Fated love: the unwanted bride

"No need." Sylvan Cheney declined.

He simply tended to the wound, and the gauze had already been stained red.

The evening breeze blew across the open ground, making a wailing sound; the surroundings were vast and utterly quiet.

"I’m sorry, President, I’m sorry, it’s my negligence." The project manager kept apologizing.

"It’s okay, it’s too dark." Sylvan didn’t make a fuss.

Before leaving, he glanced at the fluttering fireflies and the boundless sky, finally grabbing the car keys and leaving.

Blood was still flowing from his wrist, causing some pain as he furrowed his brows and started the car.

In such open areas, driving was easy; he just needed to follow the main road straight ahead.

Sylvan turned on the music in the car, and soothing classical music began to play, calming his restless heart.

As he distanced himself from the open ground, the fireflies gradually disappeared, leaving only the trees along the road to accompany him.

The trees passed by one by one.

Sylvan opened the sunroof, stepped on the gas, and accelerated.

The rushing wind blew into the car, lifting his hair and clothes, cutting across his face like a knife. The original heat dissipated with the wind, leaving only silence and calmness.

The car sped forward like a swallow darting through the rain, or a bolt of lightning.

"Hiss—" Whether from overexertion or not, pain shot through his wrist, causing Sylvan to grimace. The white gauze was completely stained red; he needed to get to the hospital quickly.

In any case, he still valued his life.

Halfway there, he received a call from Erin Janus.

"Evan, are you still at the site?"

"Yes, just chatting with the project manager about next month’s progress. It’ll take some time."

"You’re working too hard; you don’t need to push yourself so much. I won’t disturb you then, you guys continue, I’m going to sleep. Good night."

"Good night."

Sylvan hung up the phone.

He drove to the nearest hospital, where the nurse cleaned and bandaged his wound in the clinic.

Though the injury was not deep, the treatment appeared quite shocking, with the gauze soaked in blood, radiating waves of stabbing pain.

"Sir, don’t let the wound touch water, remember to apply medicine, and it will heal in three or four days."

"Got it."

Once bandaged, it was already past midnight, the deepest part of the night.

Sylvan returned to his apartment, showered, and changed into clean pajamas.

He took a bottle of red wine from the wine rack, sitting in a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, his deep gaze fixed on the somber night and sky outside.

He poured himself a glass of wine, drinking and savoring it with tight lips, his sharply contoured face half shrouded in shadow.

The wine seemed insufficient, so he took out a pack of cigarettes to smoke.

"Cough, cough..." After a few puffs, he couldn’t take it; this was the strongest pack of cigarettes in his cabinet.

He hadn’t smoked much this year, and his physical condition wasn’t as good as before. Previously, he wouldn’t blink at smoking these, but now he found it quite unbearable.

He hadn’t eaten much during dinner at the restaurant, and now he was very hungry.

Wine and cigarettes couldn’t serve as food, and the apartment seemed devoid of anything to eat. Quietly closing his eyes, he smoked, the robe partially open, revealing hints of abdominal muscles, exuding a trace of wildness and sensuality.

The floor-to-ceiling window reflected his silhouette, and he appeared somewhat lonely on the balcony.

His wrist was still wrapped in gauze, looking especially conspicuous.

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