At hearing this, a pleasing curve appeared on the corner of Sylvan Cheney's lips.
That night, Jasmine Yale was truly arrogant.
Yes, arrogant.
But he indulged her anyway.
"The woman who pinched me today is her mom." Jasmine Yale told the truth.
"Oh," Sylvan Cheney uttered, his glance slightly cold, "Retaliating against you?"
In the darkness, the side profile of Sylvan Cheney's face was cold and resolute, exuding a chilling aura.
"More or less."
Jasmine Yale did not want to explain further.
The time when she was eight was unbearable to recall.
Her father was alcoholic, her stepmother was cruel, her sister was spoiled.
Home didn't feel like a home.
She was bullied and had nowhere to vent her grievances, she could only cry.
Looking back, her habit of crying, probably started around that time.
Sylvan Cheney did not pursue further. If she didn't say anything, he could always find ways to investigate.
He would keep his promise to her, he would not just talk the talk.
