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?”

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

left with a soft

of bed, glass in hand, and walked

were still on, and two housekeepers were taking out the trash, their voices and occasional laughter drifting

pasts? Perhaps. Maybe they had gone

they seemed to be doing alright

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

glass away slightly and saw an empty glass bottle on the windowsill. She had found it when she first moved in but thought… it couldn’t

at the orphanage with her and kept it at Peck’s Manor. She hadn’t brought it

have ended up with Boyd? It

lid of the bottle, she was at a loss for words. After all these years, the bottle had somehow made

receiving that birthday gift,

the bottle, and she 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 was no

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

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

nine o’clock,

Nine-thirty, still nothing.

and still no

and at some point, she fell

midnight, the bedroom door finally 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 sleep, her features were calm and detached, no different from

blanket over her, but as he saw her shoulder up close, the dark depths of his eyes seemed to collide with a surge of emotion, and his brow twitched visibly. His grip on the blanket tightened, his hand

beaded with sweat. He Herschelt down slightly and sat on

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

always nervous and careful when he touched her. And yet, that man had dared to touch her

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

of her being intimate with another man was unbearable. It was something he had once had and lost, something he longed for, yet others

He still wanted her, but she refused to

suddenly blinked as if stung, his

same stunt, picking another man to force his surrender? To push him away, possibly

face, his hand froze

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

knew the consequences. Yasmine would lash out, blame him, resent him even more, or worse, use it