9 o'clock at night.
The night was deep, the sky a stifling and desolate black, with darkness so pervasive you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
Jasmine Yale finished her shower, dried her hair, and walked around the bedroom in her pajamas tidying the wardrobe.
The bedroom was warm and cozy, with a faint fragrance lingering in the air.
She twisted her dried hair into a bun, securing it with a headband, humming a song as she worked, a refined glow on her rosy face.
Ever since she became pregnant, she rarely stayed up late, and after a bath, she'd lie in bed and tell a story to the baby before drifting into sleep.
In front of the mirror, she touched her round belly, her eyes filled with joy and happiness.
Suddenly, her phone rang.
Jasmine Yale picked it up. Was it Sylvan Cheney?
"President?"
"Come downstairs, I'm below your place."
"Wha-what?" Jasmine was stunned.
"It's very windy outside, come down."
Jasmine then realized that he was downstairs!
