this flower shop has ever had. I'm so envious that you have such an amazing guy—may he always protect you.
When she handed him the note, Grayson felt even more confident. Clutching the bouquet and the note, he finally entered Whispering Pines.
With each step toward the villa, Grayson's heart pounded faster. The sky was nearly completely dark now, but he could see a single light burning behind the curtains of the living room window. Seeing the light on comforted him—if Jasmine had come home, that meant she still cared enough to use the electricity. His pulse eased slightly. Carefully balancing the bouquet, he hurried up the steps and unlocked the front door.
"Jasmine—I'm home! Look what I got you!" he called, stepping into the living room and raising the flowers so she could see.
But when he stepped fully inside, he froze. The lamp was on, but there was no sign of Jasmine anywhere.
His mind jolted. *She's not here.*
He dashed up the staircase, first to her bedroom, then to the kitchen, checking every closet and corner. No one—she wasn't in the villa.
Then it hit him: the living-room lamp was still on because he and Jasmine had tested it together earlier that afternoon. They'd forgotten to turn it off when they left. Reality sunk in with a punch to his gut. *She never came home.*
He sank to the floor, letting the flowers slip from his fingers and scatter across the hardwood—petals and stray leaves fluttering like broken promises.
If Jasmine had never come back, where could she be? Back at the dorm? Forced to share a room with Kayla and those other girls who tormented her? He felt his heart wrench in agony, imagining Jasmine enduring another night of their cruelty, trapped in that place because of him.
He grabbed his phone and called again. *Please answer—just one message.* But only that cold automated voice replied: "The number you are calling is powered off."
His chest tightened. Off? Why would she turn off her phone? Fear, worry, frustration—they roiled through him. He no longer cared about giving her any time to cool off. He had to find her now.
In his haste, he didn't lock the villa door. He rushed out barefoot, hopped into a waiting taxi, and sped across town to Jasmine's dormitory building—the all-female residence on campus. He knew her room was 206.
"Hold on, sir! You can't just walk into the women's dorm—you have to register!" a matronly dorm supervisor yelled as Grayson barreled past the lobby desk.
Grayson paid her no mind and sprinted up the stairwell. On the second floor, a chorus of shrieks erupted behind him. Half-dressed girls who had just finished showering scattered in panic—some clutching towels, others tearing on robes.
"Eek—man!"
"Get out, get out!"
Everyone fled for cover, shrieking at the sight of him.
But it didn't matter—Grayson only cared about one person, and he was determined. He pounded on door 206.
"Jasmine—" he began, but froze mid-word. Jasmine's door swung open to reveal Kayla standing there, wearing only short shorts and a damp white bathrobe that gaped to reveal one side of her chest. She looked supremely unconcerned with decorum.
"Where's Jasmine?" he demanded, though his throat was dry with panic.
Kayla smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Jasmine? Oh, you mean that little tramp? She came by earlier today, grabbed a few things, and then she took off. Read the writing on the wall—she hates you now. Guess you guys must've had a fight, and she ran away. Ha—I always say, poor couples are heartache all the way, right?"
Grayson's heart lurched. "You're saying she came by… got some clothes… and then left?"
Kayla let out a mocking chuckle. "Yep. She packed a bag, and that was it. Who knows where she went, though."
Grayson's mind spun. *She got her things—but doesn't live at the villa anymore.* His breath caught. *Where could she be?* The sky was already dark.
Before he could ask more, the dorm supervisor—puffing and sweating—rushed down the hallway and grabbed Grayson by the collar. "What's going on here? Get out! A boy in the girls' dorm? Hustle it up and scram, right now!"
In a daze, Grayson allowed himself to be thrust out of the dorm building. The corridor buzzed with whispers—some girls craning their necks to see him get ejected.
He stumbled down the stairs clutching the flowers, his mind numb. He had nowhere else to turn. He trudged back to the villa without a second thought.
Some time passed before Grayson awakened. He must have fallen asleep on the living-room floor at some point. When he finally opened his eyes, dawn was filtering through the curtains, painting long slashes of light across the wood floorboards. He didn't even bother to wash up—fear and urgency propelled him back out the front door.
"Jasmine!" he shouted, sprinting down the street toward the Management School building, where the student affairs office was located. His shirt was disheveled, his hair tousled, and he could barely catch his breath as he burst through the double doors and bounded up to the fifth floor.
"Sir—wait!" a security guard barked, but Grayson ignored her, rushing down the hallway.
He reached the office door and flung it open. "Teacher—sir—hello! I need to tell you something. There's a girl missing from your department! Please, mobilize everyone—help me find her!"
The student affairs officer—already seated at a cluttered desk—looked up with an abrupt jolt. "Missing student? Who—tell me who it is right now."
Jitters turned his panic into a plea. "It's Jasmine—please, please help me find her!"
The officer paused mid-sentence. Then, as if some hidden weight lifted, she sagged back in her chair and let out a relieved sigh. "Jasmine, you say?" she murmured, her tone softening. "Well, she's not missing. She came by yesterday and filed for a leave of absence."
Grayson's blood ran cold. A leave of absence? That meant she'd officially withdrawn herself from school—no one had to look for her. She wasn't lost; she'd chosen to disappear. His senses reeled, and for a moment he couldn't process the words.
He sank into the nearest chair, the flowers slipping from his fingers onto the linoleum floor. He exhaled so heavily that it felt as though his lungs might collapse. *She left school… she left because of me.*
Outside, the corridor was busy with students scurrying to morning classes. Inside, Grayson's world had narrowed to a single painful truth: Jasmine wasn't just hiding somewhere—she had vanished from the very life they'd built together. And now, he had no idea where to find her.