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As the car entered the courtyard, he looked up and saw his son playing baseball with Jane McCain on the lawn.

In his mind, Purple Summers’s words immediately echoed, “Young Master Douglas is very smart… but when it comes to baseball, despite the longest time spent learning it, there has been little progress, and hitting the ball is especially challenging…”

Regarding baseball, Sebastian Douglas had excellent form and a thorough understanding of the rules, but his batting was poor.

Norman had not been too concerned initially, considering his son was young and couldn’t be good at everything. Now, he wondered, could this be his son’s way of pretending to play poorly to coax others into joining him?

Wouldn’t any child lose patience if they made no progress after three years of practice? Adults might not even persist, let alone a child.

Yet, Sebastian’s enthusiasm for baseball never waned.

This truly didn’t make sense…

Sebastian heard the car and turned his head, saw Norman’s car, and happily ran over.

“Daddy! Daddy!…”

His son’s smile was radiant, his bright eyes reflecting the twilight sky, pure and clear.

He seemed just like any other child, cute and innocent.

A tremendous sense of guilt surged in Norman’s heart—how could he doubt his own son? All because of a few provocative words from Purple Summers?

Why hadn’t he objected at the time? Was it because Purple Summers was too eloquent? Her words stabbed at the hidden pains in his heart, causing his mind to become muddled and inadvertently follow her line of thought.

In fact, even if her speculations were logical, there was no evidence!

Without evidence, it’s all baseless conjecture!

Norman stepped out of the car just as Sebastian reached him and joyfully jumped into his arms.

“Did you play with Sister Jane today?” Norman ruffled his son’s hair; his tense nerves from the entire day eased considerably upon seeing his son’s smiling face.

“Daddy, can I ask Sister Jane to stay for dinner?” Sebastian asked, looking up with his little face.

Jane McCain, holding the baseball bat, ran over breathlessly behind him and greeted Norman, “Mr. Douglas is back.”

Norman’s gaze lightly swept over Jane McCain, his expression reserved, as he said with a smile, “Yes, thank you, Ms. McCain, for coming over to keep Bastian company. Sometimes he can be quite mischievous; I hope he hasn’t troubled you?”

“No, no,” Jane laughed, “We had a great time, Bastian is very smart.”

As she spoke, she bent down and smiled at Sebastian, “Right, Bastian, you little handsome guy?”

Jane was already eighteen years old, and having been exposed to models of all sorts from a young age, she had habits of eating raw foods and staying fit. Not only was she tall, but her figure was also well-curved, making her appear much more mature than other girls her age.

After playing baseball, she was sweating profusely, a few strands of hair sticking wetly to her neck, her light student blouse tightly hugging her youthful body, her fair, dazzling skin sparking unintended fantasies.

Norman averted his eyes, the hand that had been stroking Sebastian’s head sliding down to his back—Sebastian’s body was quite dry, without a trace of sweat.

Without a hint of emotion, Norman looked down and said, “Daddy still has some work to do. Have dinner with Sister Jane.”

Sebastian, understanding, nodded his head and took Jane by the hand to walk towards the house, chatting excitedly with her, “Sister Jane, what do you like to eat? Do you like fish? Fish bones can easily get stuck, have you ever choked on one?… I love fish too, mom used to pick out the bones for me. Can you help me pick them out? I haven’t had fish for a long time…”

As the two figures gradually receded into the distance, Norman silently followed behind.

No matter how hard he looked, he could only see an innocent child, yet countless questions were relentlessly tugging at his soul.

Why didn’t Bastian sweat? Was it intentional? Was inviting her for dinner also deliberate? Was Jane really one of his choices?