Fated love: the unwanted bride

Chapter 287: Time is Not as Good as in The Past

Translator: 549690339

At hearing this, a pleasing curve appeared on the corner of Sylvan Cheney’s lips.

That night, Jasmine Yale was truly arrogant.

Yes, arrogant.

But he indulged her anyway.

“The woman who pinched me today is her mom.” Jasmine Yale told the truth.

“Oh,” Sylvan Cheney uttered, his glance slightly cold, “Retaliating against you?”

In the darkness, the side profile of Sylvan Cheney’s face was cold and resolute, exuding a chilling aura.

“More or less.”

Jasmine Yale did not want to explain further.

The time when she was eight was unbearable to recall.

Her father was alcoholic, her stepmother was cruel, her sister was spoiled.

Home didn’t feel like a home.

She was bullied and had nowhere to vent her grievances, she could only cry.

Looking back, her habit of crying, probably started around that time.

Sylvan Cheney did not pursue further. If she didn’t say anything, he could always find ways to investigate.

He would keep his promise to her, he would not just talk the talk.

When they arrived at the Cheney Residence, it was already very late, and Chale Cheney was sound asleep.

Sylvan Cheney handed him to Butler Santana to hold, then helped Jasmine Yale to get out of the car.

Butler Tomer saw the scratch marks on Sylvan Cheney’s neck and couldn’t help but express concern: “Mr. Cheney, your neck…”

“It’s no matter.”

Sylvan Cheney and Jasmine Yale walked into the living room.

Butler Tomer didn’t ask further, he had already figured it out. They were marks from a woman’s fingernail…

Who else could it be other than Jasmine Yale.

“I’ll sleep with little Chale tonight,” Jasmine Yale said, her head bowed, looking very well-behaved.

“Hmm.”

Sylvan Cheney took off his coat and replied.

Jasmine Yale glanced at him, the scratch marks on his neck were quite serious.

Would he be noticed by the employees when he goes to the group tomorrow?

At least it was noticeable.

But it wasn’t really her fault.

Jasmine Yale bowed her head, changed into her slippers, and walked upstairs.

“Wait,” Sylvan Cheney called out.

He walked in her direction until he was right in front of her.

Jasmine Yale looked at him confusedly, her large, blinking eyes clear as crystal.

Sylvan Cheney raised his hand, his eyes softened, filled with warmth and indulgence.

He brushed away the loose hair by her ear, his cool lips slightly parted.

“Good night.”

His voice was rich and deep like a cello, it tugged at her heartstrings.

Jasmine Yale averted her eyes.

She quickly replied with a “good night,” and then hurried up the stairs.

She was flustered, like an uneasy rabbit.

Her heart felt like a puzzle that had just been put together, suddenly scattered again.

She knew that she had once loved him.

Loved him.

That was in the past.

Now, the times were not as good as they used to be.

Upon opening the door, she saw that little Chale’s quilt had fallen to the floor.

She put aside her thoughts, hurried over, and covered the little fellow with his quilt.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she bent over and watched little Chale closely.

This child was truly adorable, tender and lovely, fair and plump.

He looked so much like Sylvan Cheney, inheriting all of Sylvan Cheney’s excellent genes.

The little fellow had called her “mommy” twice, she remembered.

It’s just a pity that she was not his mother.

She was still wearing the red cord that the little fellow tied on her wrist, bright and beautiful.

Sylvan Cheney entered his own bedroom.

After taking a bath, he wrapped himself in a robe and sat on a sofa by the window.

The window looked out at the dark night, the moon was bright and the stars scattered, the autumn dusk was in full swing.

He took out his phone.

“Charles Mcintosh.”

“Mr. Cheney, I am here.”

“Did you figure out the dispute this afternoon?”

“Yes. The woman who attacked Miss Yale is named Nancy Emmett, an actress in some small third-rate films, just arrived in Landon this year, always trying to cling to the influential. Her daughter is Kamila Zahir, who also always wanted to be famous, dreaming of becoming a leading lady..”