Fated love: the unwanted bride

When the dishes arrived, Sylvan Cheney uncorked a bottle of red wine for himself.

"Can I drink some wine?" Sylvan Cheney swirled the glass and softly asked her.

"No, you can’t. You still have to drive. You can’t joke around with my life and the baby’s."

Hearing this, Sylvan paused, chuckled lightly, and said, "Then I won’t drink."

He placed the wine bottle back where it was.

Jasmine Yale set the flowers aside and started to eat.

The air was filled with the fragrance of roses, setting a romantic and dreamy atmosphere, perfect for a date.

Sylvan sat across from Jasmine at a long table. Even so, he could still clearly see her every move, capturing her expressions completely.

Jasmine ate her favorite foods, her eyes smiling: "You should eat too, eat more. Shall we talk about work later?"

"Sure."

Time moved slowly, "tick-tock, tick-tock," like a slow-moving carriage.

The curtains were drawn, and the private room had a nighttime ambiance.

This restaurant, although in the city center, was not bustling, boasting excellent soundproofing, a quiet oasis amidst the noise.

They chatted casually, starting with the dishes, then moving on to work.

Discussing work was Sylvan Cheney’s expertise.

He spoke, she listened, both very patient.

He explained the entry point of B plan to her, suggesting she start from that point, combining successful cases and typical failures from various countries, first drafting a layout.

However, throughout, he never mentioned the issue of funding.

In the private room, the atmosphere grew more intense.

As they talked, Jasmine laughed: "President, I don’t want to be a virtuous wife at all. I want to be a wealthy lady, just lazing around, eating and drinking, doing SPA every day."

"No ambition."

"Having no ambition is great, living life effortlessly."

"Really? I don’t think so. If you truly wanted to laze around, you wouldn’t have been looking for a job under the scorching sun in July."

Jasmine pouted: "That wasn’t by choice."

"With me around, you won’t have to struggle outside in the future."

Jasmine’s heart skipped again. She lowered her head and took small bites of the beef in her bowl.

"Of course, if you want to be a wealthy lady, I can fulfill that for you too," Sylvan said.

Jasmine laughed: "You seem willing to promise me anything."

"Because I like you."

"..." Jasmine blushed. His flirting was in no way inferior to that of a young boy.

The once reluctant-to-say-’I-like-you’ Sylvan now frequently had these words on his lips, and she found herself enjoying it.

Halfway through the meal, she felt full. Resting her head in her hand, she tilted her head to look at him: "President, does the injury still hurt?"

"What injury?"

"Do you resent Yukon Carbon?"

"I don’t blame him. What he said was quite right. You are a flower in a greenhouse, needing careful handling and nurturing, not meant to be hurt."

"Did he really say that to you?"

"He is indeed good to you." There was a hint of jealousy in Sylvan’s tone.

"Stop comparing yourself with Yukon Carbon. You’re also good to me," Jasmine stated honestly. "Women like to compare themselves with others. Do men like that too? Wouldn’t that seem petty?"

"That’s not called comparing; it’s called possession. Men don’t have the inclination to compare, but men have a possessive desire, understand?"

"Why make petty-mindedness sound so gracefully refined," Jasmine gave him a disdainful look.

"..." Sylvan looked at her, "Not eating anymore? Have some more."

"You... play a piano piece for me," Jasmine tilted her head, looking at the piano in the corner.