Jeremiah was calm and composed. He was silent for a few seconds, then said, “He informed Phantom about my whereabouts, in Seacrity. Does he think Clusia is a place where he can come and go as he wishes? Since he’s here, make sure he stays permanently.”

Bruce sensed the strong threat in Jeremiah’s last words, despite the calm tone. He thought, We finally face off against the Goodman family in the open.

“Understood, Mr. Chavez. I’ll inform Braydon. Regarding Phantom, should we hold him for you, or eliminate him immediately?”

Jeremiah paused, his gaze cold. In the calmest tone, he uttered the most ruthless words: “Take his body to the Goodman family.”

Bruce nodded in understanding.

Phantom, recently tasked by Braydon in Mysonna, never anticipated immediate capture upon landing in Seacrity. Before meeting Jeremiah, he was dead, his body sent to Mysonna.

Jeremiah hung up and returned to the living room. Emmett, looking professional, washed vegetables in the kitchen. Jeremiah disliked strangers in his house; Emmett handled most of Skyland’s affairs. Occasionally, Aurora sent a Chavez family servant to clean—a practice that had continued for years.

Yvette idly played with her phone, lounging on the couch. A moment ago, she received a text from an unknown number:

[Hello Siren, it’s James. Simon mentioned you’ve arrived in Betrico. Are you free to meet tomorrow?]

Yvette tapped a brief reply:

[Sure, when and where?]

Within half a minute, a response appeared:

[10:30, at Bamboo Hall. Don’t miss it.]

Hearing footsteps, Yvette glanced up as Jeremiah entered. She put away her phone and looked into his deep eyes, propping her chin up with a soft chuckle. “Women’s clothes?”

Jeremiah casually approached and sat beside her. Slightly embarrassed, he pulled her into his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Jase was just making up stories,” he said slowly.

Yvette leaned comfortably against him, looking up with cold eyes. “Really?”

Jeremiah gently tidied her hair, cleared his throat, and said, “It was just that once.” He thought, Why does getting caught in a lie happen so quickly?

Yvette smiled softly. “I bet it looked pretty good.”

Emmett emerged from the kitchen, apron-clad, interrupting their intense gaze. “Mr. Chavez, Yvette, the vegetables are—” He stopped abruptly, thinking, I need to pretend I see nothing.

The next day, Jeremiah went to the army base early to attend to military matters. Yvette casually selected a sleek black scooter from a secluded corner of the parking garage.

She hopped on, secured her helmet, and headed straight for Bamboo Hall, conveniently near Skyland.

The guard, back on duty after a shift change, saw Yvette exit the gates on her scooter. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief; it was the first time he’d seen a scooter at Skyland. Residents were high-ranking officials or wealthy tycoons, traveling in luxury cars. Even servants used BMWs for grocery shopping.

Yvette parked her scooter at Bamboo Hall’s entrance, its sleekness contrasting sharply with the surrounding luxury cars.

Two elegantly dressed young women, acting as servants, saw Yvette dismount. Their attitudes immediately became dismissive. Jealous of Yvette’s beauty and unimpressed by her clothing, they exchanged a knowing glance.

One servant said, “Hello, are you here to dine? Bamboo Hall is members-only. We don’t admit walk-ins. The minimum for a membership card is 1.5 million dollars. If you’re interested, please come with me to apply.”

Yvette’s expression remained unchanged; her cold, striking eyebrows were particularly noticeable. With one hand in her pocket, she walked up the steps, her long legs straight and fair. Her gaze was as calm as a deep pool.

“1.5 million dollars? Is that enough?” she asked.

The servants' disdain intensified. Is this pretty girl out of her mind? Her pocket is probably empty. 1.5 million dollars? She probably can’t even pull out 150 dollars. With only a pretty face, what is she trying to do here?

The taller servant grew impatient. “Miss, if you don’t have 1.5 million dollars, leave. We’re about to host Mr. Owens, the director of Betrico’s physics lab. Try the diners two blocks away.”

The other servant added, “There are plenty of food stalls on the next street.”

A man in a well-tailored suit emerged, glancing at Yvette rudely. “What are you two doing? Get that irrelevant person out quickly.”

The servants smiled flatteringly. “Mr. Lake, we’re not sure what’s wrong with this girl. She’s trying to enter without a membership. We explained the rules, but she didn’t listen.” Their implication was clear: Yvette was stubbornly refusing to leave.

Yvette casually glanced at them, knelt slightly, and made a phone call. The person on the other end answered promptly.

“Withdraw the investment from Bamboo Hall,” she stated concisely.

The other party readily agreed, asking, “What happened? Did someone offend you? Do you want me to handle it personally?”

“No need,” Yvette replied, hanging up.

In a skyscraper in the city’s busiest district, an attractive woman in business attire, around twenty-seven, looked at her recently hung-up phone and shook her head. Yvette hasn’t changed. She’d learned three days ago Yvette was coming to Betrico and had planned a meal, only to be refused. She could only wait for Yvette’s next visit. But she thought Bamboo Hall had a death wish to offend Yvette, immediately calling her secretary. Bamboo Hall had been awaiting her investment for almost a year; she was glad she hadn’t finalized the deal.