A gust of wind surged!
In an instant, Sylvan Cheney's hand, which had been opening the door, paused; his sharp eyes looked towards her, his gaze deep and piercing.
Jasmine Yale also raised her head, her watery large eyes staring fixedly at him.
They hadn't seen each other for over a year.
Sylvan Cheney still looked distinguished and handsome, his facial features deep-set, his eyes dark and brooding.
Yet, there was an undeniable exhaustion in his brows, and a hint of stubble dusted his chin.
Their eyes met, the atmosphere tense.
Jasmine Yale was wearing a scarf, with only her luminous big eyes visible, red around the rims, her long eyelashes seemingly still damp.
Despite this, Sylvan Cheney would not mistake her.
Jasmine Yale's eyes flickered anxiously.
"When did you come here," Sylvan spoke indifferently.
"This morning."
Jasmine Yale looked at him calmly; it seemed Charles McIntosh hadn't told him yet.
Behind Sylvan Cheney, Charles McIntosh came forward.
