Chapter 296 Cheney Sylvan Doesn’t Love Her, She Knows

Translator: 549690339

She looked around, but she didn’t see anything resembling a candy box.

Jasmine Yale continued her search in the storeroom on the east side.

She searched high and low and still couldn’t find it. It only caused her back to ache from the effort.

Jasmine Yale straightened her body, stretched her arms, her gaze sweeping all over the cluttered room.

If she couldn’t find it, she was ready to give up.

After all, once Sylvan Cheney had taken that thing, it was either discarded in the storeroom or thrown away.

The beam from her flashlight fell on the ground, the wall, and various items…

Just when she was about to give up hope and leave, suddenly, she saw a neat stack of items that looked like letters.

Letters?

Why would there be letters here?

Jasmine Yale curiously walked over and took them out.

The paper was yellowed, and the ink of the pen was a bit blurred.

All of the wording was alike, graceful and beautiful.

On the envelopes were the same conspicuous words: To Sylvan.

Just by looking at the envelope, Jasmine Yale knew these letters were from Yolanda Fern to Sylvan Cheney.

She put down the flashlight and examined them.

The envelopes were yellowed as though they had been washed over by the passage of time.

She didn’t know what was compelling her, but she casually opened one, and a letter promptly jumped out.

She opened it and glanced at it.

Yolanda Fern’s handwriting was very beautiful, regular script, just like the girl herself – clean, gentle, elegant.

She quickly scanned it from top to bottom.

It mostly consisted of Yolanda Fern telling Sylvan Cheney about her current lifestyle, she was settling fine and studying art at art school.

Jasmine Yale saw the date written at the end of the letter—

It was from ten years ago.

There were many letters in this stack.

Jasmine Yale unfolded a few more.

All were letters from Yolanda Fern, with contents mostly the same—describing her life and her longings for Sylvan Cheney.

The more she read, the more Jasmine Yale’s hands slightly trembled.

She didn’t know whether it was because she had opened someone else’s mail or because something felt off inside her.

Anyway, at the moment, a strange feeling was spreading from her heart.

These letters dated back ten years, seven or eight years, with the most recent one from six years ago.

Perhaps letters went out of style later since they invented electronic mail.

But from these letters, Jasmine Yale could sketch out what Yolanda Fern was like during her adolescence and her life back then.

She wasn’t healthy and often got sick, had nightmares.

She loved painting and also mailed her paintings to Sylvan Cheney.

She lived in Landon until she was six years old, but after that, she moved to Lonton with her younger sister Lana Fern.

Moreover, from between the lines—

Sylvan Cheney had replied to many of her letters and had even visited her in Lonton.

Furthermore, Yolanda Fern had even come to Landon to find Sylvan Cheney.

Jasmine Yale’s hands, holding the letters, trembled slightly.

She had been in the Cheney Residence for twelve years and had never seen Yolanda Fern.

This could mean that whenever Sylvan Cheney met with Yolanda Fern, he did so without her knowledge.

Later in her letters, Yolanda Fern subtly expressed her love for Sylvan Cheney…

Jasmine Yale couldn’t see Sylvan Cheney’s returned letters, so she didn’t know how he had replied.

But they were about the same age and had known each other since childhood.

If Sylvan Cheney had no feelings for Yolanda Fern, it would be impossible for them to correspond so frequently.

Both came from similar backgrounds, had similar personalities, similar tastes, it was entirely possible for affection to have developed between them…

No wonder Tomer had told her before that Yolanda Fern was Mr. Cheney’s girlfriend.

She just… disregarded it.

Persistently obsessed, persistently rushing headlong into disaster.

Now, the outcome was rather tragic.

Those who destroy others’ relationships are the source of calamity.

Sylvan Cheney didn’t love her, she knew.

The storeroom was particularly silent, with Jasmine Yale’s face seeming somewhat dazed..