"Mr. Cheney, you're really at a loss. Feeding me is worse than feeding a cat."
Sylvan Cheney sneered, "What loss? A cat... where would it be as interesting as you?"
"Heh, you rich folks sure have unique hobbies, raising a person just to be a pet? Would you like me to meow for you?"
Jasmine Yale wasn't joking with him. She was just... disappointed.
Sylvan Cheney's eyes turned cold, as he suddenly recalled the note he had seen during the day.
"They say I'm his little pet – that he'll discard me once he's done playing. I am not a pet, I am not a pet, I am not..."
The handwriting on the note showed clear signs of helplessness.
He knew that the inferiority complex she had since childhood was often impossible to remove.
"Mr. Cheney," Jasmine Yale spoke slowly again, "If you don't treat me as a person, I have no complaints. After all, my life is the one you gave me. But, everyone has their dignity."
For some reason, Sylvan Cheney was a bit irritated.
