Chapter 640: Chapter 640: The Girl He Loves
Madame Sisha led Ann Vaughn around to introduce her to acquaintances among the society ladies.
Ann Vaughn slightly lowered her head, and her ebony hair, tucked behind her ear, fell to cover her cheeks, obscuring the emotions in her eyes.
"Miss, you seem a bit unwell. Do you need me to call a family doctor for you?" Suddenly, a male voice came from Ann Vaughn’s side.
She turned her head to see a man in a charcoal gray suit with a refined and handsome appearance coming over, offering her a handkerchief with golden trim.
"No need, I am not unwell, thank you for your kindness." Ann Vaughn managed to pull out a strained smile.
The man smiled back and retrieved the handkerchief, "Leaving such a beautiful lady alone, your date is truly inadequate."
His words were simply trying to probe if Ann Vaughn had brought a date to the party, but unexpectedly hit a sore spot for her, piercing her heart instantly.
Ann Vaughn’s smile faded significantly, and her slender fingers tightened around the phone in her hand, "Perhaps so."
The man was pleased and then bent slightly, gesturing an invitation, "Then may I have the honor of inviting you for a dance?"
"I’m sorry..." Ann Vaughn was just about to refuse him when the buzzing of her phone prompted her to look down, a sense of relief flooding her heart. Pointing to her phone, she said to him, "Sorry, my boyfriend is calling."
"That’s alright." The man was inevitably regretful but knew that being persistent was not gentlemanly, so he stepped back a few steps and left.
The phone call claiming to be from her boyfriend was actually Ann Vaughn’s excuse; if it were really Cian calling, she would likely be puffed up saying it was her darling’s call.
She leaned back against the window with slumped shoulders and sighed sourly, then answered the unfamiliar call, "Hello..."
"Mrs. Hawthorne, are you out there attracting admirers again, hmm?"
The clear and metallic yet softly magnetic voice slowly entered Ann Vaughn’s ear, deep and charming, with a slightly drawn-out tone.
The little deer in her heart beat wildly, almost as if it were going to leap out of her throat.
Suppressing the curve of her rising lips, Ann Vaughn raised her hand to press gently against her slightly heated cheeks, "When did I attract admirers to you? But wait, how do you know..."
Halfway through the sentence, Ann Vaughn suddenly realized a flaw in Cian’s words.
The overwhelming joy nearly drowned her heart, and she immediately leaned out to look along the corridor but saw no sign of him, urgency painted in her eyes.
"Where are you?"
"Turn around, look outside the window."
Ann Vaughn followed his voice, turned around, and looked down at the garden below outside the window, her bright eyes suddenly frozen.
Amidst the vast white snow and the warm yellow streetlights in the garden, a tall, slender figure stood with pride, his black trench coat fluttering in the cold wind, accentuating his upright stature and stern aura.
He slightly raised his head, his gaze looking towards the floor-to-ceiling window where Ann Vaughn stood, his icy eyes almost blending with the snow behind him, suddenly softened.
With the appearance of that figure, Ann Vaughn’s chest trembled uncontrollably.
The overflowing disappointment and aggrievance were instantly washed away by joy, leaving only the lingering emotion.
It turns out what he said was true.
When he appears, even amidst the cold and darkness, it feels as if I’ve touched the warmth of sunlight.
In the next moment, Ann Vaughn lifted the skirt of her gown, not even caring about the height of her high heels, and rushed downstairs.
The person she wants to see is waiting for her.
This thought alone made Ann Vaughn disregard the cold wind blowing towards her face, stepping on the thickly carpeted snow, running towards the man walking steadily towards her.
Then, with all her might, she threw herself into his arms!
Cian’s arms opened up and wrapped her entirely within his trench coat, his warm palm lingering on her back, gradually tightening.
Leaving the warmth of the villa, with so few clothes against the cold wind, Ann Vaughn’s exposed skin was cold like the temperature of snowflakes.
Yet, enclosed in the warm embrace filled with a faint cool fragrance, the clear tremor from his chest transmitted to her heart, Ann Vaughn found the temperature on her face somewhat hot.
She tightly hugged Cian’s lean waist, feeling warmed by his body heat despite her cold body, and mumbled, "How come you are in F Country? To know I am here."
Clearly, he’s been ignoring me for the past few days.
"With intention, you can find out." Cian replied casually, then raised a hand to pinch her slightly warm cheeks, "Didn’t you inform those ill-intentioned men that you’re already married?"
"Ugh..." Ann Vaughn resentfully grabbed the hand pinching her, muttering, "Why don’t you simply hang a sign on me that says ’Married woman, keep away from strangers’."
On hearing this, Cian raised his eyebrows, "A good idea."
"...Hmph!" Ann Vaughn turned her head away, saying nothing further, secretly counting in her heart.
"Dong—Dong—"
The midnight chimes echoed from the bell tower.
Almost at the moment the chimes rang, Ann Vaughn lifted her head from Cian’s embrace, her bright eyes gleaming as she looked at him, "Quinn, Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year."
The soft, pleasant female voice and the magnetic, clear male voice wonderfully overlapped, with no sense of discord, evoking a heartwarming joy instead.
A tint of surprise bloomed in Ann Vaughn’s eyes, and then she pursed her lips, her eyebrows curved in a joyful laughter.
Cian, gazing at her charming joyous face, couldn’t help but plant a gentle kiss on her lips, his voice hoarse as he repeated the phrase, "Happy New Year."
The girl he loves.
...
After bidding farewell to Madame Sisha, Ann Vaughn returned to the hotel with Cyrus Hawthorne.
"By the way, I didn’t know who you arranged to be in charge of the Tianxiang Project, so I gave Mark Joyce’s contact information to those society ladies. That should be alright, right?"
Ann Vaughn spoke as she came out of the bathroom towel-drying her hair, while Cyrus Hawthorne sat by the bed, reading a document.
"Yes." Cyrus moved his gaze from the document to Ann Vaughn, whose dripping ebony hair caught his attention, his brows furrowing, "Come here."
"Okay." Complying, Ann Vaughn slipped on her slippers and walked to his side, only to have him grab her wrist and pull her to sit on his lap.
Cyrus casually set the documents aside, then took out a hairdryer from the drawer, plugged it in, and began drying Ann Vaughn’s hair.
Occasionally, his fingertips gently grazed her scalp, not hurting, yet causing Ann Vaughn’s shoulders to shudder.
"I can do it myself..."