Fated love: the unwanted bride

“Yes,” replied Jasmine Yale.

As soon as she said it, she was braced for him to slap down some money. Embarrassing though it may be, it was better than the current ambiguity. Sylvan Cheney patted her face, with a dangerous message full in his eyes. He spoke with a half-smile, “Marry me then, my money will be all yours.” Jasmine Yale looked astounded, eyes wide open.

She was surprised, skeptical.

Sylvan leaned in and gently squeezed her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Hm? You don’t want to? Weren’t you just saying with added emphasis?” Jasmine Yale robed off her shocked expression and smiled, “But I don’t want second-hand men.”

“Say that one more time.”

Jasmine leaned closer to him, stressing each word, “I. Don’t. Want. Second-hand. Men.”

That set Sylvan aflame. He threw her onto the sofa!

His face was pale with fury.

Jasmine almost fell off. She reached out to grab his waist.

Unexpectedly, her hand found the gun he’d hidden!

An icy, hard-edged gun!

Jasmine retracted her hand quickly, grabbed his arm and her face turned white. She had never touched such a thing in her life. It’s not something you want to mess around with.

Her hands trembled.

What if she accidentally pulled the trigger just now…

“Sylvan Cheney, why do you carry a gun?” she was still terrified.

Truly, she was scared.

She had not reached the point of disregarding her life yet.

“Which gun are you talking about?” Sylvan raised an eyebrow.

“Which one? Do you mean you have another…”

Jasmine realised she had misspoken and quickly shut up.

Sylvan used to be a popular heartthrob, cold yet gracious, a gentleman who definitely wouldn’t stoop to vulgar humor. But now!!!

Sylvan started to guide her hand down towards his own belt…

Jasmine pulled her hand back hastily.

Sylvan only wanted to tease her for a bit. Seeing her disinclination, he let go. “Sylvan Cheney, if you don’t want me, get up,” Jasmine laid her cards on the table.

Being pressed down by him was uncomfortable.

“Let’s just talk.”

“There’s nothing common between us,” Jasmine rejected him bluntly.

Back in the days, she was the one doing most of the talking, and he, mostly listening.

Now, she didn’t want to talk.

Wouldn’t that be awkward?

“Let’s talk about Chale Cheney.”

Sylvan sat away from her, not touching her anymore.

“He’s Mr. Yale’s son. Maybe, Mr. Cheney, we can talk about Little Cutie.”

Jasmine admitted that she did it on purpose.

Yes, on purpose.

She wanted to remind him every minute and every second that he has his wife and son.

Jasmine straightened her clothes and sat up from the couch, no longer disheveled.

They sat shoulder to shoulder.

Just like countless days and nights throughout those twelve years, they sat side by side.

A familiar routine they had grown fond of: she’d talk, he’d listen.

He’d turn on the TV and watch the business channels; she’d be bored and insist on soap operas.

When it came to who got the TV remote, she always won.

Of course, most of the time he wouldn’t bother competing.

She’d watch soap operas, and he’d watch along.

She liked to eat snacks while watching, especially fruit.

So, he’d peel apples for her, cutting them into slices, and would wash grapes and blueberries for her…

He rarely ate, she was always the one eating.

Unless, sometimes, she’d force him to eat some fruit.

Of course, there was more than just fruits. She liked to share her corn chips, sweet potato fries, plum candy, and more with him..