Chapter 475: Chapter 475: It’s Even More Forbidden at Night!
Upon speaking, she couldn’t help but raise her eyes and quietly observe Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression at the moment, her red lips slightly pressed tightly together.
In Cyrus Hawthorne’s deep and dark narrow eyes, a trace of pain subtly appeared, fleetingly replaced by a teasing smile before Ann Vaughn could catch it. "Want another one?"
Ann Vaughn felt a moment of embarrassment and was about to answer when his warm palm gently covered her lower abdomen, his voice tender and soft, "Then I have to try harder."
Although Ann Vaughn really wanted another, her motives from the start weren’t pure. To say she wasn’t nervous would be impossible.
She heard the teasing in his tone and immediately pushed his hand away, saying with annoyance, "It’s broad daylight, stop teasing me here!"
"Oh? Not in the daytime then?"
"...Even less at night! I’m still a patient; can you think of something healthy and not colored?"
Men are such pigs!
Ann Vaughn’s embarrassed face, which was somewhat pale, suddenly turned rosy. Her small earlobes, like red jade, seemed translucent and might start bleeding, her look of indignation like a lively little hamster.
It’s difficult to align her current appearance with the image of lying in a pool of blood, barely alive.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze showed a flicker of warmth, his arms gradually tightening around her slender waist, as if he wanted to embed her into his body, his veins, easing the overwhelming fear.
Luckily, she’s still here.
She didn’t leave his world.
Being tightly embraced from behind by him, Ann Vaughn felt she could hardly breathe, her delicate back closely pressed against his scorching chest, their heartbeats gradually synchronizing.
Yet, the trace of unease emanating from him left Ann Vaughn somewhat stunned.
What is he afraid of?
Or rather, even faced with explosions and wounds, never caring about his life or death, could he still have fear?
"Quinn? What’s wrong?" Ultimately unable to resist the doubt and curiosity in her heart, Ann Vaughn asked in a muffled voice.
"Would you like to see that photo album?" Cyrus Hawthorne lifted his hand to twirl a strand of her soft hair, avoiding the question with another one.
Some things, he could bear alone, and she didn’t need to experience them.
Suddenly mentioning that album, Ann Vaughn took a long time to recall it, as the ambush had long driven it out of her mind.
"I do!" Ann Vaughn quickly nodded, her eyes bright and crystal clear.
Seemingly expecting her response, Cyrus Hawthorne turned aside and retrieved the album from the drawer of the bedside table, handing it to her, "Take a look."
Fearing he might suddenly change his mind, Ann Vaughn took it and, guarding it like a thief, turned away, looking at it with a silly smile.
The young Cyrus Hawthorne wasn’t as cold, proud, and kingly as he is now.
His still juvenile facial contours, beautifully sculpted features, a high nose, lips slightly pursed, wearing a gentlemanly black vest and short suit trousers, hands in pockets, looking stern.
But if one looks closely, they’ll find the young Cyrus Hawthorne, not looking at the camera, would show a gentle expression when gazing in a certain direction.
Though still young, the gaze in those eyes could melt all the ice in the world.
This is how Ann Vaughn remembered Cyrus Hawthorne as a child.
"You don’t smile as much as you did when you were a child." Ann Vaughn discontentedly poked the photo of the young Cyrus Hawthorne, muttering.
Hearing this, Cyrus Hawthorne slightly raised an eyebrow, and asked calmly, "Have you ever seen a hunter, successful in his hunt, still trying to deceive his prey?"
The traps set widely need not be mentioned, but those with only one target...
Are another story entirely.
What does that mean?
Ann Vaughn was utterly lost; were they even on the same wavelength??
"Ah!" After a long pause, Ann Vaughn finally understood what Cyrus Hawthorne meant, and angrily pounced on him, "You’re saying I’m the prey!"
What’s even more infuriating is that all his gentle and considerate gestures when they were young were nothing more than a tender trap for the "prey"!
She didn’t even think twice and fell into his trap, never escaping all these years!
Seeing her suddenly pounce, Cyrus Hawthorne instinctively caught her slender waist to prevent her from falling, holding her small punching fist securely with the other hand, frowning as he sternly warned, "Careful with your body."
"I’m not a fragile doll; I’m not that weak!" Ann Vaughn scoffed, confidently sitting in his lap, "No wonder Grandpa always warned me to be cautious of you, that’s what he meant!"
Capturing a hint of helplessness in his brow, Cyrus Hawthorne was about to answer her when the door to the room suddenly opened.
Both turned towards the entrance, and their gaze met that of Laura Quinn and Mrs. Lynch standing there with a thermos box.
The instant four pairs of eyes met, the atmosphere in the hospital room subtly became awkward.
Ann Vaughn’s previously puffed-up face suddenly deflated like a pricked balloon, rapidly turning a vibrant crimson.
Her, her, her—
Ahhh!!
After screaming in her heart several times, Ann Vaughn quickly got off Cyrus Hawthorne, grabbed a nearby blanket, and covered herself completely.
Then, as if she’d only just woken up, she lifted the blanket, rubbed her eyes, and looked at them with a confused face.
Mrs. Lynch: "..."
Laura Quinn: "..."
They’re not blind, really.
Even Cyrus Hawthorne’s usually indifferent eyes floated with threads of humor, as he raised a hand to rub the little drama queen’s head, standing up to look at the two at the door, his tone relaxed, "Is something wrong?"
"Ah," Laura Quinn snapped out of it, brought the thermos box to the bedside, looking at Ann Vaughn’s slightly flushed but markedly thinner face due to the ordeal, saying with heartache, "Poor thing, you’ve suffered, I’ve brought chicken soup and supplements, we must nourish you well."
Under Laura Quinn’s caring and sympathetic gaze, Ann Vaughn felt slightly strange.
She truly wasn’t used to Laura Quinn’s soft-spoken demeanor; was she born to be mistreated??
Nevertheless, regardless of whether Laura Quinn’s attitude was genuine or pretended, there was no easy way to respond.
"I haven’t suffered much; truly no need to replenish. I’m fine as I am now." Ann Vaughn shook her head, her pretty face calm.
Though she once thought she’d die from the fall, fate was kind to her, and Cyrus Hawthorne came.
"How could you not need it?" Laura Quinn chided gently, "You must know you underwent..."