Chapter 107: Grant Holloway Lay with His Eyes Closed

Grant Holloway lay with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. Exhaustion had rendered him oblivious to the surrounding commotion.

"Wow!" A blond foreigner gasped dramatically. "Absolutely breathtaking!"

Paige Lawson followed his gaze. Clara Whitmore emerged from the changing room in a modest black swimsuit, a white chiffon scarf draped carelessly over her shoulders. The ocean breeze made the delicate fabric dance.

"My God! She looks like a classic film star!"

Paige's voice turned icy. "You think she's pretty?"

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Have you seen Monet's Water Lilies? That same ethereal beauty—"

Clenching her teeth, Paige demanded, "What about me?"

"You're beautiful too," he answered politely.

"Who's more beautiful?"

"That's... difficult." He hesitated. "But that lady aligns more with my taste."

Paige's face darkened instantly.

She stood tall with porcelain skin and cascading waves of hair—every inch the seductress. Meanwhile, Clara's swimsuit covered her from neck to thigh, its conservative cut bordering on prudish.

Yet that very restraint made her stand out on the beach. The semi-transparent scarf accentuated her understated elegance and quiet confidence.

What infuriated Paige most was Grant suddenly opening his eyes.

His gaze locked onto Clara, flashing with awe, regret, longing—an intensity that startled even himself.

Paige dug her nails into her palms.

Who did this gold-digger think she was? Playing the innocent bookworm at libraries while hunting for her next sugar daddy!

"Darling," she purred, leaning into Grant. "Would you get jealous if another man gave me roses?"

She deliberately blocked his view.

"You're too close. It's hot." Grant shoved her away impatiently.

"Should I get you a drink?"

The moment Paige left, his eyes tracked Clara again.

* * *

"You actually wore that boring black suit?" Sloane Bennett huffed. "It's so dull."

Clara adjusted her scarf. "I prefer this."

"Don't complain when nobody gives you roses later."

"Please don't let anyone—" Clara waved her hands frantically.

But fate had other plans.

As the sun dipped, rose distribution began on the beach. Nearly every passing man offered Clara a crimson bloom.

She declined at first, but the crowd grew relentless. Amid cheers and encouragement, she reluctantly accepted the mounting pile of roses in her arms.