Fated love: the unwanted bride-Chapter 2180: Miss Yale Is Still Carrying His Child
"Go back." Jasmine Yale said faintly.
"Okay."
Sylvan Cheney held a mobile phone in one hand and a bouquet of purple roses in the other. Although he stood by the corridor, his hair still got quite wet from the rain as he had no umbrella.
The purple roses were a unique splash of color in the corridor—bright, vibrant, and pleasantly aromatic.
The thorns on the roses had been patiently picked off by Sylvan Cheney one by one, afraid they might prick her hands.
The flowers were wrapped in transparent cellophane, tied with a pink silk ribbon into a bow. Though not as intricately packaged as those from a flower shop, he had put a lot of thought into it.
Unfortunately, Jasmine Yale didn’t want them.
It was raining outside, the raindrops pattering down as the temperature sharply dropped. The autumn wind carried a chill.
A gust of wind lifted the hem of Sylvan Cheney’s coat. He stood under the corridor, looking up at the building.
From his angle, he could see her bedroom, with the curtains half drawn.
However, he couldn’t see anything inside.
Was she resting or reading a book? Her voice sounded weak; maybe she wasn’t feeling well.
After hanging up the phone, Sylvan Cheney stood downstairs for a long time. The rain fell on him, but he was oblivious to it.
Misty water droplets clung to his long eyelashes, and rain wet his face.
He stood there until Kade Yuvan called.
"President, where are you? Someone from headquarters is here to review last month’s financial statements and project progress. There’s also a shareholders’ meeting."
"I’m coming."
"Alright, I’ll handle the reception first."
"Okay."
After hanging up the phone, Sylvan Cheney held the bouquet of roses and glanced upstairs again.
There was nothing to see; she’d made up her mind not to see him.
Raindrops landed in his eyes; his long lashes fluttered slightly, a layer of glistening mist covering them.
The roses were also covered in dewdrops, their vivid purple extraordinarily striking. Sylvan Cheney, holding the flowers, became a distinctive sight in the rain.
He stood downstairs for a long time again before withdrawing his gaze, leaving with the roses in melancholy.
Without an umbrella, Sylvan Cheney walked into the rain.
The wind lifted the hem of his coat as his tall, slender figure turned a corner and disappeared.
Butler Santana went downstairs to buy some groceries. When she opened her umbrella and reached the downstairs, she was stunned.
That familiar silhouette!
Like...
Butler Santana gaped, her eyes wide open.
No, impossible, it’s simply not possible.
Too many people have similar silhouettes; there’s no way that man carrying the roses could be Mr. Cheney.
She chased a few steps with her umbrella, but by the time she caught up, Sylvan Cheney had already gotten into his car.
The Maybach sped away like a swift bird, leaving the neighborhood and speeding down the street.
Butler Santana stood there for a long time, staring, her mouth agape.
Like...
The silhouette was truly similar!
Although she hadn’t seen Mr. Cheney for half a year, she could never forget his appearance.
That man’s silhouette was so much like Mr. Cheney’s!
Tall, upright, slender.
The hand holding the umbrella was cold.
After a long while, she looked away, sighed, her eyes filled with helplessness.
She was just seeing things.
How could Mr. Cheney be in Chicago? If he were indeed in Chicago, how could he not come to see her, not come to see Miss Yale? Miss Yale was still carrying his child; how could he bear not to see them?
She was imagining things.
There are so many people in the world who look alike, let alone just a silhouette.
Butler Santana sighed again, holding her umbrella as she walked out of the neighborhood.
The rain spread, her vision filled with white mist.
Smoky waters blurred.
