Fated love: the unwanted bride

The restroom was silent, with only the sound of water dripping onto the floor, drip, drip, like time moving endlessly.

Sylvan Cheney’s face was deep and brooding, akin to the sky before a storm, darkened by impending rain, with winds stirring and clouds gathering, his jawline tensely set, fists tightly clenched.

After a long while, Jasmine Yale finally spoke, her voice indifferent and composed, devoid of fluctuation: "My daughter is very good, very cute. I promised her that mom would work hard... buy her lots of delicious things, buy her pretty new clothes, and take her to fun places... Whatever other little girls have, her mom will give her too, spoil her, indulge her, let her grow up healthy and happy, will let her be very happy... The little girl is really obedient. When I go out to work, she stays with Grandma Santana, not crying or making a fuss..."

"The things I promised my daughter, I will do them all."

After speaking, Jasmine Yale silently lowered her head, glanced at the bank card on the ground: "You can leave."

The empty restroom echoed faintly.

Sylvan Cheney’s hand was still restraining her, but, at some point, he gradually loosened his grip.

His eyes were filled with deep turbulence, his gaze resting on her face.

Jasmine Yale sensed him loosen his hold, only then did she pull back her sore wrist, lower her head, and rummage through her makeup bag.

She had drunk quite a bit tonight, indeed her complexion didn’t look good, and her lips were quite pale.

She carefully took out her makeup products, retouching her makeup once again.

Her movements were relatively slow, and the man beside her didn’t speak again.

While applying lipstick, she seemed to see her Little Clementine in the mirror, the little one reaching out chubby little hands, smiling at her, wanting her to hold him.

Jasmine Yale also smiled, her lips slightly upturned, curving into a faint arc.

Little Clementine was her everything, she no longer cared about anything else.

Sylvan Cheney didn’t leave until his phone rang.

"Evan, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you a long time, where did you go? I came out to find you." It was Erin Janus’s voice.

The restroom was very quiet, Jasmine Yale heard it clearly.

"I’m coming."

"Okay, I am waiting for you here in the hallway, don’t make me wait too long. I’m pregnant now and can’t conveniently stand for long, but waiting for you is no problem, who told me to like you so much."

Jasmine Yale’s hand trembled.

Her long eyelashes quivered.

She tightly clutched the lipstick, preventing it from falling to the ground.

"Okay, I’m coming."

Sylvan Cheney took his phone, strode out of the restroom, opened the door, and left.

Footsteps slowly faded away until nothing could be heard.

It seemed as though the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, faintly discernible.

Jasmine Yale closed her eyes, fatigue evident in the bluish tint beneath them.

He called himself Evan, he was not Sylvan Cheney, Sylvan Cheney has died, forever buried in the rolling river waves.

Returning to the gathering.

A group of people were drinking, the private room was filled with the overpowering scent of cigarettes.

Several women were teasing playfully, while a few men lounged casually, no longer in a business-like manner, beginning to discuss topics unrelated to work.

Jasmine Yale was a minor character, no one noticed how long she had been absent, so no one realized when she returned to the private room.

She found her original seat, her face having already returned to its normal state.

That vice president hadn’t returned to the gathering, overhearing their conversation, it seemed he made an excuse about an acute gastritis attack and went to the hospital.

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