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Because Zaiden Santos and Ann Nolan were present, the interactions between Jasmine Yale and Sylvan Cheney were somewhat simpler.

The two men chatted, and so did the two women.

The atmosphere was quite soft.

It was around eight-thirty when Zaiden Santos stood up, “Mr. Cheney, Miss Yale, I’m dropping Ann off at work, you two stick around.”

Ann picked up her purse and also stood up.

“Jasmine, catch up soon. I’m heading to the office.”

“Alright, take care, see you when you’re free.” Jasmine waved at her happily.

Ann, arm in arm with Zaiden Santos, they together descended the staircase.

Zaiden Santos’s Bentley was parked in the teahouse courtyard.

Zaiden Santos opened the rear door for Ann like a gentleman as soon as they descended.

After Ann got in, he followed suit.

However, all the tenderness from just now vanished in an instant, replaced by indifference and aloofness.

“Let go.”

He looked straight ahead, his eyes cold and voice low.

Ann’s hand trembled and let go of his arm.

She lowered her head slightly, her hands rubbing the straps of the handbag, her eyes filled with confusion.

Like a startled deer, her eyes lost their gleam.

“Elder Connor, drive!” Zaiden Santos commanded coldly.

“Yes, sir.”

The driver started the car and slowly drove out of the teahouse.

The distance between Zaiden Santos and Ann Nolan wasn’t too close nor distant, but it lacked the intimacy from before.

“Ann, I won’t be returning home tonight.”

“Oh.” Ann responded as if she was used to it, without saying too much.

“Do you hope that I’d go back, or not?”

Zaiden Santos suddenly became intrigued and cackled maliciously, his gaze fell on her face.

He slightly leaned back in his seat, his figure erect and slender.

Every move of his oozed an aristocratic aura, elegant and gentle.

Ann didn’t know why he asked this, and looked at him by raising her eyes.

“I don’t mind either way.”

Ann’s response was very bland, like her personality, unworldly and indifferent towards everything

Even her facial expressions were impassive.

Not exactly like the smiling and composed Ann seen in the teahouse.

But it was this indifference of hers that irritated Zaiden Santos.

He stretched out his hand, his long and fair fingers lifted her chin: “I always find your hypocrisy too hard to stomach, even though you clearly… crave for me in your bed.”

Only then did Ann’s eyes flinch.

But after just a few seconds, that special gleam dimmed down and returned to normality.

She remained silent.

She had already gotten used to Zaiden Santos’s tone.

She knew he never had any affection for her.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Zaiden Santos felt somewhat annoyed.

“What should I say?” Ann blinked her eyes, looking lost.

Perhaps, Zaiden Santos and she really had nothing in common to talk about; whenever they were alone, they usually ran out of things to say.

In fact, their intimate encounters far outnumbered their conversations.

Zaiden Santos sneered, “Ann, you’re not this cold in bed.”

Ann’s face flushed a little, she looked uneasy.

She hadn’t expected Zaiden Santos to say such a thing.

She pushed his hand away, closed her eyes, and rested her head: “I’m going to have a nap.”

She was a bit tired; every time she portrayed being a loving wife to him in front of others, it exhausted her.

Ann genuinely remained silent after that.

However, Zaiden Santos seemed a little impatient. He gave her a displeased look; his gaze swept over her fair, oval face.

The car was speeding; the outside view was rapidly moving past, just like a zoetrope.