The feeling was like an electric current passing through, intricate and indescribable.
"Jasmine," Ann whispered her name softly, "go on up."
She looked up and saw Sylvan Cheney as well.
Though they were not close, she recognized him immediately.
There were a few other customers in the elevator, but not many, and standing by Sylvan Cheney's side was a refined, elegant lady.
The girl appeared young, dressed in a beige Chanel-style suit dress.
Her hair was long, the tips curled slightly, and her airy bangs and pink headband made her look exceptionally youthful and beautiful.
She was holding a red Gucci clutch with both hands, her demeanor meek, sensible, and unobtrusive.
The girl was like a noble heiress, exuding a gentle and mild aura from head to toe, even her perfume was a quietly elegant floral scent.
She stood out in the crowd.
Jasmine Yale found it hard to overlook her.
Jasmine withdrew her gaze and, clutching the straps of her bag, stepped into the elevator.
