Chapter 2592: Likes to Lie on His Chest

Was Little Clementine seventeen or eighteen... looking like that?

Sylvan Cheney took another big gulp of water, the cold liquid slid down to his heart, filling his whole body with chills.

These days, he frequently dreamed of this little girl, sometimes as a seventeen or eighteen-year-old, sometimes just a little girl, maybe ten, every dream was fleeting, fleeting to the point that he couldn’t grasp them.

He didn’t know if it was the grown-up Little Clementine, but in the dreams, he was very strict with this girl, just like the dream he had just now, he thought back on it and felt he was being unreasonable.

When she ran out the door, the dream cut off, and he didn’t know if he eventually got her back home.

The little girl’s temperament was quite like Jasmine Yale’s, she liked to talk back, and she liked to say a bunch of things that made or didn’t make sense.

He didn’t know why he was having these strange dreams, didn’t know why he was dreaming of a little girl...was it because he somewhat wanted to see Little Clementine?

Sylvan Cheney rubbed his temples, his head still hurting.

His wrists felt numb; in this deep night, it was easy to numb a person’s nerves.

When the dream faded away, he was wide awake.

He stood up, pulled a book from the shelf, and opened it.

Inside the book was a photograph, an already crumpled photo, with a pregnant Jasmine Yale smiling happily, holding vibrant bellflowers, while he stood next to her.

He looked at the photo, his eyes reflecting a deep, profound light, like the outside sky, mysterious and infinite, with no end in sight.

His gaze remained fixed on the photo, not moving away.

He had stumbled upon the photo when he went to her residential area, at the lost and found; he claimed it, knowing the management wouldn’t hesitate to give it to him.

The photo was already crumpled when he got it; probably something she discarded.

Indeed, it wasn’t worth treasuring.

Sylvan Cheney’s distinctly jointed fingers gently pinched the photo, staring at it continuously.

In such a night, silence enveloped everywhere, he stood in front of the bookshelf, his slender shadow quietly falling onto the floor, lonely and desolate.

After who knows how long, he put the photo back into the book, turned around, and walked toward the balcony.

He poured himself another glass of red wine.

Sylvan Cheney glanced at the time; it was only half-past one in the quiet, long night.

Luckily, he had gotten used to it; it wasn’t a one-day or two-day matter.

He simply took his laptop, placed it on his lap, drinking and silently editing files.

The dim blue light from the computer screen cast over his face, making his distinctly chiseled face appear more profound and somber.

He was originally someone who could concentrate while working, but at this moment, he couldn’t focus at all; images of Little Clementine kept flashing in his mind.

The little soft creature reached out to him, smiling at him.

Sylvan Cheney never forgot the feeling of holding Little Clementine; it was an extraordinary feeling, like a current hitting his heart.

The little one loved to lie on his chest, on his shoulder, with her soft little hands.

Sylvan Cheney’s hand stopped on the keyboard.

This tangle of thoughts wrapped around his brain, making him unable to work.

He simply lit another cigarette, immersed in the scent of nicotine.

The long, endless night found his thoughts spreading like infinite spring grass, extending everywhere under the spring breeze, until the entire land was covered.

Amidst swirling cigarette smoke, Sylvan Cheney looked out the window, a deep gleam in his eyes, akin to the water of an ancient well, calm and untroubled.