Chapter 1148: Chapter 1148: Mr. Cheney, I am Waiting for You

The evening was very dry, and the moonlight shone on the ground, casting a dim yellow hue over Jasmine Yale’s figure.

She looked down at her feet.

Familiar with every blade of grass and tree.

Today, she wore a white coat with a burgundy scarf wrapped around her neck, looking quite sweet.

Her hair had grown long, the tips curling slightly, adding a touch of allure to her sweetness.

The winter winds were cold, and everything around was in a state of decay.

She was waiting, silently waiting.

The scarf covered half of her face, but still couldn’t fend off the night’s chill.

She shivered, blowing on her hands, her eyes misting with a white fog, crystalline tear drops hanging from her long lashes.

Since she arrived in Landon, she had never missed a winter there.

Memories became disjointed.

Every winter, her hands and feet were always cold, that icy sensation keeping her tossing and turning, unable to sleep at night.

Whenever that happened, she liked to sneak into Sylvan Cheney’s room in the dead of night and pout to him, “I’m cold.”

Sylvan, avoiding any impropriety, wouldn’t refuse her outright but wouldn’t share a quilt with her either.

When she came over, he would sleep on the sofa, yielding the warm quilt to her.

He knew her hands and feet were cold, especially during her period, when it was even worse.

Strangely, every time she slept in his bed, inhaling the scent from his pillow that belonged solely to him, she could always sleep soundly through to morning.

She liked his quilt, very much so.

As she grew older, Sylvan became less willing, increasingly keeping his distance.

Probably after she turned fifteen, whenever she tried to sneak into his room, he would not even open the door.

Jasmine Yale had no choice but to sheepishly return to her own ice-cold quilt.

The winters of today still left her with cold hands and feet, an ailment carried over from the womb, incurable.

At this moment, Jasmine stood in the wind, feeling a bit cold.

Even the coat and scarf couldn’t shield her from the bone-chilling coldness of Landon, that coldness slicing across her face like a knife.

Piercingly cold.

Standing outside for half an hour, she could barely hold on, her feet numbing.

She stamped her feet vigorously, blowing on her hands.

In the desolate open air, her figure appeared especially forlorn.

Jasmine Yale was almost at her limit.

He hadn’t returned yet?

She didn’t dare approach the Cheney Residence’s entrance, knowing he had ordered it off-limits to outsiders.

She was certain she could wait for him, there were so many things, so many words she wanted to clarify with him face to face.

But it was really so cold.

“Sylvan Cheney, Sylvan Cheney…” she murmured his name, “why haven’t you come back yet…”

She was so cold.

Jasmine Yale couldn’t hold on any longer, she shakily took out her phone from her coat pocket, her fingers trembling.

She dialed Sylvan Cheney’s mobile number.

She had switched SIM cards after coming to the country, uncertain if he would answer.

Indeed, the first call went unanswered.

Jasmine’s hands were red with cold, she breathed hot air onto them.

A fine mist began to float in the air, dampening her hairline.

She had never tried waiting for someone in such cold weather before…

Over more than twenty years, the person she had waited for the most was him.

On the third attempt, someone finally answered.

“Hello.” Sylvan’s characteristically cool voice came through.

“Mr. Cheney, I’m waiting for you,” Jasmine’s voice trembled, faint.

At the sound of her voice, Sylvan’s heart skipped a beat, his breath quickening, “Where are you?”

“At your, your house’s doorstep.” After finishing her words, Jasmine could no longer hold on, her fingers growing numb from the cold.

With a “thud,” the phone slipped from her hand, crashing to the ground, the screen shattering.