Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1234: Probably Won’t Live Long

Chapter 1234: Chapter 1234: Probably Won’t Live Long

Old York was sunny, while Landon was covered with dark clouds.

The cold, dry air of Landon in deep winter always carried a particular chill, especially under such gloomy weather, it felt even colder.

When the north wind blew, branches swayed and rustled, producing bursts of sounds.

The overcast sky hung low over the city, as if ready to rain at any moment.

Cheney Residence.

Sylvan Cheney stood in front of the living room’s French window and lit a cigarette, his profound gaze fixed on the heavy sky outside.

The clouds were dense, turning day as dark as night.

It wouldn’t be long before it rained.

Rain was dreaded in Landon’s winter; it turned the dry cold to a moist cold, making it very uncomfortable.

Especially, it could trigger old wounds.

Sylvan’s sleep had been terrible lately, and he smoked more fiercely.

Whenever the temperature dropped, his nights were plagued with severe coughs.

Somebody said smoking leads to a shorter life.

At this rate, he feared his wouldn’t be long.

Sylvan squinted, his gaze heavy as he watched the sky through the window.

The dark clouds persisted, and the torrential rain delayed its arrival while the sporadic howling northern wind made the whole Cheney Residence seem desolate.

The once bustling Cheney Residence now only had Butler Santana.

The large house was now completely empty.

His gaze firmly fixed on the sycamore tree in the courtyard, which grew taller and taller, yet, beneath it, there was no one.

When the tree was only half its size, a monkey-like girl liked to climb it.

Once, she got stuck halfway, too scared to climb down, and cried out in fear.

He had scolded her harshly that time, worried about the danger.

But Xiao Ya never learned.

One night, wanting to go out for barbecue with classmates, she opened the window and climbed down the sycamore tree.

Grown older, she was agile in her movements, quickly descending the tree.

Just as she dusted off her hands, proud and ready to leave, he stood before her again.

He had noticed her climbing earlier, never expecting her to be so daring.

That time, another scolding was unavoidable.

Together with her desire to go out for barbecue at night, he ended up scolding her to tears.

Her sobbing, as if still echoing in his ears.

And her accusations—

"You’re just a jerk!"

"You just can’t stand to see me happy!"

"You’re just cranky because it’s your midlife crisis!"

"I’ve never met anyone as annoying as you, always scolding me!"

Of course, she didn’t dare to accuse him to his face, only behind his back.

But those grievances were intentionally made loud enough for him to hear, ensuring he would hear them.

Sylvan looked at the sycamore tree in the courtyard, his mind somewhat misty and distracted.

Every grass and tree in Cheney Residence carried memories.

Twelve years were enough to mark every corner here indelibly.

Sylvan looked out the window, his chest flooded with complex and intricate emotions.

As one cigarette ended, he lit another; the smoke rose, enveloping his sharply defined face.

In his eyes was a fatigue of blue, filling his entire gaze.

His tall figure stood at the window, slender and solitary.

Outside, the fierce wind stirred up leaves from the ground, one after another, rubbing against the surface, creating a rustling sound that was piercing to the ears.

The empty Cheney Residence lacked any vitality or liveliness.

Cheney Residence was no longer the Cheney Residence of the past.

Only boundless silence remained.