Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 1310: Are You Trying to Get Yourself Killed?

Chapter 1310: Chapter 1310: Are You Trying to Get Yourself Killed?

Sylvan Cheney’s hand paused and stopped.

That was something he had once told her.

He wanted her to grow her hair long, and if she found it bothersome, he would wash and blow-dry it for her.

He couldn’t fulfill his promises to her, and eventually, some other man would do it for her.

Against the door, he pressed her, his chest heaving unsteadily.

"Is he good to you?" he asked calmly.

"It’s none of your business," Jasmine Yale didn’t want to answer. "Let me go, I’m heading to the airport; I won’t disturb your life."

"The flight to Cakago today is at ten."

Jasmine Yale was taken aback.

Ten.

She definitely wouldn’t make it.

"Eat breakfast with me, leave tomorrow," Sylvan Cheney said.

"Have breakfast? Didn’t you refuse to eat it? Wouldn’t it be good to starve to death?" Jasmine Yale’s cold sarcasm dripped from the indifferent curve of her lips.

Knowing she was mocking him, he couldn’t help but smile.

"You’ve gotten sharper," Sylvan Cheney said, pinching her lightly.

"Stop touching me; we’re nothing to each other now," Jasmine Yale turned her head and pushed his hand away.

"Uh-huh." His hand fell, offering no objection.

He walked over to the hospital room’s dining table.

Only then did Jasmine Yale notice the lavish breakfast on the table, with everything included, yet some dishes were things that Sylvan Cheney disliked, like oatmeal.

"Jasmine Yale, I told you last time not to come back to Landon, is there someone here you’re still attached to?" Sylvan Cheney sat at the table and opened the thermos.

"I know I’m being presumptuous, but even if you’re seriously ill in the future, I won’t come, alright?"

Sylvan Cheney’s hand hesitated for a moment but remained silent.

He took out a bowl of eight-treasure porridge: "Come here, this is your favorite."

"I don’t like it anymore!" Jasmine Yale bit her lip. "People always change, you know?"

"I understand now," Sylvan Cheney said, looking down and silently setting aside the bowl of porridge.

Perhaps it was his hospital attire, but he looked more haggard than ever: pale and colorless.

His usually sharp eyes now seemed milder and less fierce, even when he was angry.

Sylvan Cheney suddenly lost his appetite for breakfast and took out a pack of cigarettes.

He pulled one out of the pack and reached for his lighter.

Jasmine Yale’s eyes widened at his actions, finding it unbelievable.

Smoking while being this ill?

She had never seen such disregard for life.

Sylvan Cheney’s movements to light his cigarette were smooth.

Jasmine Yale almost ran over, trying to grab the cigarette from his hand: "Do you have a death wish? Smoking while in the hospital?"

Though Sylvan Cheney was a patient, he was stronger than her.

He pushed her hand away with minimal effort, frowning: "You don’t need to worry about it."

Jasmine Yale was pushed back, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ouch..." Her fingertip accidentally touched the lit end of the cigarette, causing a sharp pain.

Sylvan Cheney’s brows furrowed as he grabbed her fingertip: "I’m sorry."

"Sylvan Cheney, I know, no one has the right to tell you what to do. But can you face yourself, face Little Chale? Do you realize that if you keep this up, you’ll soon be gone?"

He let out a light chuckle: "Heh."

"You don’t care about yourself, and I know many people care about you," Jasmine Yale said. "Do whatever you want, then."

Jasmine Yale ran to the restroom to treat the burn.

Her fingertip hurt.

Sylvan Cheney followed her, extinguishing the cigarette butt, and hugged her from behind: "Alright, I’ll stop smoking; you eat breakfast with me."