Chapter 1655: Chapter 1655: Have They All Been Punished?
This photograph was Qiana Childe’s favorite during her lifeti, with red lips and white teeth, bright eyes that chard everyone.
More than twenty years ago, she was in her pri, a socialite of Landon, the apple of Spencer Childe’s eye, his only daughter, pursued by many.
But alas, her love was misplaced.
The sky is dim, with only an eternal lamp remaining lit.
Under the light, Sylvan Cheney’s deep gaze rests long on the photo on the grave, his eyes never shifting away.
On such a night, murky and dark, all around is silent; Sylvan Cheney can even hear his own breath.
“Mr. Cheney, everything is better now. If the young lady knows from her resting place, she must be very comforted.” Tor sighed, “It’s just a pity the young lady can’t enjoy any happiness. If she were still alive and saw Mr. Cheney and Mr. Chale Cheney, she’d certainly be overjoyed. She used to love children. If she knew how charming the young master is, she would have cherished him in the palm of her hand.”
Thinking back, Tor rembered how Qiana Childe treated Sylvan Cheney before—kindly, very kindly.
After Teagan Cheney passed away, Qiana Childe bestowed all her affection upon Sylvan Cheney.
Fortunately, Sylvan Cheney did not turn out like his heartless father.
“I’ve grown old. When I have nothing to do, I like to co to the young lady’s place and talk with her. She used to enjoy listening to my stories. I still tell them to her now, though I’m not sure if she can hear them…”
Tor rambled on, eyes moist, filled with a misty haze.
Sylvan Cheney remained silent, standing in tranquility.
The wind brushed against him with a boundless chill.
His eyes carried a hint of red, bitter and raw. In the wind, his ears were filled with the sound of sobbing.
“Mr. Cheney, it has been many years. Has the Xinez Family been found? Have they received their retribution? Surely, anyone who commits such unforgivable acts wouldn’t have any blessing. They must have died by now…”
“It’s getting late. I’ll head back now.” Sylvan Cheney interrupted Tor’s words, his voice carrying a desolate note.
“Yes, yes, it is late.” Tor paused, retracting the venomous hate in his voice, “Mr. Cheney, you’ve had alcohol, rember to have so sobering tea when ho, or you’ll have a headache at night. Though it’s spring, it’s been cooling down lately. Keep warm.”
“Hmm.”
Sylvan Cheney left the cetery, heading towards the Rolls-Royce.
His shadow extended far, solitary and chill beneath the light.
The sound of his black leather shoes on the concrete ground was heavy.
Tor accompanied him up to the car, reminding several tis before waving goodbye to Sylvan Cheney.
“Mr. Cheney, co visit the young lady whenever you can.”
Sylvan Cheney made no response, as the car began to slowly move.
He rubbed his forehead; the headache began.
Under the dim light, Sylvan Cheney’s handso, chiseled face lay hidden in the darkness, his jaw taut.
The alcohol he drank that evening started fernting within him, the intoxicating effect slowly impacting his mood.
The cetery faded into the distance, and soon it was out of sight.
Along the wide road stood tall poplar trees, their tips swaying delicately in the wind, casting shadowy silhouettes.
The car proceeded towards Cheney Residence, passing through Landon’s loneliest, quietest district.
It was already late, past ten at night.
The whole drive, Sylvan Cheney stayed silent, resting his head, eyes closed, cold tranquility stuck to his face.
Approximately two hours later, the car finally arrived at Cheney Residence.
Cheney Residence was brightly lit, aglow with lights.
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