The urgent knocking on the door continued.
Who would come at this hour?
Sylvan Cheney leaned against the wall, mustering up the energy to open the door.
The corridor was dimly lit, and as soon as the door opened, Sylvan Cheney's drunken eyes fixated, and his pupils suddenly constricted, staring intently at the petite woman outside.
She seemed to have come in a hurry, her hair slightly disheveled, her breath unsteady, panting continuously.
Seeing him open the door, she nearly fell to the ground, exhaling a long sigh of relief.
"How did you find your way here? Hm?" Sylvan Cheney glanced at her coldly. This woman was indeed troublesome; what was she thinking?
Jasmine Yale didn't reply, only staring steadily at his face, pale as paper, with his messy hair and unhealthy complexion.
Jasmine's heart ached terribly.
How could her beloved Mr. Cheney have ended up like this?
