Jasmine Yale has never been the type to probe deeply; she nodded, her long eyelashes trembling slightly.
She really wanted to see the pictures of Chale Cheney from his childhood.
Was he tiny and adorable?
Sylvan Cheney looked down, kissed her neck again, then straightened up, preparing to go downstairs.
The mark of a wolf bite still lingered on her neck, faint though it was, the wound still visible.
She switched on a movie channel to watch, her gaze calm, showing no particular emotion, cradling a fluffy toy cat in her arms.
Sylvan Cheney brought her a cup of honey milk, then went to the study to work.
The Cheney Group's overseas branch has already completed its merger.
Sylvan Cheney lit a cigarette, his deep gaze fixed on the computer screen.
At that moment, the phone vibrated.
Sylvan glanced at it, Jesse Rowan.
"Mr. Cheney, the night is long; care for a drink? East Street Bar, Room 888," Jesse Rowan invited Sylvan Cheney as usual.
"Not going."
