C77 The Evil Angel Was too Lucrative!

Henry and Tom were in for a rough time. They watched as Ye Yuvyuv popped slice after slice of sour tangerine into her mouth, the tangy juice making their teeth ache just from the sound. The two men couldn't fathom how the young girl in front of them could have such an unusual taste.

These green-skinned sour tangerines were bought from an elderly woman selling them from a basket as their car passed a small alley. Ye Yuvyuv had instructed Henry to give the woman a couple of dollars and buy all the tangerines. The woman was overjoyed, calling him a "kind soul," which left Henry a bit puzzled.

Once back in the car, Tom reminded him, "Miss Yuvyuv is just kind-hearted. She must have wanted to help the old lady, seeing her out there trying to make ends meet." But then Ye Yuvyuv grabbed a tangerine, peeled it in no time, and devoured half of it in one bite, leaving Tom's words stuck in his throat. Watching her, Tom's teeth chattered, and he thought, "I was wrong. Miss Yuvyuv just wanted the tangerines."

Ye Yuvyuv couldn't care less about the two clueless men. As she savored the sour juice, her mind wandered to past events involving the young man in front of her. She vaguely remembered that when this "second rich generation" visited C Country, he was accompanied by some very capable people. She wasn't sure who they were, but she knew that the nightclub he ran, Night Paris, was the most prestigious among foreign businessmen in the area. No one dared to mess with it, and it was well-guarded by many bodyguards.

With this thought, Ye Yuvyuv's eyes suddenly lit up. She swallowed the tangerine slice in her mouth and fixed her gaze on Henry as if she'd stumbled upon a treasure, her smile mischievous and mysterious.

Henry swallowed hard, feeling a bit nervous under the intense gaze. His tall frame even trembled slightly. "L-little angel, why are you looking at me like that?"

He was afraid the little angel in front of him might turn into a wicked one. The wicked angel was too aggressive, and he didn't want to get beaten up.

With that thought, Henry's big blue eyes looked all watery and pitiful, like a little puppy, as he blinked at Yuvyuv.

Yuvyuv was speechless. What was she supposed to do with this urge to hit someone?

"Close your eyes. Don't look at me," Yuvyuv ordered sternly.

That pitiful puppy look made Yuvyuv feel a strange sense of guilt.

"Okay, little angel, I'll listen to you. I'll close my eyes. Just don't be too harsh on me!" Henry blinked his watery blue eyes once more and obediently shut them.

Yuvyuv was at a loss. Seriously, where did this overgrown, immature kid come from? She was still a young woman, not his mother.

Frustrated, Yuvyuv took a deep breath, reminding herself to focus on the important matters.

But when she looked up and saw the little puppy with his eyes closed, shoulders drooping in a pitiful manner, she couldn't help but shout, "Henry, open your eyes!"

Henry's blue eyes flew open, looking at her with excitement and joy. "My little angel, you finally called my name. I'm so happy."

He even blinked those puppy-like blue eyes playfully.

Yuvyuv finally lost her patience and yelled, "Shut up! If you say one more word, I swear I'll knock you out."

She put on her fiercest face, glaring at Henry as if she was ready to devour him.

But Henry, looking at her with those big blue eyes, seemed to be filled with admiration, nodding excitedly.

Yuvyuv blurted out, "Are you nuts?"

Whose kid is this? Come get your spoiled brat.

Yuvyuv seriously doubted whether this pampered heir in front of her, who seemed like he still needed a babysitter, had the ability to help her with the serious matters she was contemplating.

She had her doubts.

Until—

Yuvyuv grabbed Henry and made him sit up straight, then asked, "Hey, I'm asking you, that club you run—do you know any of the local big shots?"

Before Henry could respond, Tom, who had been eavesdropping, couldn't help but correct her, "Miss Yuvyuv, our young master runs a legitimate entertainment venue, not some shady joint."

"Oh, not a shady joint? I almost got sold off by you guys the other day," Yuvyuv shot back with a cold glare, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tom shivered and quickly shut his mouth.

Yep, this Fifth Miss of the Ye family was just as the rumors said—untouchable. She was the kind of person who could raise hell.

"Miss Yuvyuv, I was wrong. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Tom sealed his lips, reminding himself that it's safest to play mute around Miss Yuvyuv. Better behave, or he might be the next one to get a beating.

He sneaked a glance at his own young master through the rearview mirror, who was behaving so meekly that Tom barely recognized him.

Tom suddenly thought his young master was smart. After getting beaten twice by Miss Yuvyuv, he became increasingly docile in her presence, almost frighteningly so.

Yes, his young master’s submissive demeanor in front of Miss Yuvyuv was terrifying. Even more so than when, as a five-year-old, he had picked up a fruit knife and dealt with a maid who was secretly poisoning the soup.

Yuvyuv had no idea what Tom was thinking. She turned her attention back to the heir who was staring at her in fascination. "Henry, can I borrow your people for a bit?"

"Sure thing, little angel, how many people do you need?"

Henry didn't even hesitate. He blinked his ocean-blue eyes and gazed at Ye Yuvyuv with a captivated smile. Suddenly, he added, "All of my people, they're yours. All yours."

Ye Yuvyuv was taken aback by Henry's straightforwardness.

This guy must be a bit off his rocker. Just like that, she asked to borrow his people, and he agreed without a second thought. Wow, he's really a spendthrift. Even more so than she was in her past life. No wonder this guy got taken advantage of back then...

Ye Yuvyuv seemed to recall something and, as she looked at Henry again, her bright eyes reflected a mix of complexity, tinged with a hint of pity and regret.

Henry caught that unusual look in her stunning eyes, directed at him. He was a bit taken aback.

When Henry's expression faltered, the aura unique to someone of his French noble birth, with genuine royal lineage, subtly emerged.