Chapter 472: Chapter 472: Miscarriage
Cynthia standing atop the stairs was startled by this unexpected turn of events, Ann Vaughn must not get into trouble at this moment!
She hasn’t obtained the secret ancient formula yet!
"Damn it!" Cynthia cursed under her breath, rushed down the stairs in a few strides, avoided the pool of blood beneath Ann, and crouched beside her, fiercely slapping her pale cheek, "If you must die, you have to wait until you hand over the secret formula to me first!"
"Do you hear me—ah!"
Her anxious urging was abruptly interrupted as her shoulder was forcefully pushed away by a violent and ruthless force, sending her momentarily airborne before crashing into a nearby vase table upon landing!
Bang!
The moment Cynthia’s back hit the corner of the table, the vase on the high table was jolted off and fell straight onto her forehead, blood immediately blossoming!
"Ah!!"
A sharp, piercing cry of agony echoed through the stairwell.
However, the cold, stern man who approached didn’t spare even a sideways glance at her, his eyes, steeped in darkness, gradually filled with a gruesome, scarlet bloodlust upon seeing Ann Vaughn lying in a pool of blood.
Along with this, his whole aura emitted a chilling and terrifying presence, akin to Asura King who had crawled from The Eighteenth Abyss, instilling fear deep into the bones.
"Pain..." The weak, mosquito-like subconscious murmurs felt like a heavy hammer, fiercely pounding at his heart.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed all unease and agitation, took off his coat to wrap Ann Vaughn, who lay in the blood, and gently picked her up despite the strength of his movements.
His arms were tense to the extreme, his voice hoarse, "I’m here."
The consciousness that Ann Vaughn had barely retained up to this moment began to dissipate upon hearing the familiar steady voice and she sank completely into a prolonged darkness.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes suddenly revealed intense panic, he held her tighter before striding away.
"Save... Save me..." The piercing pain from her fractured spine left Cynthia unable to straighten her back, she could only lie wretchedly on the ground, stretching out her hand, pleadingly looking at Cyrus Hawthorne for help.
Blood was continuously flowing from her forehead, leaving no trace of the smugness she had while tormenting Ann. She was now worse than a drowned rat.
From beginning to end, Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t pause for a moment on her, treating her as nothing more than inconspicuous trash.
It was at this moment that Cynthia finally realized despairingly that all the pain she had inflicted on Ann Vaughn had turned around to bite her back in the same manner...
...
At First Hospital, chaos reigned inside the operating room.
The doctors, usually calm and composed, entered the operating room one by one as if facing a great enemy, sweating profusely, putting in all their effort to perform surgery on the patient inside.
The reason was none other.
Anyone being threatened by a menacing man pointing a gun at their head, saying that if the patient isn’t saved, they’ll accompany them in death—
Would be scared out of their wits!
As time ticked away, the corridor outside the operating room seemed shrouded in a thick gloom, a chilling, violent coldness constantly spreading from the tall figure standing in front of the operating room, nearly freezing the air.
The man had his head hung low, disheveled dark hair obscuring his cold, bloodshot eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Drip, drip.
Scarlet drops of blood continuously fell from his fists, bursting into vivid blood flowers on the ground.
Each time he closed his eyes, the image of Ann Vaughn lying in a pool of blood, like a wilting flower, etched deeper into his mind, haunting him incessantly.
Only pain could calm his increasingly barren and empty heart.
Mark Joyce, who was standing by the side, was terrified beyond measure. Since Miss Vaughn "came back to life," he couldn’t recall how long it had been since he’d seen President Hawthorne in such a frightening state.
The words Cyrus had spoken not long ago, threatening the doctors with a gun, were not empty; Mark understood this at the time.
If anything happened to Ann Vaughn, he would bury the whole hospital with her!
Let alone the horrifying state Ann was in, covered in blood while being carried out by Cyrus Hawthorne, which even seemed gruesomely chilling to Mark Joyce.
Therefore, even though Mark knew well that Cyrus Hawthorne had not fully recovered from his injuries, burdened heavily by his body, he dared not entertain even the slightest thought of persuading him, hoping secretly that Ann Vaughn could soon escape danger.
"Mr. Hawthorne, the patient’s body is continually invaded by an unknown toxin, and we truly cannot save the child in her womb. If we do not eliminate the toxins, there’s simply no way to proceed with the surgery..."
The lead surgeon rushed out of the operating room, speaking more and more uneasily, almost ready to kneel before the fearsome figure ahead.
"Child?!" Mark Joyce almost thought he misheard it, gasping sharply; Miss Vaughn was pregnant?!!
Things just got worse!
Mark nervously glanced at Cyrus Hawthorne’s profile, only to find he still remained expressionless while more and more blood droplets accumulated on the floor beneath his fists...
"Where is Lucas Kane?" Cyrus Hawthorne urgently closed his fierce, murderous eyes, reopening them with regained clarity, though deep gloom still lingered within.
Even before Mark Joyce could answer, Dr. Kane hurriedly arrived, "Family Head, I’m going in now."
While Cyrus Hawthorne was about to nod, he was interrupted by a sudden voice, "You might not be able to save her, so don’t bother going in for a futile effort."
The ethereal male voice approached from afar, yet the first thing that appeared before them was a white mist.
As the mist dispersed, a tall man dressed in a simple white coat approached, his face half-hidden behind slightly overgrown hair, further obscured by a white mask, making his features indiscernible.
"I can save her." The man didn’t beat around the bush, directly stating his purpose.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes probed as they swept over the man, his voice deep, "As long as you can save her, any request, feel free to make."
"President Hawthorne!" Mark Joyce hurriedly tried to stop him, "What if this man has ulterior motives..."
Moreover, the any request Cyrus referred to was virtually a blank royal decree. If the man proposed conditions unfavorable to Hawthorne Corp...
"Shut up." Cyrus Hawthorne interrupted him coldly, not allowing Mark to finish, his narrowed eyes leveraging overwhelming intimidation towards the man, "But if you cannot, bear the consequences yourself."
"Breeze is above deceit." The man smiled faintly.
—The Thousand-Faced Ghost Doctor, Breeze?!
Apart from Cyrus Hawthorne, Mark Joyce and Dr. Kane were dumbfounded.
Wasn’t it long rumored that after refusing to be kept as a male pet by the queen of a certain country and being chased to death, his whereabouts remained unknown?
But not only did he appear here, he also seemed to have come specifically for Ann Vaughn!
"Lucas Kane, go inside with him." Cyrus Hawthorne’s icy face showed no fluctuation as he directly issued the command.
Just as Dr. Kane was about to speak, a hint of provocation appeared on Breeze’s usually calm face, "You better not get in my way."