Fated love: the unwanted bride

Sylvan Cheney noticed her little thoughts and tapped her hand with his chopsticks as soon as he picked them up.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like the food? Hmm?”

Jasmine Yale withdrew her hand and had a couple of bites of rice.

“No, it’s good.”

He grabbed her bowl: “If you’ve something to say, just say it straight. I don’t like roundabouts.”

Jasmine Yale kept silent.

Sylvan Cheney frowned, giving her a frosty glance.

“Actually, I’d like to have hotpot…” Her voice trailed off as she spoke.

She was afraid he might be displeased.

But Sylvan Cheney chuckled softly.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? I’m also in the mood for hotpot.”

“Really?” She almost jumped with delight.

He stood up, picked up his coat from the coat rack, took her hand, as if he was holding a little kitten.

“Hmm. Let’s go. I’ll take you out for that.”

That night, he took her out just for hotpot.

She was very happy and ate a lot.

Sylvan Cheney didn’t eat much. Most of the time, he watched her eat.

She was chattering and eating at the same time—

She spoke about a boy in her class who had a fight with the teacher earlier that day, about the class monitor and the student representative who were dating, about a cute little cat that had been appearing under the Osmanthus tree on the first floor lately…

She spoke, he listened.

He never interrupted her, nor did he voice his opinions.

Jasmine Yale wasn’t sure if he enjoyed listening or not.

After having hotpot, one’s body tends to have a strong smell.

She leaned towards him, smiling: “Mr. Cheney, let me wash your clothes for you? Consider it as a thank you for treating me to hotpot.”

“Hmm?” He gave her a glance, “Okay.”

Jasmine Yale was stunned, well, she was just being polite, how could he take it seriously.

She didn’t know the first thing about washing clothes.

That night, Sylvan Cheney didn’t rush home. Instead, they took a long stroll on the streets.

Winters in Landon were desolate and chilly.

The wind was howling.

She walked beside him without feeling cold, sometimes she would skip ahead of him.

Sylvan Cheney’s strides were steady, and he didn’t constraint Jasmine Yale.

When she was playing around, he would slightly curve the corners of his mouth.

That night, they really walked a long way under the street lights.

That night, she was unusually lively, a rare moment of joy.

Every time she was with him, no matter how long the journey was, she always felt it was too short.

She cherished every moment, without asking when it would end.

Overcoming her nostalgia, Jasmine Yale picked up a rib.

The rib was succulent, but she couldn’t taste anything.

After taking a bite and not tasting anything, she simply put down her chopsticks.

A full pot of hotpot was bubbling and steaming, filling up the entire table.

Looking at the heat, tears welled up in her eyes, her gaze hollow and blurred.

…

Waiting was a long process.

At exactly seven in the evening, the door was knocked.

A “thump” felt like a knock at her heart!

Jasmine Yale, quite sensitive, immediately sprung out of bed.

Throughout the day, especially as night fell, she was haunted by the anticipation of the knock on the door.

But now, the door was indeed knocked.

“Mr. Seasons?”

“It’s me.” A dispassionate male voice resonated from outside.

Jasmine Yale’s hand on the doorknob trembled slightly.

As the door opened, Haynes Seasons took off his scarf.

“Miss Yale, sorry to bother you.”

“Is it foggy outside?” She noticed his travel-weary look, even the tips of his hair were moist.

Haynes Seasons nodded: “Yes, a fog has just rolled in, and it’s quite thick.”

“Must be freezing outside, please come in.”