Half an hour later, Sylvan Cheney finally let his guard down.
Jasmine Yale pried open his fingers, and he didn't react much.
Finally, she ran out of the car and walked upstairs without looking back.
Nothing happened tonight, hopefully he would forget everything by the time he woke up, otherwise it would be truly awkward.
Jasmine Yale opened the bedroom door, and she made another call to Charles Mcintosh from her phone—
"Assistant Mcintosh, are you still in the neighborhood?"
"I am."
"Mr. Cheney has fallen asleep, please go check on him, take him home, don't let him catch a cold."
"Miss Yale, aren't you accompanying him?"
"Hmm?" Jasmine looked confused, "I'm back home."
Charles Mcintosh was silent for a moment, not speaking.
The night was not very cool, he had been leaning against a tree for a long time, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette while gazing at the starry sky.
Stars were blurred above, as he continued to stare upwards.
