Oh my god!
If those people knew they spent three hundred million to kill a delicate young woman, he wondered what their expressions would be like.
With a task to finish, Jerry stayed up again.
When his roommates were all asleep, he used a flashlight in his mouth and placed his computer under the covers. His eyes were fixed on the screen of code while his fingers moved quickly and rhythmically on the keyboard like a robot.
He struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open for fear of making mistakes due to drowsiness.
In the dark night, handsome men always stay up late.
After hanging up the phone, Cheyenne took a comfortable shower and slept well because Kelvin had been bothering her for three days straight without giving her much rest at all.
On the same night, under the light of a full moon, the reflection of a solitary and slender man could be seen on the floor-to-ceiling window. The cool breeze weaved through his white robe, lifting one corner of his bathrobe as he stood by the window, arms crossed.
His deep-set eyes stared at the faint yellow lights outside for a long time. Cigarette butts littered the floor by his feet, an empty beer bottle rolled to the door, making a faint noise in his ears.
Omari never knew that getting drunk could be such a difficult thing.
The more he tried to forget, the more he remembered what happened that day.
Cheyenne was in a drowsy state; she seemed to hear the vibration of her phone.
She opened her sleepy eyes and reached out her delicate and slender hand to pick up her phone.
Beep beep...
A series of faint and sporadic noises sounded in her ears, a hoarse and magnetic male voice tinged with a hint of drunkenness said, "Cheyenne."
This voice was soft.
"Cheyenne."
Cheyenne was a bit sleepy, but upon hearing this voice, she instantly became more awake. She sat up, holding the blanket, furrowing her brows, and let out a silent yawn.
"What's wrong with you? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Is there something important you've discovered?"
The alarm clock on the table showed it was 2:30 in the middle of the night. At this hour, he should have been asleep.
As an elite, Omari led a disciplined life. No eating after 9 PM, sleep before 11 PM, and waking up promptly at 6:30 AM. His suit and shoes were always a matching set, down to his choice of tie and cufflinks.
Given his routine, it was unlikely for him to call her at such late night unless there was something important going on.
"Cheyenne, why?" The person on the other end hiccupped, his voice slurred. Cheyenne was momentarily confused.
Is he drunk?
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"Hic, why him instead of me?"
Him? What was Omari talking about?
Cheyenne's half-awake mind was completely thrown off by his words. She opened her lips slightly and asked helplessly, "Are you drunk?"
"I am," he replied with a hint of sadness in his voice. "It doesn't taste good."
"Are you alone?"
"Yeah... alone."
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