Fated love: the unwanted bride

Chapter 717: Chapter 717: Aiming at One’s Own Temple

“Chris Fern, if you truly understood me, you wouldn’t have fallen into my trap like this,” said Sylvan Cheney with an indifferent smile.@@novelbin@@

Charles Mcintosh curled his lip in response.

If Chris Fern really understood Sylvan Cheney, he would know exactly what Sylvan’s vulnerability was.

Unfortunately, Chris Fern did not understand.

As for Sylvan Cheney, he wouldn’t easily reveal his vulnerability.

“You know everything you need to know? If there’s anything else you want to ask, I’d be happy to answer.” Sylvan Cheney took a drag from his cigarette, squinting his eyes.

“There’s nothing to ask. Sylvan Cheney, with your despicable tactics, will you ever find true love?”

Sylvan Cheney laughed. How naive Chris Fern was.

In this world, the only person he considered his true love was Yolanda Fern.

“In my lifetime, you’ll have the chance to see me get married,” Sylvan Cheney glanced at him.

With that, Sylvan Cheney dropped his second cigarette butt on the ground, stamping it out.

Undisturbed tranquility remained in his eyes.

Chris Fern scoffed, disbelief still etched on his face.

Get married? Even if so, wouldn’t it be just for his own advantage!

“If there’s nothing else you want to ask, it’s time for you to come with me,” Sylvan Cheney put his hands in his pockets, his expression indifferent.

The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and gun smoke…

His gaze focused on Chris Fern’s face, as sharp and icy as a sword.

Charles Mcintosh sighed.

Sylvan Cheney was being polite towards Chris Fern, this young man, always too lovable to hate.

Foolishly pursuing love, even to the point of self-destruction.

Everything he did was for Yolanda…

It seemed that he never considered himself or even contemplated the consequences of failing.

What a pity for someone so young.

Medicine is meant to save people, not to kill.

“It’s all fake, empty…” Chris Fern murmured, his eyes hollow and lifeless.

Despite his bloodshot eyes, exhaustion was evident underneath his eyelids.

“Yolanda…”

He called out Yolanda’s name, gazing off into the distance with a distant look.

Suddenly−−

He reached into his coat pocket, swiftly pulling out a handgun. He pointed it at his temple and pulled the trigger.

There was a loud “bang”…

Blood seeped out, and the air filled with a faint smell of gunpowder.

“Call 120,” Sylvan Cheney ordered coldly, his eyes narrowing as he quickly rushed forward.

“Yes,” Charles Mcintosh responded immediately.

After the gunshot, the underground tunnel once again fell into silence.

A few tendrils of smoke drifted about, slowly dissolving into the air.

All was calm.

…

The hospital.

Everywhere was filled with the scent of disinfectant, patients wrapped in bandages, and busy doctors and nurses.

The air was still hazy, everything appearing grey.

The smog was heavy, obscuring vision.

When the doctors got Chris Fern into the operating room, he was still breathing.

The bullet missed its target, grazing past his temple.

Outside the operating room, Sylvan stood coldly.

The humidity clung to his hair. He rubbed his forehead, his gaze frosty and inscrutable.

He hadn’t expected that the seemingly weak Chris Fern would have the courage to shoot himself. He was simply fearless.

The gunshot continued to resonate in his ears.

Just then, a woman in a lilac coat walked up quickly.

“Mr. Cheney, Yolanda is missing,” Lilac Serval reported with a furrowed brow.

The woman’s wavy hair covered half of her face, her every movement charming and alluring.

The ruby earrings dangled from her ears, swinging back and forth, glittering brightly.