Alva Astor quickly walked to the restroom, washed her face with warm water, and struggled to suppress the intense sense of heartache that was about to erupt.
This feeling was all too familiar to her; it was always the precursor to a heart attack she had since childhood.
She raised her eyes to look at herself in the mirror, her face slightly pale, and slowly lifted her hand, her gaze empty and powerless.
Could it be...
"Alva, are you okay?"
A gentle voice suddenly sounded from outside, and Alva froze, hastily grabbing a paper to wipe the water off her face, tidying up her clothes, as the heartache gradually diminished.
She calmed herself a bit, took a deep breath, opened the door, and looked at the elegant figure standing outside: "What's up?"
"Are you alright?" Hiram Seaton looked at her slightly pale face, worriedly asking again.
"No, what's wrong?" Alva smiled, pretending to be relaxed as she asked back.
