Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1170: Is He Not Up to Par?

Chapter 1170: Chapter 1170: Is He Not Up to Par?

At the same time, she was stunned; she saw something all too familiar, a pack she’d sold a year ago.

She recognized the product she sold, naturally.

He hadn’t finished using it?

Jasmine Yale casually flipped through it, so much left.

Was he not up to it?

She hadn’t sold him much, and yet, after a year, such a tiny amount wasn’t used up? Useless.

Or perhaps he didn’t like wearing them? That’s possible too...

Jasmine Yale sighed, so much left, such a waste. The quality was really good.

She couldn’t remember how much she’d sold him, it almost seemed like he hadn’t used any.

But it wasn’t surprising, men rarely used them unless they absolutely had to.

Jasmine Yale didn’t care anymore, she tore open his cigarette box and drew a cigarette.

She even found a lighter on the table!

Alcohol made her head throb, and amidst this uncontrollable intoxication, she lit the cigarette.

Smoke swirled around her, she frowned.

Disgusting.

Just as she braced herself to try a drag, suddenly, the bedroom door was violently kicked open!

Sylvan Cheney stood at the doorway with a taut face!

A deadly coldness emanated from him.

At that moment, Jasmine Yale was sitting disheveled on the carpet, one hand holding a cigarette, the other a wine glass.

The cigarette was lit, the wine half-drunk.

She was frowning, pondering the cigarette.

"Jasmine Yale, have you gone mad? I’ve only been gone a short while, and you start messing around? Can’t you give me some peace?" Sylvan Cheney strode forward, grabbing her by the shoulders.

He bent down, snatched the cigarette from her hand, and stubbed it out.

Jasmine’s hand trembled, the red wine inevitably spilled all over.

With a loud "clang," she angrily threw the glass onto the floor! Her big eyes glaring at him!

"I’m angry!" she sat on the floor, like a doll with messy hair and fair skin.

Her shoulders showed marks from his grip, her face full of annoyance as she glared at him.

Her head was spinning, but she recognized the person before her, she certainly did!

"Angry? What right do you have to be angry?" His room had smoke alarms; he’d receive an alert immediately if there were any smoke.

Thinking something was wrong in the bedroom, he rushed over, only to find her lighting up.

Sylvan Cheney was fuming, clenching his teeth.

His face was dark and stormy.

Sylvan Cheney rolled up the sleeves of his robe and crouched down before her, eyes sharply focused on her.

Jasmine Yale, sitting before him, seemed like a little girl with a delicate face and watery, large eyes, still bearing the visage of her teenage years.

His fingers gripped her shoulders: "Why are you drinking and daring to smoke? Hmm? Speak."

Jasmine tried to shake off his hands, but couldn’t.

"You’re so annoying. I drink if I want to drink, what’s there to ask? I couldn’t sleep and wanted to drink, satisfied?"

Her big eyes were misty with a hazy layer of moisture.

Her little face showed defiance.

Sitting on the floor, Sylvan crouched, their gazes locked, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder.

She looked so frail, overshadowed by his imposing figure, like a pitiful little rabbit.

Poor thing.

"I’ve told you before, girls aren’t allowed to smoke or drink, can’t you remember what I say?"

"Heh heh heh, why should I remember your words? You can’t even remember your own words, why should I... Have you forgotten what you’ve said? How would you remember... You’re getting old, forgetful."

Jasmine Yale’s shoulders hurt from his grip.

There was a stern coldness in the depths of his eyes.