Fated love: the unwanted bride

He found a pajama set for her to wear.

Jasmine spoke in her sleep, “Drinking enhances intelligence, the more you drink, the smarter you get…”

Sylvan felt particularly helpless.

He bent over and patted her on the cheek, “The more you drink, the stupider you get.”

He brushed his lips against her swollen, sensual lips, as light as a dragonfly skimming the water’s surface.

Suddenly, Jasmine wrapped her arms around his neck.

Sylvan peeled her hand off, “Behave yourself.”

After that, Sylvan went into the bathroom for a shower.

Her apartment wasn’t large, but it was clean and well-organized, equipped with everything necessary.

However, there were no men’s clothes.

Left with no choice, Sylvan made a call. He had his assistant bring over a set of his clothes, and also had the assistant clean the apartment.

Only after all the remains of the bottles on the floor had been cleaned up did Sylvan let the assistant leave.

After all the fuss, it was already deep into the night.

The rain outside did not stop, trickling down persistently. The sound of the rain could be heard throughout the room.

Sylvan wanted to smoke, but he resisted the urge.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he made sure she was covered with the blanket.

He couldn’t help but touch her hair.

She had cut her long, black hair. Even though it was still as soft and smooth as before, something…had changed.

His long fingers lingered on her hair for a long time.

Slowly, they moved to her forehead, cheeks, and lips.

She was as delicate as fine bone china. Beautiful beyond words, yet very fragile.

The flush of alcohol on her face hadn’t faded and she was still slurring her words, “I want to spend my life with you…”

Sylvan’s hand trembled slightly, frozen in place.

His gaze fell on her face.

He furrowed his brows, wondering who she was dreaming about.

“For a lifetime, is that alright…” she mumbled in her sleep.

He lowered his head and left a kiss on her forehead, which was slightly warm.

He stood up and left.

The tall and upright figure of Sylvan disappeared into the darkness.

Downstairs, a black sports car was waiting for him.

The night was deep, the rain was relentless.

The air was filled with mist, the endless night seeming as if it had no end.

In the morning, a ray of sunlight shone on the floor.

Jasmine stirred in her bed.

Tired and groggy, she struggled to lift her sore arms.

It was a battle to open her eyes, her eyelids so heavy.

Had the rain stopped?

She walked to the window, barefoot on the soft carpet.

As she pulled back the curtain, the sunny daylight streamed onto her face, carrying both light and warmth.

She squinted her eyes. As it turned out, it was already late.

Her head was throbbing. With no other option, Jasmine had to find a painkiller from her medicine box.

Suddenly, she paused —

Last night, it seems, someone had visited.

She remembered, having passed out drunk, she wasn’t wearing the pajamas she had on!

Jasmine, now agitated, ran to the balcony, then to the bathroom.

Everything was clean, not a trace was left.

But precisely because it was too clean and tidy, she felt more convinced that someone had been there last night, tidied her apartment, and even changed her clothes.

Jasmine was dazed. She rubbed her temples hard, trying to remember.

They say drinking can cause problems. Who knew that could be true even when drinking at home?

Last night…

After thinking for a while, a terrifying thought flashed through her mind.

Last night, it seemed the visitor was not someone else, but Sylvan Cheney.