Chapter 123: Chapter 121: Hurry Back and Have a Good "Exchange" (Part 1)
At that moment, her heart pounded with nervousness, and she kept her head down, staring at the floor.
Herman Hawthorne put down his pen, sat up straight, and looked at her. "The reason I don’t have a girlfriend is that I haven’t met a girl who makes my heart race. Just because you like me, does that mean I have to consider you?"
Jasmine Walsh’s face paled, and she stammered, "I mean... we could give it a try."
Herman glanced at her coldly. "We’re not a good match. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear any of this today. Go back to what you were doing. If you don’t want to be here, you can leave immediately."
Jasmine hadn’t expected such a complete rejection. She had imagined that even if he wasn’t interested, he would turn her down gently. At least then it wouldn’t be so humiliating. But now, he was being utterly merciless.
"Why aren’t we a good match? I’ve liked you for years, and you had no idea. What gives you the right to trample on my feelings?" The more Jasmine thought about it, the more indignant and wronged she felt.
"If we’re not a good match, we’re not a good match. What reason is necessary? If you absolutely need one, is ’I don’t love you’ enough?"
Jasmine bit her lip. "Ever since the training camp started, I’ve had a feeling you had something going on with Nora Ainsworth. You like her, don’t you?"
He didn’t want to explain.
"Nora is gone. Don’t you dare disrespect her memory."
"Leader, there’s something my teammates and I have never understood. Why were Nora Ainsworth and Chloe Marshall—two people with no connections—chosen for our hellish training camp? I hope you can tell me the truth."
"Insolent!" He shot to his feet, his eyes radiating an unmatched intensity. "You insist on knowing, so I’ll insist on not telling you. And even if you knew, what then? You passed the assessment, but Nora and Chloe were no worse than you. You, a female soldier who fought through hell and high water, ended up with the same result as two girls with no training, didn’t you?"
Jasmine’s face grew even paler. It was the first time she had ever seen her leader so stern.
"I understand."
She turned, ready to leave the office. Coming here today had been an exercise in self-humiliation.
Herman turned to look out the window, a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. ’Such a wonderful woman, gone just like that.’ Remembering the moments he had spent with her, the pain in his heart lingered for a long time.
Jasmine felt utterly indignant. The moment she stepped out the door, she burst into uncontrollable tears.
She ran back to the dorm and collapsed on her bed, weeping bitterly.
With her family background and her looks, countless guys had pursued her, but she had turned them all down.
Sometimes, one person treats you like a treasure, but to another man, you’re less than dirt.
Shea Rhodes came back after dinner and was startled to see her crying. "Jasmine, what’s wrong?"
Jasmine lifted her head, her makeup ruined by tears. "I—I confessed to the Leader."
Shea followed up, "And he rejected you?"
Jasmine cried even harder. "Why wouldn’t he give me even a single chance? I’ve liked him for years!"
"I told you so, but you wouldn’t listen. The Leader isn’t your typical rich playboy. If he were that easy to win over, with all the women at the club, there wouldn’t be anything left of him! You can’t rush these things."
"But—" Jasmine wiped away a tear. "I asked him if Nora Ainsworth and Chloe Marshall got in by pulling strings. He shot back that even without connections, they passed the same assessment as me, a military academy graduate. How is that fair? The more I think about it, the more unfair it feels."
Shea didn’t know how to comfort her, so she could only say, "Well, since you’ve been rejected, and you only came here to become the Leader’s girlfriend... it’s obvious he has no spark with you. Maybe you should stop torturing yourself here. You’re not like me. You’re the apple of your family’s eye. Honestly, Jasmine, you don’t have to put yourself through all this hardship."
Jasmine’s lips curled into a pout. "No way! So what if I got rejected once? He rejects me, I make another move. It’s an open secret now anyway, so it doesn’t matter if I try a few more times."
Seeing how determined she was, Shea stopped trying to persuade her. "You should go get dinner before it’s all gone."
Jasmine got up to wash her face. "I’m heading out."
Ever since the incident with Nora Ainsworth, his buddies had noticed that Quentin Grant hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. Ethan Ellsworth suggested they take him to a bar, get him good and drunk, and let him vent. The plan was approved by Herman Hawthorne, and even Quentin’s sister, Jean Grant, who rarely got involved in her brother’s affairs, miraculously agreed to participate.
So tonight, Ethan took the initiative and called Quentin, inviting him to have dinner with a few friends. Quentin agreed. They then half-dragged him to a hotel, booked a private room, ordered a table full of fine dishes, and prepared to execute their plan to get him drunk.
With one toast after another, even with Quentin’s high tolerance for alcohol, he couldn’t keep up with this pace.
Fortunately, he still had some self-control.
He ate his meal, and when he was about finished, he said he wanted to go dancing.
Ethan was the first to second the motion. "Great! I’m in. I haven’t gone in a while. Let’s all go?"
The group packed up and moved from the bar to the dance club.
It was packed, especially at night, and they didn’t bother going to the VIP section.
Multicolor lights, explosive dance music, men and women moving like mad, twisting their waists and hips to let off steam. In the bustling, crowded venue, no one would specifically recognize them.
They danced for a long time and ordered several more bottles of liquor. No one stopped him. For the first time since what happened to Nora, he finally drank himself into a stupor.
The others went to dance together, while Jean Grant kept her head down, texting Marlon Marshall.
No one noticed that on the sofa next to the one Quentin Grant was leaning against, a woman in a hat and a mask was sitting quietly, looking as if she was completely out of place.
But from time to time, she would turn her head to look at the man who was downing one drink after another. Just looking, making no other move.
She sat there like that for two whole hours.
She was Nora Ainsworth.
Eventually, Quentin staggered to his feet and started walking toward the stairs. Jean wanted to help him, but he spoke clearly, "You guys go home. I’m staying upstairs tonight."
Jean said worriedly, "At least let me get a room for you."
Quentin looked at her steadily, his voice tinged with loneliness. "No need."
Seeing him head upstairs, Jean didn’t follow.
Nora, however, pulled her hat down low, rose from the sofa, and followed him upstairs, unable to stop her feet.
As soon as she got to the top of the stairs, she saw Quentin hunched over a trash can, throwing up. She slowed her pace, silently cursing herself for being nosy. ’Hasn’t he made me suffer enough?’ At the same time, another voice whispered, ’He’s drunk. He won’t recognize you.’
After a long moment of indecision, she finally turned to leave.
"Nora!" The shout made her entire body go rigid.
