Jasmine Yale's heart pounded more fiercely, her fingertips trembling slightly.
She couldn't explain why she had such a thought, but indeed, it grew stronger and stronger.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to suppress the chaotic threads of thought in her mind.
In front of her was a teacup, filled with brewed black tea.
The tea had long since gone cold, but she hadn't taken a single sip.
Jasmine Yale's dense and lengthy eyelashes quivered slightly under the light, like fragile butterfly wings.
The private room was extremely quiet, Jasmine could even hear her own breathing and heartbeat, the air still filled with a comforting fragrance, yet her heart had risen to her throat.
Five forty-five.
Sylvan Cheney had not yet arrived.
There was only a quarter of an hour left until their agreed time.
She knew Sylvan was very punctual, always a man of his word.
In their line of business, punctuality was the basic form of credibility.