Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1169: Her Heart, Cooled

Chapter 1169: Chapter 1169: Her Heart, Cooled

Sylvan Cheney sat on the sofa, his handsome brow furrowed, deep eyes shimmering with an inscrutable light—still mature and composed, showing little emotion.

Jasmine Yale twiddled her black hair between her fingers, her large grape-like eyes looking at him.

Sylvan didn’t continue questioning, and she didn’t know what to say.

Seeing that he didn’t leave, she curved her lips slightly, "Can’t bear to see me go, huh?"

It was just a jest, yet Sylvan’s brow furrowed slightly.

"That’s true, I ’can’t bear’ to either. This is our last encounter, right?" Jasmine’s face showed a hint of chill.

The answer he gave during her trip to Landon had not changed, it remained the same.

She had given up.

Completely given up.

He truly had never cared about her feelings; if he had, he wouldn’t have personally dealt with her father and brother.

Her heart felt cold, as if a chilling wind had swept over it.

He probably didn’t know how long it took for a chilled heart to warm up...

He just looked at her, remaining silent.

"I want to go back to sleep, the alarm is set for seven in the morning," said Jasmine Yale, "You remember your promise not to look for me again; this time, I hope you can keep your word. Otherwise, you really will seem without credibility in my eyes."

"Sylvan Cheney."

"Hmm?"

"Good night." He stood up.

Without saying much more, Sylvan left, his tall figure disappearing at the doorway, along with the faint Agarwood Fragrance clinging to him.

Jasmine was taken aback, a strange feeling washing over her heart.

She hugged her arms, suddenly wide awake.

The crystal lamp cast a soft glow, the bright light spilling down, touching her hair, her nightdress.

His bed and pillows were suffused with his scent; they had known each other for sixteen years.

Long, lingering memories surged like a tide.

Eroding her thoughts.

No matter how she tried to suppress these thoughts, they rebounded more fiercely.

Jumping off the bed, she walked unsteadily to the bedroom’s wine rack.

The tall wine rack held many bottles of expensive red wines, and Jasmine randomly picked one.

There were also wine glasses on the rack; she poured half a glass of red wine.

Ever since her trip to Chicago, she hadn’t drunk red wine, at most having beer to quench her craving.

Today... she suddenly felt like drinking.

Drinking would help her sleep, forgetting everything.

She sat on the floor, in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window, quietly sipping the wine alone.

The streetlamp outside quietly illuminated the ground; Jasmine rested her chin on her hand one moment, swinging her legs the next.

The lights outside grew increasingly blurred.

The alcohol indeed had a stimulating feel.

Could smoking be more stimulating?

Otherwise, why would Sylvan Cheney enjoy smoking so much?

Once this thought emerged, like bamboo shoots after rain, she couldn’t suppress it.

Laughing, she crawled to the cabinet to look for Sylvan’s cigarettes.

Rummaging through it.

Over the years, she had never dared to entertain such a bold thought, but today, it seemed rather intriguing.

She lay on the carpet, searching through his cabinet.

"Where is it hidden, no cigarettes?" mused Jasmine as she searched.

Having checked several cabinets and finding none, she had instead made a mess of his room.

"Annoying," puffed Jasmine Yale.

Finally having such a bold idea, and yet not finding any cigarettes.

She didn’t believe it and kept searching.

Eventually, she found an unopened pack of cigarettes in the bedside cabinet.