Fated love: the unwanted bride

Suddenly, just as her skirt was being undone, a pair of large hands reached from the side and forcefully pushed away the drunken man.

The middle-aged man staggered and couldn’t stand steady, falling onto the carpet with a "thud," bruising his face.

But he quickly got up, his expression dark, glaring at the young man who suddenly appeared!

"Who the hell are you? Don’t you understand the rules of the underworld? You’re ruining my good time!" the man cursed, ready to rush up and fight.

Jasmine Yale fastened her clothes, looked up, and was stunned.

Her eyes held a faint and confused expression, like a deep swamp, dim and profound, stretching endlessly.

Jasmine Yale pressed her lips tightly, having no time to tidy her messy hair, she heavy-heartedly looked at his tall figure and chiseled face.

"I’m looking for a lady, do you mind?! I’m having some fun, why the hell are you interfering!" The middle-aged man assumed a fighting posture, aggressive and intimidating.

Sylvan Cheney’s eyes were swirling with emotions, and as the man lunged at him, he grabbed his wrist, lifted his foot, and kicked him in the groin without mercy!

With a deft move, Sylvan Cheney flung the man to the ground, his black shoe pressing down hard on his shoulder blade and grinding it in.

In the dimly lit corner of the corridor, there was no expression on his face, just the usual indifference.

"Ah..." the middle-aged man howled; there was no withstanding such torment.

Sylvan Cheney had trained, and his methods were usually quite ruthless.

Within a few seconds, the man couldn’t hold on anymore and began to beg for mercy: "Please, spare me, let me go, uh, you can have this lady, she’s yours to enjoy."

"What did you call her?" Sylvan Cheney finally spoke, his voice deep, his obscure eyes looking at the man begging on the floor.

"La... Not at all, Miss Yale... We are partners... You misunderstood..." The man on the ground didn’t know who Sylvan Cheney was, but a wise man doesn’t fight when the odds are against him.

"Which hand touched her, or were both hands involved?"

"No, no... We were just joking, a normal joke between colleagues." The man grinned sheepishly.

Sylvan Cheney stepped down again, and there was a "cracking" sound as the man’s shoulder blade shattered!

Shocking!

Jasmine Yale frowned tightly, not saying a word.

But, at this moment, she felt very uncomfortable, the stuffy atmosphere stirring up the drunkenness she had suppressed, and she felt like vomiting again.

"She’s not someone you should touch. If I ever see you lay a hand on her again, I’ll destroy you!"

"You misunderstood, really misunderstood, we were just joking, no other meaning at all. During the dinner, we’re actually all very good partners." The man started making excuses, suspecting this man was Jasmine Yale’s husband.

Otherwise, why the big fuss?

He realized he was out of luck.

Messing with a married woman isn’t so easy.

Jasmine Yale lifted her eyelids, a trace of indifference in her eyes: "Let him go."

After speaking, she turned and walked to the restroom not far away, opened the door, and leaned over the sink.

She didn’t vomit, just turned on the faucet, letting the cool water splash onto her face, the winter chill helping to sober her up a lot.

She leaned over the sink, silently closing her eyes.

Water droplets continuously bounced onto her face and brows, her heart pounding irregularly.

All she could hear was the endless rushing water sound.

With her eyes closed, the whole world became quiet.

Jasmine Yale’s face showed no happiness or sorrow, no expression at all.

Silent and still, like a doll.

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