Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1309: Seriously Ill and Dying Soon

Chapter 1309: Chapter 1309: Seriously Ill and Dying Soon

A gust of wind surged!

In an instant, Sylvan Cheney’s hand, which had been opening the door, paused; his sharp eyes looked towards her, his gaze deep and piercing.

Jasmine Yale also raised her head, her watery large eyes staring fixedly at him.

They hadn’t seen each other for over a year.

Sylvan Cheney still looked distinguished and handsome, his facial features deep-set, his eyes dark and brooding.

Yet, there was an undeniable exhaustion in his brows, and a hint of stubble dusted his chin.

Their eyes met, the atmosphere tense.

Jasmine Yale was wearing a scarf, with only her luminous big eyes visible, red around the rims, her long eyelashes seemingly still damp.

Despite this, Sylvan Cheney would not mistake her.

Jasmine Yale’s eyes flickered anxiously.

"When did you come here," Sylvan spoke indifferently.

"This morning."

Jasmine Yale looked at him calmly; it seemed Charles McIntosh hadn’t told him yet.

Behind Sylvan Cheney, Charles McIntosh came forward.

It was actually the young nurse who looked troubled, "Mr. Cheney, you should really stay in the hospital for IV treatment after breakfast."

Sylvan Cheney turned his head, giving the nurse a cold glare, "I said..."

"You’re just a sick tiger, why yell at the poor nurse," Jasmine Yale cut him off, "Being hospitalized is nothing to be ashamed of."

Sylvan Cheney turned his head, looking at her.

Seeing Jasmine Yale stepping in again, Charles McIntosh said to Sylvan, "Mr. Cheney, I’ll head downstairs first."

With that, Charles McIntosh and the nurse left the room.

At the doorway, only Jasmine Yale and Sylvan Cheney remained.

His complexion was very pale, his facial expression unreadable, but his eyes darkened.

"Who told you to come to Landon?"

Sylvan Cheney pulled her into the room, closed the door, and pressed her against the door.

He lowered his head, his hot breath on her face, rushed.

In the struggle, her scarf came loose, revealing half of her face.

"I’ll leave soon," she said indifferently, "I know you and Charles McIntosh both dislike me."

"Who told you to come?"

"Joe Heath told me you were seriously ill and dying, that’s why I came. Do you think I wanted to see you?"

A year apart, and he was still the same.

"Are you cursing me?" Sylvan Cheney looked at her.

"I knew it was a lie from Joe Heath when I got to the hospital, so I’m leaving now. I won’t trouble you."

"You’re not young anymore, yet still so gullible."

"I know I’m not young anymore, could you stop bringing it up every time? Have you forgotten you’re six years older than me? If I’m not young, what does that make you? Aren’t you old?"

Jasmine Yale couldn’t help but recall his words; he had told her she was not young anymore and should think about settling down.

Either way, no woman likes to be told she’s getting old.

And he, he kept reminding her.

"You’ve become more ill-tempered," Sylvan Cheney said coolly.

He reached out, unraveling the scarf from her neck.

With the scarf off, he finally saw her whole face.

Her cheeks were flushed, not plumper, still thin as before.

Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, her long lashes veiled by a thin layer of moisture.

He stretched out his hand, his slender fingers parting her messy hair, "Your hair has gotten long, not finding it difficult to manage anymore?"

She looked at him indifferently, unsure what emotion he was using to speak to her.

"It’s not hard to manage when someone else washes and blow-dries it for me," Jasmine Yale said lightly.