Jasmine Yale didn’t know how she had angered him again.
This ti, unlike just before, there was roughness in his movents.
He pinned her down on the seat and tornted her once more, leaving her too worn out to speak.
Jasmine Yale sobbed quietly.
Eventually, she turned into soone who cried while begging him to "stop."
"Sylvan Cheney, I don’t like ntioning other people at tis like this," he warned her, commanding.
Jasmine Yale had no energy left to speak; she could only nod frantically.
Seeing her compliance, he stopped tornting her.
"Jasmine Yale, if you make a mistake again, I will make you beg like this."
"You bastard! You’re inhuman!"
"Hm? Don’t like it?"
"Sylvan Cheney, marry ." Jasmine Yale’s faint voice ca through, suddenly uttering such a sentence, devoid of jest or humor.
She was serious.
Sylvan Cheney probably didn’t expect her to say this; even in the darkness, his tall figure paused.
Silence, another endless stretch of silence.
"You don’t want to marry anyone else anyway, so wouldn’t marrying be good?" Jasmine Yale leaned weakly against him, breathing faintly, her body bearing a light fragrance.
Her heart beating faster and faster.
She didn’t know if this counted as a confession.
After having gone through life-and-death partings, she hadn’t thought she’d ever confess her feelings to him in this lifeti.
What’s there to confess to him, with his bad temper and poor character, unapproachable, scheming and grim, scolding her at tis, never willing to share a word with her, like a thousand-year-old fox.
She didn’t know how these words had slipped out.
If he was still willing to marry, she would be willing to wed.
But, from any perspective, it seed like she was getting the better deal.
She rembered, at eighteen, she had confessed to him this way too.
She had asked him if it would be good to marry her.
He said it wouldn’t be good.
Jasmine Yale laughed, her arms wrapped around his waist; she nuzzled against his chest, "Why don’t you speak? Do you think I’m taking advantage of you? If I really marry you, I wouldn’t even bring a dowry. Plus, I tend to make you angry, don’t I?"
"It seems like it’s not worth it for you to marry when you put it that way. So, will you marry or not? Either way, just say sothing."
"Jasmine Yale, are you drunk?"
His deep voice spread through the narrow space of the car.
Jasmine Yale was startled, suddenly laughing low, a bitter edge in that laughter, "I’ve been sober for a while, I’m not drunk."
"I’ll take you to the Cheney Residence, you should rest there tonight, tomorrow..."
"Sylvan Cheney, you dare to act but not take responsibility! You’re just a scoundrel!" Jasmine Yale interrupted him, sowhat hysterical, "Sylvan Cheney, you’re my first and only man. Even if you don’t marry , I won’t marry anyone else—I have no face to marry anyone else!"
"Don’t be willful; what kind of era do you think this is?"
"I’m laying it out here, in the future, no matter whom you marry or what happens, I will not wed anyone."
"Jasmine Yale! Are you going to listen or not!"
"I won’t listen, why should I listen to you!"
"You!"
Jasmine Yale confronted him, which was unexpected for Sylvan Cheney.
He was almost spitting blood from anger.
Such a rebellious Jasmine Yale was rare.
Although they were fighting fiercely, Jasmine Yale’s arms were tightly wrapped around him, refusing to let go.
Both undressed, they ward each other with their body heat, able to hear each other’s heartbeat.
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