She almost hugged her dress as she jogged all the way, directly running towards the restroom in the suite.
It was a quiet long corridor, the lights dim, silent as the grave.
Perhaps she should be thankful that most people were still at the party and there was no one in the corridor.
She kept running in the direction of the restroom, and only when she found it did she finally breathe a sigh of relief, her whole body weakly leaning against the wall.
For the longest time, she had no energy, everything before her eyes was dark.
After fixing her dress, she walked out.
Her hair was already a tangled mess, her makeup ruined, and her neck was covered in deep and shallow kiss marks, many of which were shocking and wouldn't wash off.
Jasmine Yale felt a bit at a loss, she hadn't brought a jacket, and there were too many kiss marks while she was wearing a spaghetti strap evening dress.
She lowered her head, washed her face, trying to clear her mind a bit.
