The financial district at night is vastly different from the day, shrouded in a layer of deep black, making everything appear especially serene.
This kind of night isn't considered cold; the wind rustles through the tree trunks, and the leaves make a "rustle" sound.
The streetlights cast onto the ground as Jasmine Yale quietly walks along the roadside towards the James Group building.
The James Group building is the tallest here, luxuriously flamboyant, with a decor style that resembles the handiwork of Erin Janus.
It's already past ten o'clock at night.
She just can't understand how Sylvan Cheney can command a pregnant woman to deliver food without even blushing or feeling the slightest bit of shame, as if his skin was thick beyond measure.
That's all because she's spoiled him.
The lighting is cold and gentle, the soft yellow resembling willow branches just budding in spring.
