When Sylvan Cheney hurried over, Jasmine Yale was already curled up into a ball, squatting on the ground, hugging her knees, and burying her head deep into her knees.
Despite that, she was still shivering from the cold.
Outside, there was an unstoppable chill and drifting mist.
She resembled a homeless kitten, curled up on the edge of the desolate underbrush.
The Rolls-Royce stopped, and Sylvan Cheney pushed open the car door and strode over.
He took off his coat and wrapped her tightly in it, carrying her towards home.
His clothes carried his body heat and scent, and Jasmine Yale felt much warmer, snuggling deeper into the fabric.
Her icy hands clung to Sylvan Cheney's neck like clutching straws, unwilling to let go.
"Cold, so cold..."
Her lips had turned blue with cold; she couldn't form a complete sentence.
"Serves you right."
"I'm going to freeze to death..."
"You won't die."
Jasmine Yale was so upset she started to cry; she moved twice in his arms in protest.
