The Enticing CEO’s Chosen Bride

Boyd’s grip on the car door handle tightened abruptly.

Yasmine leaned to the side to fasten her seatbelt. The man straightened up and casually remarked to Boyd, “Drive safe, buddy.” But the moment he caught a glimpse of Boyd’s dark, brooding eyes, he paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his gaze as he looked Boyd over.

Boyd shut the car door, lingering there for a long moment before he walked around the vehicle and got in.

The car started silently. Yasmine noticed the strain in Boyd’s grip on the steering wheel, the veins on the back of his hand standing out, a clear sign of his tension. Yet his expression was unchanged, calm, without a ripple of emotion.

“How’s the food at this place?” Boyd finally asked, after they had been on the road for a while.

“It’s decent.”d2

“I’ll take you here next time.”

“No need. I’d rather not come back anytime soon.”

“We’ll come back when you feel like it then.”

“You don’t have to drive me around next time.”

“Next time…” Boyd repeated the words, his eyes seeming to darken.

Back at the villa, the two entered the house. Boyd told the housekeeper, “Make sure she has dinner on time,” before heading upstairs without another word.

The unspoken message was clear: he wouldn’t be joining for dinner.

This is exclusive content from Noveldrama.com (Swnovel). Please read it on Noveldrama.com to support the author and the translation team!. Indeed, he didn’t show up for dinner or even later that night, and the usual glass of milk he brought to her himself was instead delivered by the housekeeper.

Yasmine held the milk glass, noting its temperature was almost the same as when Boyd brought it.

“Ma’am, I’ve watched Mr. Boyd warm the milk every day. I know exactly how much to pour, how to set the heat setting, and how many minutes to warm it. You usually read for another ten minutes before drinking it, right? The first time I reminded him it might be too hot, he just told me offhand.”

Yasmine gazed down at the glass, her fingers tightening slightly.

After a moment of hesitation, the housekeeper added, “But ma’am, Mr. Boyd hasn’t had dinner yet tonight. He ordered me to bring you this milk. He’s been in the study for nearly eight hours now, not eating or drinking anything. Is he really all right?”

clock beside her and remained silent for a moment before telling the housekeeper to get some

left with a

out of bed, glass in hand, and

stars shining brightly. The yard lights below were still on,

Did they have difficult pasts? Perhaps. Maybe they had gone hungry, couldn’t afford their favorite dress, stumbled on the path

they seemed to

all these

windowsill. She had found it when she first moved in but

and kept it at Peck’s Manor. She hadn’t brought it

had taken it, how could it have ended up with Boyd? It couldn’t be the same

the bottle, she was at a loss for words. After all these years, the bottle had somehow made its way back to her. He had placed it right in front

receiving that birthday gift, she never made a

hadn’t taken it lightly. It was just that they had spent so much time arguing. By the time they met again, there wasn’t much she wanted. The Pecks never denied her anything, and Boyd… well, there

smooth surface of the glass. She wondered if the bottle would be as

She turned away, placing the bottle back on the sill, and

the milk, it was nine o’clock,

Nine-thirty, still nothing.

and still no sign of

worse, and at some point,

creaked open. A tall, lean figure approached the bed and stopped beside Yasmine. The dim light in the room allowed him to see her peaceful, sleeping face. Even in

close, the dark depths of his eyes seemed to collide with a surge of emotion,

Boyd’s forehead was beaded with sweat. He

sleeping face for a long time, his arm resting on his Herschelt knee, his

filled his mind. He was always nervous and careful when he touched her. And yet, that man had dared to touch her so

and he had forced himself not to think about what might have

was unbearable. It was something

but she refused to comply. She even wanted to keep

stung, his Adam’s apple bobbing with

pulling the same stunt, picking another man to force his surrender? To push him

his hand froze mid-air. He couldn’t

himself away in the den for the entire night, wrestling with the fury coiling in his

Yasmine would lash out, blame him, resent him even more, or