Chapter 75: Cheney Sylvan, You are a Bastard
Translator: 549690339
Said in a nice way, he is calm. Said in a harsh way, he is… repressed.
“You must be annoying during normal times, right? Even your subordinates dare to hang up on you,” Jasmine Yale remarked.
“…” Sylvan Cheney snatched the phone from her hand.
“Are you drunk or not? Don’t you have a good tolerance for alcohol?” Jasmine Yale touched his face.
Usually, if she touched him , he would definitely push her hand away.
But today, he didn’t.
Jasmine Yale deduced that he was really, perhaps, probably drunk.
“Sylvan Cheney, you’re a bastard,” Jasmine Yale purposely said while supporting him.
“Sylvan Cheney, you’re a son of a bitch!”
Jasmine Yale was amused because a drunk Sylvan Cheney wouldn’t retaliate.
If only he could always be , how nice that would be.
But in her memory, Sylvan Cheney had never been this kind of drunk.
She helped him walk out of the seafood restaurant, planning to hail a taxi to Lancelot Bar.
The rain was heavy, the raindrops bloomed at their feet, causing splashes on the ground.
The wind was strong, and Jasmine Yale’s hair was blowing wildly.
She was holding Sylvan Cheney’s arm, waiting for a taxi with him.
Fortunately, she had changed into jeans in the afternoon. Otherwise, she would be very cold now.
But the raindrops splashed on her trousers, making them muddy.
Just as they were waiting for a taxi, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky!
The night seemed to turn into day!
Before Jasmine Yale had time to cover her ears, there was a rumble of thunder.
She was prepared to be startled, but her ears were covered by a pair of big hands.
The thunder sounded like distant drums, very weak.
With her ears covered, she couldn’t hear anything.
It was only after the thunder that Sylvan Cheney put his hand down.
Jasmine Yale’s heart seemed to stop for a few seconds. She slowly looked up at Sylvan Cheney standing next to her.
He was composed, as if nothing had happened.
In a daze, Jasmine Yale thought she was dreaming.
But those hands were warm.
Sylvan Cheney didn’t speak, and she didn’t say anything either.
It turns out that even drunk people still have subconscious minds.
Just then, a taxi arrived. Jasmine Yale helped Sylvan Cheney get in.
He was tall and big, and it took her a lot of effort to get him in.
But as soon as she closed the door, she fell heavily onto Sylvan Cheney.
Luckily it was night. Jasmine Yale climbed off him shyly.
“Driver, to the Lanster Hotel.”
The driver glanced at them with understanding in his eyes…
The seafood restaurant was not far from the hotel, only about fifteen minutes away.
But Jasmine Yale knew that the hotel was quite far from where she lived. Fortunately, there was a direct bus.
Ever since Sylvan Cheney had bought her safety, she didn’t have to work part-time anymore.
Now she could devote more of her energy to work.
As expected, Sylvan Cheney had his special suite there.
All of floor 88 was dedicated for him, with a dedicated restaurant, billiard room, gym…
Capitalists, so luxurious.
Jasmine Yale helped him into the suite and threw him onto the big bed.
Exhausted, truly exhausted.
Part of her clothes was wet and uncomfortable.
Just as she was about to leave, Sylvan Cheney forcibly grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed!
The next second, he turned over, his imposing figure pressing down on her.
His big hand clasped her wrist, not allowing her to struggle.
The orange light of the hotel room became gloomy and ambiguous.
“Sylvan Cheney, get up, see who I am!”
Jasmine Yale kicked him with her feet, her expression displeased.
Sylvan Cheney frowned, so he simply pressed down on her legs as well, stopping her from moving.
His voice was low and hoarse, echoing in her ear..