Just as Jasmine Yale was about to get into bed, her phone vibrated.
A text ssage.
She opened it, and it was actually from Sylvan Cheney—
Sylvan Cheney: I’m really hungry.
Jasmine Yale held her phone, and her anger flared up imdiately.
Is he a three-year-old child?
Even a three-year-old can find sothing to eat when hungry, it’s past nine, has he been hungry all this ti?
Jasmine Yale typed two words: Idiot, but felt it was inappropriate, so she deleted it and didn’t reply.
He’s hungry, she sleeps.
Putting down her phone, Jasmine Yale lay down in bed and reached out to turn off the light.
She turned over, unable to sleep, rubbed her belly, and closed her eyes.
For so reason, her mind was filled with the scene of Sylvan Cheney drunk and collapsed on the floor that night.
That night, he scared her half to death.
Having experienced life and death separations, how could she bear any bad news about him?
Gastric bleeding, high fever.
Those two words were still haunting her mind, even after so many days.
Annoyance and unease surged up in Jasmine Yale’s heart, she was already ready to sleep, what did he an by sending her a text?
"So annoying." Jasmine Yale frowned, shouted once, and covered her head with the blanket.
But the images in her head beca more vivid, as if seeing a little wolf dog holding an empty bowl, looking pitifully at her, howling from hunger.
"Are you an idiot?" Jasmine Yale couldn’t help but curse a couple of tis.
The restless pounding in her heart didn’t calm down; it beat so wildly it seed like it would jump out of her chest.
The bedroom was pitch black, no sound could be heard, only Jasmine Yale constantly turning over was imprinted in the dark night.
Very restless, very restless.
Finally, Jasmine Yale reached out from under the covers, grabbed her phone, and sent a text ssage.
The phone screen glowed faintly.
Jasmine Yale: President, you sent the wrong text.
Unexpectedly, as soon as the ssage was sent, Sylvan Cheney instantly replied: No.
Jasmine Yale bit her lip, thinking about how to reply when Sylvan Cheney called.
"President, I won’t deliver food to you."
"Suit yourself, don’t deliver then, starving for a night won’t kill ." His tone was sowhat displeased and a bit smug.
"You’re not a three-year-old, can’t you buy it yourself? Besides, you could call Kade Yuvan."
"What he buys doesn’t taste good."
Jasmine Yale suddenly sensed sothing off. She heard a hint of drunkenness in his voice, listened carefully, and realized it was drunkenness. Did he drink again?
Jasmine Yale scratched her head, not really knowing what to do, she was at a loss with him.
"I’m pregnant, not convenient to bring you food, you’ll have to make do."
"I’ll send you a red envelope."
Jasmine Yale was amused and upset, who wanted his red envelope?
After hesitating for a few minutes, Jasmine Yale finally said lightly, "Wait for a bit, I’ll co over."
"Mm, mm." His voice softened, as if satisfied.
Jasmine Yale tiredly hung up the phone and turned on the bedside lamp.
When the light ca on, she dazedly sat on the bed for a while, staring at the blanket, not knowing what to think or do.
After a long ti, she got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and packed a few dishes for him.
"Ding-dong," her phone chid.
That idiot Sylvan Cheney really sent her a red envelope.
Jasmine didn’t open it, waiting for the red envelope to expire and be returned automatically.
"This is the last ti." Jasmine Yale carried a tote bag and walked out of the complex.
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