Fated love: the unwanted bride-Chapter 2169: Have We Really Broken Up?
Jasmine Yale knew he had been drinking, so she stopped teasing him and reminded him, "It’s getting late. Remember to drink some sobering tea when you get back. The doctor said not to drink, but you never listen. I don’t know what else to do. Sylvan Cheney, do you understand this? A man who wants to take good care of his wife and children must first take care of himself, rather than making his wife and children worry."
It’s a simple truth, but for some reason, Sylvan Cheney just doesn’t get it.
"Can I come over to your place?"
"I don’t want to take care of a drunk person with my big belly."
"Oh." Sylvan Cheney seemed a bit disappointed on the other end.
"Also, Mr. President, we’ve broken up. Do you even know what breaking up means?"
"Really broken up?"
"You’re drunk. I won’t argue with you. Go home early, it’s cold outside."
Sylvan Cheney leaned against the tree trunk, raised his head, and looked at the bright moonlight in the sky.
Moonlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves onto the ground and fell on his black suit and clean short hair, carrying a chill and coolness.
"Jasmine..." His voice suddenly changed, filled with softness yet helplessness, "If a little kid has a favorite doll, do you think he would hold onto it tightly?"
Jasmine Yale thought of the cloth doll her mother made for her when she was a child.
She had to hug it even when she slept.
Later... she didn’t take good care of it, and Kamila Zahir snatched it away, and she couldn’t get it back.
"He would, I guess." She sighed.
"When he has something he loves, he becomes anxious, keeping watchful, afraid of losing it. If the child is an orphan, that doll would be his only companion."
Jasmine Yale understood the meaning behind his words.
The light of the lamp shone on her face, her long eyelashes casting a shallow shadow beneath her eyes.
"I’m drunk, pretend I never said that." Sylvan Cheney spoke, "I need to go inside, you get some rest early."
After finishing, Sylvan Cheney hurriedly hung up the phone.
Actually... he was afraid to hear something he didn’t want to hear.
In the hall, people came and went; it was still a scene of cups clinking and toasts. Music played, and men and women danced in the ballroom.
Sylvan Cheney poured himself a glass of red wine and chatted with directors from several banks.
The surroundings were splendid and luxurious, and after a few drinks, Sylvan Cheney felt more intoxicated, his pupils reflecting the bright light.
The cocktail party ended at midnight.
People gradually dispersed, and Sylvan Cheney got into the car where Elder Axel was already waiting for him.
"Mr. President, the sobering pills, take two." He handed Sylvan Cheney the pills and bottled water.
"It’s okay, there’s sobering tea at home." Sylvan Cheney was drunk, his head dizzy, brow furrowed, almost in a blank state.
"But... Mr. President, there’s no one at home to make tea for you." Elder Axel said worriedly.
Sylvan Cheney paused, then nodded.
That’s true.
When he got home, he wouldn’t have the energy to brew the sobering tea himself.
If he didn’t take it, his head would hurt terribly.
He took the pills from Elder Axel’s hand and swallowed the sobering pills with the bottled water.
The Maybach started and drove away from the manor.
Elder Axel drove steadily, and Sylvan Cheney supported his head, gradually showing signs of weariness.
Elder Axel glanced helplessly at Sylvan Cheney. The president was working too hard; his gastritis had just improved, and he was already attending another cocktail party, with no one to take care of him.
In the night, Elder Axel looked at Sylvan Cheney’s deep-set, somber features, seeing fatigue and exhaustion on his face but not despair.
