Chapter 151: Chapter 151: Who Said He Was Fast?!
Before the thought settled, Ann Vaughn hadn’t even run ten meters when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled back, her back slamming into an iron-like chest with a thud.
The world spun around her, and before she could react, Cyrus Hawthorne had her hoisted over his shoulder, walking toward the car.
"Impossible, how could you so quickly..." Ann Vaughn stared in shock, her eyes wide, even as she was thrown into the back seat, still not understanding.
The acupuncture shouldn’t have been undone so quickly, it should take at least fifteen minutes to resolve automatically.
Not even five minutes had passed from then until now!
How did he manage it?!
Clouded with confusion, Ann Vaughn hadn’t even noticed the danger approaching; Cyrus Hawthorne propped one hand against the car window edge and pinched her chin with the other, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His voice was bone-chilling, "Quick? Very good, Ann Vaughn, tonight don’t think of leaving the bed half a step."
With that, he straightforwardly instructed the driver in front, "Return to The Water Terrace."
Now the question arose, why not return to the manor?
Because The Water Terrace was closer to here.
The driver imagined this somehow, and shivered all over, quickly starting the car to leave there.
Sir finally found the madam; he couldn’t delay their reconciliation with his speed!
The car shot forward like an arrow released from the bowstring.
Ann Vaughn almost didn’t grab the seat properly, nearly falling into Cyrus Hawthorne’s arms. It took her a while to comprehend the meaning behind Cyrus Hawthorne’s earlier threat.
Her face instantly turned red, "That’s not what I meant, don’t twist my words so readily!"
Who said he was quick?!
Thinking of this, Ann Vaughn felt a faint soreness in her lower back, sharply painful.
She truly didn’t understand where he got so many ways to torment her.
Thinking of this, Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but tighten her fingers, only to find those sinful tickets still in her hand, her heart trembled.
She almost "swished" the tickets in front of Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes, speaking sincerely, "I’m returning the money to you, I didn’t mean to rob your money, I just didn’t have money for a ride, borrowing from you, I’ll pay back next time..."
It’s said that wine can bolster timid courage, but at that time, she probably had tea embolden her mind, even daring to rob Cyrus Hawthorne.
The more she spoke, the colder Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze became.
At first, not much, but when he heard her latter words, he squeezed her chin tighter as if amused and annoyed.
Then, Cyrus Hawthorne pulled a black card from his wallet clip, leisurely slipping it into Ann Vaughn’s small hand holding the tickets.
"What... does this mean?" Ann Vaughn instinctively wanted to discard the card but was held down by his hand.
"This is my secondary card."
"Ah...?"
Ann Vaughn didn’t quite understand his intention, then seeing him looking at her with a half-smiling glance, "I’m spending money on my nominal wife, do you have any objections?"
His nominal wife... isn’t that her?
But Ann Vaughn dared not accept it, hastily placing the secondary card and tickets down together, "I don’t need it, I have my own money."
Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t even glance at the secondary card when Ann Vaughn’s hand was withdrawn, suddenly gripping her wrist with a slight force.
He pulled her halfway into his embrace.
Pressed against his chest, Ann Vaughn couldn’t break free from his grip, and could only stiffen her body.
"I’m giving my wife a secondary card; you aren’t qualified to refuse it on her behalf; either accept it obediently, or..." Cyrus Hawthorne leaned closer to Ann Vaughn’s ear, speaking lowly.
With a bang.
Blush spread from behind her ears directly to Ann Vaughn’s cheeks and neck, her eyes glaring at him in shame and anger.
"Fine, I’ll accept it!"
Never encountered such unreasonable behavior.
What does it mean by him giving his wife a card, she has no right to refuse but can only accept it?
Does she have to split herself apart to do so?
It proves that reasoning with a tyrant used to being dictatorial is futile, as he doesn’t even offer the mood for conversation.
Accepting is one thing, but he can’t manage her using this card to collect dust in the bottom of a drawer?
"Besides, if the weekly expenditure on this secondary card doesn’t exceed a million, you can try." The man seemed to have a bugging device in her heart, knowing her thoughts accurately.
"..." She couldn’t describe him as a tyrant anymore.
Ann Vaughn gritted her teeth, not knowing what she was thinking about, lowering her gaze to hide the gloom in her eyes.
Even if he wanted to make up for using her against Orion Hawthorne, there’s no need to do this.
Because, just thinking about it, her heart ached.
Can’t forgive, can’t accept.
The feelings at that time were deeply touched and moved; now, they are deeply ironic and bitter.
Yet the psychological defenses Ann Vaughn had built for so long, wanting to keep him out of her world, crumpled to dust at the first sight of him.
Love, indeed, wears people down and hurts them.
-
The Water Terrace.
Ann Vaughn somewhat helplessly watched Cyrus Hawthorne walk right into her bedroom. Self-defeated, she thought, couldn’t drive him away anyway, might as well let it be.
She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was not yet nine o’clock.
Before going to the banquet, she only had a fruit salad; she didn’t touch even a bite of the desserts at the banquet, now she was starving.
In the kitchen, there were only a little rice and a few eggs left, as she hadn’t been here for a while; naturally, not much food remained.
But at least she could make some fried rice with these.
Before long, the kitchen filled with a fragrant aroma.
Ann Vaughn brought the dish out and placed it on the dining table, glanced at the bedroom door that was tightly closed; Cyrus Hawthorne probably hadn’t finished showering, so she sat down and started eating on her own.
After she finished a plate of fried rice, the bedroom door still hadn’t opened.
Ann Vaughn put her bowl and chopsticks back in the kitchen and headed to the bedroom, planning to tell Cyrus Hawthorne she saved him some food at the table and then go to sleep in the guest bedroom.
As she reached the bedroom door, it happened to open from the inside.
Only wrapped in a white towel, his dark hair dripping water, his deep-set brow and eyes calm and cold, Cyrus Hawthorne stood behind the door, pausing slightly upon seeing her, "Come in."
With that, he turned and entered the room.
Ann Vaughn hesitated for a moment, then went to the drawer, took out a hairdryer, only to see Cyrus Hawthorne lying on the bed, his hair still wet, seeming to want to sleep.
"Your hair is still wet, dry it before you sleep," Ann Vaughn plugged in the hairdryer and handed it to him.
"Bothersome, doesn’t matter."
"..."
Ann Vaughn initially intended to put the hairdryer down and leave, whether or not he’d suffer headaches from sleeping like this.
But seeing the faint bluish tint under his eyes and the weariness on his face, her hardened heart softened suddenly.
She had no idea what he had done to tire him out like this.
Ann Vaughn sighed lightly at heart, bent her legs, sat at the edge of the bed, turned on the hairdryer, and dried his hair for him.
His dark hair was short yet soft; Ann Vaughn felt a tickly sensation in her palms as she ran through it, instinctively scratching her palm.