Chapter 1168: Chapter 1168: No One Likes You When You’re Old
The living room was dark, without any lights on, pitch black, as if one couldn’t see their own fingers.
A thick carpet covered the floor, so Jasmine Yale walking on it didn’t make much noise.
Despite that, Sylvan Cheney, always on high alert, woke up.
He saw Jasmine’s silhouette, his voice hoarse and eyes tired, “Where are you going?”
Jasmine was startled and stopped in her tracks, whispering, “I’m going to the kitchen… to get sothing to eat.”
“Hungry?”
“…”
“How many tis have I told you, don’t be stubborn, your body is your own.”
“I know.”
Jasmine didn’t want to argue with him, especially since it was late at night.
The living room was so quiet that she could hear her own breathing.
“What do you want to eat?”
“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen and eat whatever’s there, I’m not fussy.”
She knew the Cheney Residence kitchen was stocked with good food, she could have woken up the servants to prepare sothing, but Jasmine was aware of her place and didn’t want to trouble the servants.
“What do you want to eat?” he repeated, raising his voice.
In the darkness, he looked at her, using the dim light from the window.
She stood on the ground in her light pink long nightgown, her hair sowhat ssy, draped over her shoulders, a faint blush on her delicate face.
She stood there, looking at him.
“Noodles maybe, not sure if the kitchen has any.” Jasmine thought for a while.
“It’s cold at night, go back to bed, I’ll make it,” Sylvan said indifferently.
Startled, Jasmine responded, “No need, I can make it myself, I know how.”
“Your cooking, is it edible?”
“I’m not picky.”
“Go upstairs!”
Jasmine, shouted at abruptly, twisted her hands, clasping them in front of her nightgown.
Sylvan had already risen from the sofa.
He wore a black, belted robe, with a laptop beside the couch.
Jasmine didn’t hold back anymore, “Then I’ll go upstairs.”
“Mhm.”
Sylvan took long strides toward the kitchen, his figure soon disappearing from the living room.
Jasmine felt cold, hugging her arms as she walked to the bedroom.
Ten minutes later.
Sylvan placed a bowl of noodles on the bedside table.
The noodles were aromatic, steaming hot, with a layer of green onions on top and an added fried egg.
Jasmine swallowed, her eyes bright and focused on him.
She really wanted to eat.
He handed her the chopsticks, “Take these.”
“Thank you.”
Holding the bowl, Jasmine was very hungry, her stomach growled.
Neither of them spoke again.
Sylvan didn’t leave and sat on the sofa opposite her, watching her, “What ti is your flight?”
Jasmine was quite hungry, “Can we talk after I finish eating?”
Sylvan gave a slight smile, “You eat.”
Jasmine, who hadn’t had dinner, devoured the noodles hungrily. Sylvan’s cooking was delicious.
She didn’t care about appearances, just about eating.
In the past, she liked to act all poised, graceful, and ladylike in front of soone she liked. Now, she thought it was childish.
“Eat slowly,” he cautioned, never taking his eyes off her face, indecipherable traces deep within his gaze.
She was too hungry, and soon finished the bowl of noodles.
Content and warm, her stomach full and satisfied.
Wrapped in her blanket, seeing Sylvan had no intention of leaving, she frowned and urged, “It’s late, you should go to sleep. Staying up is bad for the skin, for won and n alike, no one likes an old look.”
“What ti is your flight?”
“Ten.”
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