Sylvan Cheney knotted his brows, her temper seemed to be growing more volatile.
A chill shadowed Sylvan Cheney's gaze as it fell on her face, wishing he could glean something from her eyes.
Jasmine Yale pushed the glass before her and stood up.
"Jasmine Yale, sit down!" Sylvan Cheney commanded in a cold voice.
"Mr. Cheney, you can't control me. Let me say it again, if not for Little Chale, I never wish to have any connection with you in my lifetime!"
Jasmine Yale gazed indifferently, her eyes cold as ice.
"Why?"
Sylvan Cheney's fingers lightly drummed the tabletop, his face held a look of dissatisfaction.
Their eyes met, sparks flying.
The intense, explosive tension diffused in the air, seeming as if it could ignite any moment.
"Why? You don't know? Sylvan Cheney, have you forgotten about those three years?"
Jasmine Yale's face turned pale, confronting Sylvan Cheney, she hardly had the courage.
Her lips trembled slightly.
A frigid sensation seeped into her heart.
