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Jasmine Yale was held tightly in Sylvan Cheney’s arms, unable to move.

She looked up, her gaze meeting Sylvan Cheney’s eyes.

However, neither of them showed any sign of backing down!

Their eyes locked in a tense confrontation, like a drawn sword against a taut crossbow.

The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder, ready to ignite at a single spark.

Jasmine Yale saw that Sylvan Cheney’s eyes were full of bloodshot lines, and his face looked haggard.

He slowly let go of her hand after a long while, refusing to engage in any argument.

Jasmine Yale already had everything she planned to say ready—

But his silence threw her off guard.

After all, he never used to argue with her about anything.

Even in the past, he would largely accommodate her.

Whatever she said, he would rarely disagree with it.

The car was quiet for a long time before Jasmine Yale finally spoke in a soft voice: “Has Little Chale had his injection? Has he taken his medicine?”

She had never raised a child and did not fully understand.

But she felt distressed.

“He refuses to take his medicine.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated her question.

Sylvan Cheney remained silent, rubbing his forehead with a gloomy expression.

Charles Mcintosh heard her and answered, “Young master insists on seeing you.”

With her eyelashes lowered, Jasmine Yale, saying that Sylvan Cheney was a man of his word, would never back down easily.

So it was Little Chale who wanted to see her.

All the way, Jasmine Yale ignored Sylvan Cheney.

Upon arriving at the Cheney Residence, Jasmine Yale was anxious and upset.

Butler Santana and Tomer opened the car door and stood aside.

This was the second time Jasmine Yale had returned after three years.

Butler Santana did not recognize Jasmine Yale, only knowing that the young master liked her very much.

“Where is Little Chale? Where is he?”

Jasmine Yale turned her head and asked Sylvan Cheney.

Sylvan Cheney strode towards the Cheney residence, right into the living room, and up the stairs.

Jasmine Yale did not walk as fast as him, she had to follow behind with a light jog.

Butler Santana originally wanted to go upstairs, but Charles Mcintosh reached out his arm and stopped everyone.

The footsteps of Jasmine Yale echoed in the staircase, unable to mask her inner anxiety.

That feeling was as if her own child had fallen ill.

Heartbreaking and distressing.

On the third floor, Sylvan Cheney stopped.

Jasmine Yale was taken aback, wasn’t this the room she had vacated?

Was Little Chale sleeping here?

Well, the room was well lit and spacious, so it was not bad sleeping in there.

The door was half-open.

Just as Sylvan Cheney was about to open the door, Riceball ran out.

“Meow.”

It circled around Sylvan Cheney’s feet, evidently anxious.

“Down.”

Upon hearing its master’s command, Elaskan took a squat, but still refused to go downstairs.

Sylvan Cheney ignored it and took Jasmine Yale into the room.

“Little Chale!”

Jasmine Yale ran over.

Little Chale was lying on the bed, his face flushed, lips pale, looking frail and weak.

The feverish little boy was not his usual lively self.

Jasmine Yale, heart aching at the sight, sat on the bed, bent down, and touched his face.

“Little Chale, be good, Jasy is here.”

Chale Cheney, in his hazy state, heard Jasmine Yale’s voice; he forced his eyes open and croaked out a single word.

“Mom.”

At that word, both Jasmine Yale and Sylvan Cheney froze in their place.

Especially Jasmine Yale, her mind went completely blank!

Was she dreaming? Was she in a dream?

There had been a child who had called her “Mom” in her dream—

But when she woke up from the dream, the child was gone, everything was gone.

Her blood rushed at that moment, she held her breath, an unusual sensation welled up in her throat.

Mother, he called her mother….