Sylvan Cheney's expression was as composed and calm as ever, with maturity and stability.
After shaking hands, Sylvan Cheney still wore a friendly smile on his face.
Butler Santana still hadn't recovered from the shock.
Jasmine Yale said proactively, "Butler Santana, it's so cold outside, Evan gave me his jacket. Could you please make him a cup of hot tea? The pu-erh from home will do."
"Okay, okay." Butler Santana responded mechanically, but her gaze never left Sylvan Cheney's face.
Mr. Cheney truly didn't remember her.
The composure and calm on his face didn't seem to be feigned.
He really didn't remember.
No wonder Jasmine Yale said not to be shocked no matter what you see.
Butler Santana didn't dare to speak rashly and simply followed Jasmine Yale's suggestion, turning back into the house.
Sylvan Cheney frowned, actually quite puzzled by Aunt Jasmine's reaction.
Could it be... he really resembled Jasmine Yale's deceased husband? To such an extent?
