Fated love: the unwanted bride

Sylvan Cheney seemed utterly annoyed by her actions and his gestures were rather harsh, his face looking grim.

Jasmine Yale didn’t struggle anymore, and didn’t scream either. Tears began to fall from her eyes.

This time, Sylvan Cheney probably wasn’t going to let her off.

But, just as his hand was about to touch her clothes, the phone in the living room started ringing.

The ring was loud, extremely shrill.

Sylvan stopped what he was doing, looked at Jasmine Yale irritably, and got up from her.

Jasmine Yale picked up her coat from the ground, got dressed, and got up from the carpet.

At that moment, she was like a hurt kitten, her face covered in tears.

He despised her, and she loathed him.

If he was lonely, why did he have to look for her?

Was it merely for revenge? She’d paid a hefty price. Why wouldn’t he just let go?

For a woman, there’s nothing more painful than losing a child.

Thanks to him, she had experienced the greatest pain a woman could endure.

So, was he still unwilling to let go of her? Did he intend to torment her to death?

Jasmine Yale bit her lip hard, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were lost in a daze.

Sylvan Cheney quickly walked over, picked up the phone, his voice was low and seemed choked with suppressed anger.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cheney, our sister suddenly fainted and had a minor operation.”

The call came all the way from Lonton.

The person on the other end of the line was none other than Chris Fern

Sylvan Cheney was silent for a moment, and his tone relaxed slightly: “How is she now?”

“Her health is very weak now; she really wants to see you.”

“Wasn’t she fine earlier?”

“Mr. Cheney, as you know, our sister’s health has been in poor condition for years.” Chris Fern spoke calmly, “Just that this time, you are not by her side, and she has been crying non-stop.”

“Crying for what?”

“She’s sad. She’s afraid that one day…”

Chris Fern stopped speaking and his voice fell silent.

Sylvan Cheney’s face tightened, his eyes took on a profound depth akin to a dark well.

“Mr. Cheney, can you make a trip to Lonton?” Chris Fern’s tone was sincere.

After a long pause, Sylvan Cheney responded.

Chris Fern dared not to bother him further and did not speak any more words.

Sylvan Cheney hung up the phone and turned around.

He saw Jasmine Yale crying, getting up using the wall for support.

The carpet was left in a mess; her hair was disheveled, her pale neck marked by his traces.

Jasmine Yale didn’t hear who he was talking to on the phone nor did she care.

Leaning against the wall, she began to stand up, her gaze unfocused.

Crystal clear teardrops were still hanging on her long eyelashes, quivering.

Sylvan Cheney strode into the bathroom and soaked a towel with water.

Coming out, he personally wiped her face and hands.

Jasmine Yale resisted and did her best to shrink away.

“Stay still.”

Sylvan Cheney pulled her back, his voice somewhat softened.

The towel was warm and had the scent of lavender.

He quietly wiped her face, very carefully.

The same scene, the same place, in that moment, it reminded Jasmine Yale of the past.

As a playful child, she would often return home covered in filth.

Sylvan Cheney always came back late, and the people of the Cheney Residence turned a blind eye to her, and so she acted recklessly.

Once, she got too carried away and fell into a puddle, splattering herself with mud!

The pink shirt she had changed into in the morning turned black, even her face was covered in mud.

It was getting late, and she wanted to take a shower before Sylvan Cheney returned.

After all, at the Cheney Residence, only Sylvan Cheney looked after her.

But unexpectedly, the moment she pushed the door to the living room, she saw Sylvan Cheney sitting on the couch..