The Enticing CEO’s Chosen Bride
Chapter 1932

Chapter 1932

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 FindNovel.com (Swnovel). Please read it on FindNovel.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?"

Yasmine glanced at the clock beside her and remained silent for a moment before telling the housekeeper to get some rest.

The housekeeper left with a soft "Goodnight."

Yasmine didn't read as usual. Instead, she got out of bed, glass in hand, and walked to the window.

The night was clear, the moon and stars shining brightly. The yard lights below were still on, and two housekeepers were taking out the trash, their voices and occasional laughter drifting up.

They were young, living their lives in their own way. Did they have difficult pasts? Perhaps. Maybe they had gone hungry, couldn't afford their favorite dress, stumbled on the path to their dreams, or endured an unrequited first love...

But they seemed to be doing alright now.

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

She pulled 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 be possible.

She took the empty glass bottle he gave 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 moved.

Besides, even if Bryson had taken it, how could it have ended up with Boyd? It couldn't be the same one.

However, seeing her name etched on the wooden lid of 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 of her.

Since receiving that birthday gift, she never made a wish.

He had promised to fulfill any wish she put in 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 need for the bottle then.

Now, her fingertips traced the smooth surface of the glass. She wondered if the bottle would be as useful as he once said.

Outside, the housekeepers finished with the trash and laughed as they walked back. She turned away, placing the bottle back on the sill, and picked up her milk again.

After finishing the milk, it was nine o'clock, and Boyd still hadn't appeared.

Nine-thirty, still nothing.

Ten o'clock, and still no sign of him.

Yasmine's complexion grew worse, and at some point, she fell asleep.

After 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 her usual reserve.

His gaze fell on her exposed shoulder, and he gently pulled the 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 shaking with effort, before he finally laid it gently over her.

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

He gazed at Yasmine's sleeping face for a long time, his arm resting on his Herschelt knee, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

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

She had been with Nick for so many years, and he had forced himself not to think about what might have happened between them.

Did it bother him? Yes, it did. The thought of her being intimate with another man was unbearable. It was something he had once had and lost, something he longed for, yet others obtained so easily.

What could he do? He still wanted her, but she refused to comply. She even wanted to keep seeing that man.

His eyes suddenly blinked as if stung, his Adam's apple bobbing with emotion.

Was she really thinking of pulling the same stunt, picking another man to force his surrender? To push him away, possibly forever this time?

Every time he reached to touch Yasmine's face, his hand froze mid-air. He couldn't afford to hurt her, not again.

Boyd locked 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 man or her, was overwhelming.

He fantasized 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 loose.

He wanted to demand why she was meeting other men, dining with them, allowing his touch. Was she trying to push him away again?

He couldn't act on impulse, and he couldn't risk hurting her. He felt confident he wouldn't, but feelings weren't assurances.

He was at a loss with her. She was untouchable. Her every word and action left no room for debate. After more than two decades, he still hadn't figured out how to handle her, other than the old trick of relentless persistence.

As Yasmine tried to sleep, her mind was restless, unconsciously waiting for something. She tossed and turned, reaching out in the empty bed beside her, feeling a growing void each time she found nothing. Finally, frustration and unrest forced her eyes open. The other side of the bed was still empty, and her frown deepened.

Dawn was breaking.

Sitting up, she reached to turn up the lamp, only to spot a dark figure at the foot of the bed. A chill ran through her.

Boyd had only intended to tuck her in after she turned over, never expecting her to wake.

Now, in late autumn, with the sky hinting it was barely past five or six in the morning, she usually woke around seven.

Struggling to his feet, he Herschelt over her, his voice hoarse and deep. "Why are you up so early?"

As Yasmine's vision cleared and she recognized his face, her hands and feet went cold. Suddenly, she slapped him hard across the face. The sound was sharply distinct.

Boyd froze for a moment, then, seeing the pallor of Yasmine's face, he gripped her shoulders as she started to tremble.

"I'm sorry..." He pulled her into an embrace, holding her tighter than he intended.

"Are you trying to suffocate me?!" Yasmine's voice was hoarse with sleep and tinged with rage.

Boyd quickly loosened his grip. Pushing him away, Yasmine tied up her messy hair and looked at him with cold eyes. "Have you been sitting there all night?"

Boyd shook his head, "Not all night..."

"I went to bed just after ten." she paused, turning away, "You weren't there."

Despite the awkwardness in Yasmine's tone, Boyd felt a surge of joy. "Were you waiting for me?"

After a moment of silence, Yasmine turned back to him. "I didn't want you waking me up after I'd fallen asleep."

A faint smile played at the corner of Boyd's lips. "My mistake. It won't happen again."

Yasmine frowned, pulling the covers back over herself. "If you're not going to sleep, then get out."

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