James suddenly recalled something Simon had mentioned: Yvette's relationship with her father wasn't good, and her mother had passed away. He thought, "In that case, I have to support her. Oh right, saving up for her wedding. When she marries into the Chavez family, I must give her many gifts. All these years of private savings are finally being put to use. No one can talk behind Yvette's back."

Thinking of Jeremiah, James glanced at Michael and felt a pang of bitterness. It would be so much better if Michael didn't have autism.

Meanwhile, Emmett, occasionally glancing at Yvette through the rearview mirror, wondered, "How did Mr. Owens become Yvette's grandfather? What's going on?" His curiosity was piqued. Yvette sat in the back seat with her eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

When Emmett looked back for the fourth time, Yvette suddenly opened her bloodshot eyes and said calmly, "If you've got something to say, just say it."

Emmett paused, then cautiously asked, "Yvette, how did Mr. Owens become your grandfather?"

Yvette looked at him, squinted slightly, and remained expressionless. "Just by chance," she replied.

Emmett, sensing she didn't want to discuss it, didn't press further. He thought, "Yvette's good at joking. Who could be so lucky to have a grandfather like James just by chance? It's like winning the lottery!"

After dropping Yvette off at Skyland, Emmett left, still needing to attend to matters at the military base.

At midnight, after showering, Yvette pushed open the bathroom door, emerging in a loose shirt. Her long, slender legs were as fair as snow. Her lips curled slightly, her cold eyes softening. With lightning speed, she kicked open a door in the middle of the room. The hidden door Jeremiah had meticulously constructed swung open.

A shadow darted out. Under the bright lights, Jeremiah, in his military uniform, emerged. His high nose, thin lips, and thick eyebrows were revealed, showcasing a handsome profile and perfect facial structure.

Yvette fixed her gaze on his eyes and grunted softly, appearing casual and cold. In a few strides, she lunged at Jeremiah, her fist flying ruthlessly.

Jeremiah easily dodged, a touch of affection, though slightly frustrated, in his eyes. Yvette's punch clearly held anger. Jeremiah didn't know how she'd discovered the door; he simply backed away without retaliating.

Half an hour later, Jeremiah swept Yvette into his arms, and she seized the opportunity to pin him to the bed. She looked down at him, her gaze sweeping over him like a queen inspecting her territory. As her eyes moved, Jeremiah's breathing grew heavier.

Yvette noticed this. Her eyes were deep, her clothes disheveled from the fight. A bright light glimmered at her collarbones; she was a captivating blend of seductiveness and innocence, completely unaware of it.

Jeremiah, beneath her, stared into her eyes, fighting back the desire churning within him. "You want to be on top?" he asked.

Hearing this, Yvette rolled off him, but Jeremiah casually pulled her back onto his chest. In a flash, their positions shifted. They stood face to face, Yvette's legs wrapped around his strong waist. They held each other's gaze intensely, neither willing to yield.

In the end, Jeremiah conceded, gently pinching her earlobe. He gritted his teeth slightly. "Don't tempt me anymore, or I might not wait until the wedding."

Yvette raised an eyebrow, a slight, alluring, yet cool smile playing on her lips. She gently pinched his fingers. "Explain the door to me," she demanded.

Jeremiah paused, pressed his lips together, and said calmly, "I just wanted to be nearer to you."

After he said this, Yvette was amazed to see that half of Jeremiah's ears had instantly turned red. This was a rather intriguing discovery. She thought, 'So this man is actually shy?'

Yvette poked his ear. Jeremiah's body tensed. With a slightly dazed look, he quickly released her waist, taking two steps back. Yvette couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Jeremiah's voice was deep and slightly unsettled, his chest heaving slightly. "I'll go make you some food," he said, his voice shaky.

He turned, pushed open the door, and left, seemingly making a hasty exit. A soft snort escaped Yvette's lips.

Jeremiah quickened his pace downstairs. Once in the kitchen, he finally calmed down, lowered his head, and sighed, feeling his resistance to Yvette's charm weakening.

Half an hour later, Jeremiah prepared simple beef pasta—a plate filled with beef and only a little pasta. This was authentic beef pasta, unlike anything sold in the supermarket.

Yvette came downstairs and sat on the custom-made dining chair Jeremiah had bought for her—large and soft enough to snuggle into. She glanced at the large plate of beef pasta before her. It was an impressively generous portion.

Jeremiah changed into his loungewear. Their outfits were almost matching; anyone could tell they were wearing couple's outfits. He casually sat beside her on a simple wooden chair.

He gently peeled an orange for Yvette and quietly asked, "Did you meet with James today?"

Yvette nodded nonchalantly. "Yeah."

Jeremiah handed her the peeled orange. "Did you get a new grandfather by chance?"

Yvette bit into the orange; it was a little sour, not her favorite. Raising her eyebrows, she looked composed. "Yeah, he's kind of like your grandfather—always putting on an act."

Jeremiah paused in peeling his orange, turning slightly to look at Yvette. "These two old men grew up together, always competing. Even now, they bicker like kids. They worked hard for Clusia when they were young, and now, each time they meet, they squabble—just like two kids."

Yvette put down her fork, took a sip of water, and crossed her legs. "He's quite an interesting old man. Do you know Michael?"

Jeremiah's eyes darkened. "Michael was a genius as a child, but a car accident ruined him. At a party, someone pushed him into a river. James banished the person from Betrico and kept him protected, hardly letting him meet anyone."

Yvette tilted her head, her eyes drooping. Her voice was soft and slow. "There's a possibility his autism could be treated, but it's risky. The success rate is only 60 percent. If it doesn't work, his autism may worsen."

Jeremiah's bright eyes were locked on Yvette for a long moment. He nodded. "Does James know about this?"

Yvette shook her head. "No. Sixty percent is too low."

Jeremiah chuckled softly, thinking, 'Come on. Sixty percent is too low? We're talking about a cure for autism. Yvette is quite good at showing off, isn't she?'