Her waist was so slender that Matthew Saxon could encircle it effortlessly with one arm; he dared not apply too much pressure, fearing he might inadvertently snap her delicate hips.
A line of poetry suddenly sprang to Matthew Saxon’s mind: Slender enough to grace a palace in Chu, her snowy skin warm as jade.
He thought Scarlett Yates was absolutely worthy of such praise.
"Matthew Saxon, put down, I can walk by myself," Scarlett Yates weakly protested.
Matthew didn’t pay her any mind, carrying her out.
"Hey, Matthew Saxon, did you hear ? I can walk on my own."
He still ignored her, striding gracefully with his long legs, exhibiting an expression of relaxed contentnt, as though what he held wasn’t a person but a feather-light pillow.
Descending the stairs, a few maids cleaning the hall paused, bowing respectfully as they greeted the couple.
One of the maids was the sa one who had confidently wagered last night that their marriage would surely be called off, delighting in Scarlett Yates’s fall from favor. Yet seeing Matthew cradling her like a sweetie now, her emotions were a mix of sour jealousy.
Last night, they had a fierce argunt, and the Young Master slept in the study room. How did they reconcile overnight?
"Young Master, the arrangents have been made over there." George approached from outside, quickly glancing at Scarlett Yates nestled in Matthew’s arms, his eyes displaying complex emotions—a tinge of sadness, yet he felt gratified for her.
The Young Master truly cared for her.
George had never seen the Young Master treat any other woman so well.
Thus, marrying the Young Master would certainly bring her happiness, as she also loved the Young Master.
They were mutually affectionate, and reaching marriage was a natural progression, as the Young Master was such an outstanding and remarkable man—a plethora of won in Z City dreamt of marrying him.
She had found a good abode, and he should be happy for her.
The sadness still lingered, as if experiencing heartache, leaving a suffocating heaviness and congestion in his heart.
As for the extent of his affection for Scarlett Yates, it wasn’t imnse, but it was the first ti he had ever been infatuated with a woman, making this sentint special to him regardless of depth.
George stood before them, lowering his head to mask the desolation and loss in his eyes, quietly calling, "Miss Yates."
From the first day he laid eyes on her, he’s always addressed her as Miss Yates with propriety and respect.
Neither distant nor overly intimate, maintaining a proper distance.
This was the attitude he should have as a subordinate towards his boss’s woman, never overstepping his boundaries.
Yet in his heart, he longed for just one chance to call her Scarlett.
From the onset, George knew this one-sided affection would bear no result—she was the woman the Young Master adored, and he, George, lacked the courage or standing to compete for her affection.
George’s voice was sowhat muffled and hoarse, prompting Scarlett Yates to ask, "George, do you have a cold?"
She rembered a few days ago when she was almost leaving the Saxon Family, sick and cold, and George had offered her his own coat.
It was quite cold that day, with outdoor temperatures below freezing, making him likely to catch a cold by suddenly removing his coat.
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