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?”

her and remained silent for a moment before telling

housekeeper left with a soft

she got out of bed, glass in hand, and walked to

brightly. The yard lights below were still on, and

had gone hungry, couldn’t afford

they seemed to be doing

deep breath, Yasmine took a sip of milk. Indeed, after all these years of getting used to the temperature

the windowsill. She had found it when she

her at the orphanage with her and kept it at Peck’s Manor. She hadn’t brought it to Summers, and she hadn’t noticed what became of it when Bryson’s family

could it have

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,

just that they had spent so much time arguing. By the time they met again, there wasn’t much she wanted.

her fingertips traced the smooth surface of the glass. She wondered if the bottle would be

and laughed as they walked back. She turned away, placing the bottle back on the sill, and picked

finishing the milk, it was nine o’clock, and Boyd still hadn’t

Nine-thirty, still nothing.

o’clock, and still no sign

and at some point,

bed and stopped beside Yasmine. The dim light in the room allowed him to see her peaceful, sleeping face. Even in sleep, her features were

blanket over her, but as he saw her shoulder up close, the dark depths of his eyes seemed to collide

a simple action, Boyd’s forehead was beaded with sweat. He Herschelt down slightly and sat on the floor beside

gazed at Yasmine’s sleeping face for a long time, his

afternoon filled his mind. He was always nervous and careful when he touched her. And

for so many years, and he had forced himself not to think

intimate with another man was unbearable.

still wanted her, but she refused to comply. She even wanted

as if stung,

picking another man to force

touch Yasmine’s face, his hand froze

for the entire night, wrestling with the fury coiling in his chest. The urge to storm out, to confront either that man or

about breaking that man’s hand, but he knew the consequences. Yasmine would lash out, blame him, resent him even more, or worse, use it as an excuse to cut him