After a long while, she slowly spoke, "I've received the gift, thank you."
Sylvan Cheney raised his hand, his slender fingers gently tidying her hair, his eyes deep, his features chiseled.
When his fingers touched her cheek, her body trembled slightly.
"If there's nothing else, I'll head back first," Jasmine Yale said lightly, "Work matters can wait until tomorrow."
After speaking, Jasmine Yale took off her suit jacket and stuffed it into his arms.
She turned her head, hugged her coat, and left without saying another word.
She felt a bit tired, so... she wanted to rest.
Her silhouette was elongated by the streetlights, and within that solitary figure was a sense of melancholy and loneliness.
She walked away step by step, gradually becoming a dot that merged into Sylvan Cheney's eyes, turned a corner, and disappeared.
Sylvan Cheney stood alone under the streetlight; a part of his heart seemed missing, a feeling he hadn't experienced for months.
