Silence.
Another boundless silence.
No one spoke again.
Jasmine Yale felt as if all her strength had been drained away, unable to utter a single word, she just quietly looked at him, her expression dull and blank.
Sylvan Cheney finally stood up, tidied his suit jacket.
In the play of light and shadow, Sylvan Cheney was still impeccably dressed in his suit, looking dignified and elegant, but his refined face held a stern chill.
His shadow fell on the floor.
He lowered his head, staring at Jasmine Yale on the bed for a long time.
She sat like a little puppet, motionless, her gaze resting on the white wall in front of her.
Early autumn nights were deep and tranquil, like a bottomless black hole, drawing everything in, leaving only heavy darkness.
Sylvan's gaze shifted from her face to her pants, and he said quietly, "You've got your period."
The words drew Jasmine Yale's gaze back, her fists subtly clenched.
