Chapter 25: Grant Holloway Sat by the Floor-to-ceiling Window of the French Restaurant

Grant Holloway sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of the French restaurant, the crystal chandelier casting a soft glow. His slender fingers idly swirled the wine glass, but his gaze remained fixed on his phone screen.

Paige Lawson noticed his sudden change in expression and set down her fork. "What's wrong?"

Grant didn't answer, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone.

He typed rapidly: [Not my problem.]

Connor Hayes studied the message, amusement flickering in his eyes: [So you and Clara Whitmore are really over this time?]

Grant stared at the screen, his Adam's apple bobbing: [Got a problem with that?]

Connor sent a surrender emoji: [Wouldn't dare]

Followed by another message: [So you wouldn't mind if someone pursued her?]

Julian Cross suddenly chimed in: [You're making a move?]

Connor replied leisurely: [Mhm]

Mason Reed: [LOL this is getting good]

Julian: [You're serious?]

No one in the group took it seriously.

Grant scoffed: [Do whatever you want.]

Connor pocketed his phone, satisfied.

He wondered if someone would regret this later.

* * *

"Thanks for celebrating my birthday with me."

At 9 PM, Grant walked Paige to her dorm.

The girl clung to his sleeve, unwilling to let go. "Do we have to say goodbye so soon?" She tilted her face up, batting her dewy eyes. "Aren't you sad at all?"

Under the streetlight, her long lashes cast delicate shadows, her pouty lips glistening.

Grant ruffled her hair. "You have class tomorrow. Get some rest."

Disappointment flashed in Paige's eyes before she nodded obediently. "Okay, I'll head up now."

Thirty minutes later, Grant sat in the driver's seat, staring at the fork ahead.

Left led home.

Right led to the bar district.

Raindrops suddenly splattered against the windshield, blurring his view.

In the rearview mirror, a cashmere blanket lay crumpled on the backseat—the one Paige had used earlier.

He remembered how Clara always complained his car was too cold, dragging him out to buy that blanket.

After their breakup, it had remained neatly folded.

Today, someone else had used it.

A honk startled him.

The light turned green. He slammed the accelerator and veered right.

At the bar entrance, he tossed his keys to the valet.

The manager fawned as he approached. "Mr. Holloway, Mr. Hayes and the others are in the VIP lounge upstairs."

Grant strode straight up.

When he pushed open the private room door, the stench of alcohol hit him.

Several drunken figures sprawled across the couches.