Fated love: the unwanted bride

“Didn’t we agree to share good things?” Chale Cheney was not pleased.

The box was discovered by him first, yet Elder Cheney claimed it for himself.

Unpleasant! Very unpleasant!

The youngster’s small face was filled with discontent, his mouth pouting to hold an oil bottle.

Elder Cheney was playing unfair!

Sylvan Cheney raised an eyebrow, “Do you want me to read it out to you?”

“Yes, read it!” Chale Cheney defiantly tipped his little face upwards.

“Good good study, day day up.” “Books are the ladder to progress.” “Who knows the meals on the platter, every grain represents hard work.”

Chale Cheney was vexed, shaking his head: “Don’t want to listen anymore!”

Sylvan Cheney curled his lip, “Don’t want to listen anymore?”

“Don’t listen, don’t listen.” Chale Cheney covered his ears.

“Play by yourself for a while, we will have dinner later.” Sylvan Cheney intended to take the box back to his room.

“Will Jasy come after dinner?” The kid asked with a hopeful face.

“Hmm.”

Sylvan Cheney helped him get dressed and put on his shoes, then took him downstairs.

“Butler Santana, take Chale for a walk in the garden.”

“Yes, Mr. Cheney.”

Butler Santana led Chale Cheney out, after which Sylvan Cheney finally returned to his study.

As he reopened the box, his heart instantly began to rise and fall like ocean waves, unceasing.

Clearly, the notes inside were full of a young girl’s little thoughts, secrets, and matters of the heart.

Colorful slips of paper filled the entire candy box.

Some of the words were already blurred, some of the slips were yellowed, yet, the candy box was filled with the sweetness of candy.

Each slip had a date written on it, and the sentences on each slip were quite short, more like casual records of small details.

Sylvan Cheney unfolded the slips, then arranged them in chronological order.

The earliest ones had childish handwriting, but every stroke was very carefully drawn.

“Everything here is unfamiliar, but it’s warmer than my old home. Year Month

Day.”

“I don’t like talking to others, except him. Year Month Day.”

“They say I’m his pet, to be discarded once he’s had his fun. I’m not a pet, not a pet, not a… Year Month Day.”

Sylvan Cheney calculated, these were written when she was eight or nine.

Why has she never told him?

When had he ever treated her as a pet?

All these gossipers.

“They say I’m lucky, is that true? I think, meeting him is the best luck. Year

Month Day.”

“Someone asked me to pass a love note to him, hmph, I threw it away. He won’t find out, right? Year Month Day.”

“I discovered, he looks so nice when he smiles! Year Month Day.”

Sylvan Cheney flipped through them, the young girl’s little thoughts were laid bare in front of him.

All the slips didn’t mention his name, but… he knew it was him.

As he read, his emotion surged.

The last note was written when she was eighteen years old————————-

“So sad, so sad, uncomfortable, I won’t like you anymore, hmph. Year Month Day.”

Her face, with all its joys and sorrows, appeared vividly in front of his eyes.

His hand clenched tightly around the last slip of paper.

The date was that day, he remembered.

She came running to him giggling, asking him: “Mr. Cheney, what do you think of me? Will you marry me?”

Thinking she wasn’t being serious, he immediately responded with “Not much”.

Sylvan Cheney leaned his fist against his forehead, resting the slip in his palm.

The candy box lay quietly on the table, the Snow White on its lid already blurred, but the eyes still sparkled, seemingly full of expectation..