Fated love: the unwanted bride
Chapter 997 - Chapter 997 Chapter 997 Half Lonely Half Hurt

Chapter 997: Chapter 997: Half Lonely, Half Hurt Chapter 997: Chapter 997: Half Lonely, Half Hurt It was unclear how much time had passed before Sylvan Cheney finally put on his sunglasses and walked towards the Rolls-Royce.

Charles McIntosh followed closely behind.

“Mr. Cheney, won’t you sit for a while? It’s so hot outside,” Tomer, the butler, sympathized with him, having stood in the cemetery for so long.

Sylvan Cheney didn’t speak and left.

Charles Mcintosh drove.

The black Rolls-Royce quickly drove away from the cemetery, getting farther and farther away.

The weary look of exhaustion was evident between Sylvan Cheney’s brows; he rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

Due to the sunglasses shielding his eyes, Charles Mcintosh couldn’t see his face, but he knew Sylvan Cheney wasn’t sleeping.

“Sir, when I was young, my father often told me that we need to look forward in life, that the good things always overshadow the bad,” Charles Mcintosh spoke gently, “I think, if he knows this from the afterlife, he would still think the same.”

He couldn’t perceive all of Sylvan Cheney’s feelings, but he knew that one should always look forward.

His father had taught him this since he was a child.

Sylvan Cheney remained silent.

Charles Mcintosh didn’t speak again, and the car fell into a brief silence.

It had been a long time since Charles Mcintosh had seen a smile on Sylvan Cheney’s face.

Smiles were rare for this man, and now even more so.

The sunlight poured onto the window, the light scattering like crushed jade, like pearls, colorful and splendid.

Today was clear, with not a cloud in sight.

…

That night, Sylvan Cheney drank quite a bit at the bar, and by the time he returned to the Cheney Residence, it was already eleven o’clock at night.

Charles Mcintosh drove Sylvan Cheney back.

“Butler Santana, make some hangover tea for Mr. Cheney,” Charles Mcintosh instructed.

“Yes, alright,” Butler Santana hurriedly said, “Mr. McIntosh, did Mr. Cheney drink too much?”

“Yes, but Mr. Cheney holds his liquor well, don’t worry. Just make some hangover tea and take good care of him.”

“Mr. McIntosh, what happened to Mr. Cheney? Why did he suddenly get drunk? Is it work stress?”

“No,” Charles Mcintosh said flatly, “I’m going back now.”

“Okay.”

After dropping Sylvan Cheney off, Charles Mcintosh drove away alone.

The night was quiet, the sound of the wind intermingling with the chirping of insects.

Tiny and scattered, noisy within the silence.

The light from the street lamps illuminated intertwining tree shadows and branches.

The Cheney Residence remained as it always had, with no significant changes, the only change being… it had become quieter.

As Charles Mcintosh drove away, he saw an Alaskan dog running after his car in the rearview mirror.

The dog chased after him for a while, but when it couldn’t keep up, it stopped following; yet its gaze was pitiful, both desolate and wounded.

Charles Mcintosh knew this dog, Riceball, was owned by Chale Cheney.

A bitter and indescribably heavy feeling filled Charles Mcintosh’s heart.

As Charles Mcintosh’s car moved farther away, Riceball dejectedly wagged its tail and headed home.

Butler Santana just happened to be coming downstairs; she brought Riceball back into its cage.

“Hey, how did you get out?” Butler Santana petted its head.

Lately, every time a car came to the Cheney Residence, Riceball would run up enthusiastically.

However, if it didn’t see the person it was hoping to meet, it would become utterly dejected.

Butler Santana noticed that in recent times, Riceball’s appetite had gradually decreased, not wanting to eat anything, not even its favorite beef, and it had lost a significant amount of weight.

All day long, it was listless and lackluster.

Previously, it enjoyed frolicking with Ali, but now it only liked to lie on the ground, sometimes staying immobile all day.

Butler Santana was scared, thinking it might have caught some illness.

But when the vet checked, there were no problems with Riceball’s health.