How many times had Sylvan Cheney deceived her? She had lost count.
He always managed to play her like a fiddle, as if she were a pet to tease.
Could it be that he was hiding an even bigger scheme from her?
As she thought about it, a cold sweat broke out on Jasmine Yale's back.
Could it be that even him bringing her home from the street fifteen years ago was a grand deception?
She dared not think any further. She just couldn't.
The driver, Charles Mcintosh, seemed to sense something. Seeing Jasmine Yale's pale complexion, he couldn't help but express concern, "Miss Yale, what's wrong?"
"..." She remained silent, leaning against the window, motionless.
Her complexion was as white as a sheet.
"Miss Yale, has anyone been causing trouble for you lately?" Charles Mcintosh asked.
The silence was unbearable, so he felt compelled to say something.
He wasn't one to easily initiate conversation, so he tried to ask some questions.
Jasmine Yale shook her head: "No."
