Fated love: the unwanted bride

She sat uneasily in the passenger seat, more than just uneasy, as if thousands of ants were crawling inside her body.

The rain outside continued to fall; it was the early hours, and the streets were almost devoid of pedestrians, with only a few cars driving through the curtain of rain.

The windshield wipers kept swiping, but the rain soon covered the window again.

The sound of the rain became ambiguous in Jasmine Yale’s ears.

"I feel awful... so awful..." She was about to cry, clutching the seatbelt tightly.

Sylvan Cheney turned to glance at her, her flushed face had yet to fade, like a ripe peach, with a few crystalline droplets hanging from her long eyelashes, and a hazy desire enveloping her eyes.

She wasn’t the only one feeling terrible.

In the darkness, Sylvan Cheney pressed his thin lips tightly together, his sharp eyes looking out the window as he drove steadily.

"Kill me... Sylvan Cheney... kill me... I don’t want to live anymore... it’s so unbearable..." Her face was a mask of unattainable agony.

She no longer cared for her dignity, attempting to undo the remaining buttons of her shirt with her fingers.

Sylvan Cheney turned a corner and stopped in a secluded, deserted area.

The car stopped, but the rain had not.

Sylvan Cheney grabbed her wrist fiercely: "Now you don’t want to live? Weren’t you just trying to escape?"

"I feel so awful... so awful..." Jasmine Yale cried, tears rolling down her cheeks, crying like a pear blossom bathed in rain.

"Jasmine Yale, how many times have I told you to leave ZR, to stay away from Will Caddel! You wouldn’t listen, insisting on diving into the financial district. Fun, isn’t it? Look at yourself now, funny, isn’t it?" He held her wrists, preventing her from moving.

If she kept moving, she would almost have her clothes off.

"Are you here to watch me make a fool of myself? I know you’re watching me, laugh, go on and laugh. Sylvan Cheney, you always look at me from above, watching me struggle through the mud, watching me when I fall with bruised face, aren’t you just laughing at me? Sylvan Cheney, you’ve won once again... you’ve won... just like you wanted to see, I’ve been destroyed, I’ll be like this for life! You’ve seen me at my most pathetic, you can laugh at me for the rest of your life, use it as talk for others..."

Jasmine Yale’s throat was hoarse, her voice a strained outcry, sweat covering her back.

This was probably the last bit of strength he could provoke out of her.

In a haze, she saw his indifferent, scornful, mocking eyes, and her tears flowed unchecked.

Her hair was a mess, makeup smudged, clothes disheveled.

A woman’s most humiliating moment was exactly this, drugged, with a face full of desire. Even if she didn’t want it, the drug didn’t care if she did.

"Gossip? You? Jasmine Yale, is the financial circle fun? Hmm? Drinking, socializing, banquets, subterfuge, is it fun?" He still pressed her wrists down.

Jasmine Yale’s chest heaved unevenly as she panted, her eyes fixed on him.

"What is despair? It’s when someone full of hope to greet it gets knocked down, leaving her to remember the taste of despair forever..." Jasmine Yale laughed wryly, her smile like poppies, or the sea of red azaleas across the hills.

She truly worked hard at life.

She really did plan her future full of possibilities.

She wasn’t afraid of overtime, of social engagements, of hardship, of exhaustion, afraid of nothing because... there was hope.

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