Chapter 300: Chapter 300: Nowhere Are You Allowed to Go
Hotel room.
Ann Vaughn, feeling dizzy, held a cup of hot cocoa, her bright eyes occasionally glancing at Cyrus Hawthorne, who was sitting on the sofa dealing with business matters, still somewhat dazed.
How did I end up letting the wolf into the house?
At that moment, Mark Joyce quietly walked over to Ann Vaughn and whispered to her, "Miss Vaughn, President Hawthorne hasn’t slept for three days and nights since you left The Imperial Capital, can you think of any way..."
Three days and nights without sleep?
Ann Vaughn’s eyes widened in surprise and she hesitantly asked, "Is his insomnia still not cured?"
Mark Joyce shook his head, feeling a bit helpless.
Psychiatrists have been taking turns these days, but deep hypnosis hasn’t been of much use to President Hawthorne, so his sleep time has been almost zero in recent days.
Even the psychiatrists couldn’t help Cyrus Hawthorne with his insomnia, Mark Joyce didn’t expect Ann Vaughn to do it either.
But if there is only one person in this world who can persuade Cyrus Hawthorne, it must be Ann Vaughn.
On the sofa, Cyrus Hawthorne occasionally glanced down at the document in his hand, his well-defined fingers quickly tapping on the keyboard, producing a crisp sound.
They say that men are most attractive when they’re focused at work, and this saying is undeniably true.
Ann Vaughn leaned on the sofa back, tilting her head and staring blatantly at Cyrus Hawthorne’s chiseled profile.
It’s so good-looking it makes one want to commit crimes.
"What are you looking at?" Cyrus Hawthorne suddenly spoke, his voice calm as he asked her, without turning his head.
"Looking at you," Ann Vaughn answered frankly, her delicate face adorned with a bright smile, "Is that not allowed?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s Adam’s apple moved slightly, he stopped his work, turned his head to look at Ann Vaughn, his deep narrow eyes like a whirlpool, "Sure, but... there’s interest to be collected."
Ann Vaughn’s eyes rolled, then suddenly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, "That’s the interest!"
Cyrus Hawthorne seemed surprised by her sudden move, a smile spread in his eyes, "Not enough, what to do?"
"Not enough, there’s nothing I can do, that’s all I’ve got." Ann Vaughn raised her hands, feigning helplessness, "Besides, you haven’t given me my interest yet!"
"What interest would you like?"
"Sleep with me!"
Even Mark Joyce was shocked by Ann Vaughn’s straightforward and bold remark, his poker face flushed.
Isn’t this too stimulating in broad daylight??
Should I avoid this situation?!
Cyrus Hawthorne’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, his gaze deepened as he looked at Ann Vaughn, he raised his hand to press down her head and spoke huskily by her ear.
"Behave, it’s not dark yet, wait until I finish work, hm?"
"Work is never-ending." Ann Vaughn thought he was making excuses for not sleeping, tugged at his sleeve with a frown, and asked fiercely, "Are you going to sleep or not?"
"..." Cyrus Hawthorne raised his eyebrows slightly, then nodded under Ann Vaughn’s feigned fierce but actually cute gaze, "Sleep."
The little one invited so enthusiastically, how could he let her down?
Can it be true, as someone said, that keeping a distance helps deepen feelings?
"Ahem, President Hawthorne, Miss Vaughn, you rest well, I’ll head out first." Mark Joyce suddenly felt he shouldn’t stay here, after speaking, he left the room quickly.
He even took Cyrus Hawthorne’s work along.
Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but give Mark Joyce a mental thumbs-up, well done, now even if Cyrus Hawthorne can’t sleep, he won’t turn into a workaholic.
Just as this thought arose, Ann Vaughn found herself being lifted into the air, and she exclaimed in surprise, instinctively hugging Cyrus Hawthorne’s neck.
"What are you doing?" Ann Vaughn’s heart was racing as she noticed he was carrying her towards the big bed in the room.
"Sleeping." Cyrus Hawthorne’s voice, magnetically husky, contained an inexplicable tone.
At those words, Ann Vaughn perked up, and once Cyrus Hawthorne laid her on the bed, she immediately rolled over and pressed him beneath her.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes remained fixed on Ann Vaughn, not offering the slightest resistance, his gaze smiling at her, "So proactive?"
"Hmph." Ann Vaughn didn’t catch his subtext, then swiftly pulled the nearby quilt and covered Cyrus Hawthorne with it!
"From now on, you’re not allowed to think about anything, just sleep well, if you don’t get eight hours..." Ann Vaughn lifted herself slightly and paused before continuing, "Then don’t even think about seeing me!"
Unexpectedly, Cyrus Hawthorne’s initially relaxed demeanor instantly turned cold, his narrow eyes filled with a fierce color, "No."
The last sentence was casually added by Ann Vaughn, she hadn’t thought he would react so strongly.
She shrank back a bit, feeling a little timid, "I was just using it as an analogy..."
"Even as an analogy, it’s not allowed." Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression remained cold, his jaw line slightly tense, a trace of fear flickered in his eyes.
Ann Vaughn was stunned, inexplicably reminded of the words Mark Joyce had spoken to her that day.
Perhaps what she considered a trivial joke was, in Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes, an actual pain endured throughout four years of separation.
She could live on with her hatred for him, but what about him?
He seemed to have nothing left.
An intense stitch-like pain spread from Ann Vaughn’s heart to her limbs, dimming her bright eyes, leaving her lips pressed tight, unsure of what to say.
Suddenly, Ann Vaughn felt her wrist captured by a cool hand, soon finding herself in Cyrus Hawthorne’s embrace, his deep, helpless voice murmured by her ear.
"Stay by my side, don’t go anywhere until I wake up."
Ann Vaughn blinked, trying to ignore the sourness in her heart, obediently settled into his arms.
"Okay."
Outside, the moonlight was thin and cold, the clouds light, the first snow still falling, merely looking gave a chill.
Inside, it felt as warm as early spring, so cozy one didn’t want to disrupt it.
Until late at night.
A slight dampness and tickling sensation from the abdomen made Ann Vaughn open her sleepy eyes, but all she saw was a hint of darkness.
As she focused her gaze, she saw Cyrus Hawthorne leaning over her, his narrow eyes half-closed, his expression nearly reverent as he gently kissed the scar on her abdomen.
Those typically cool and emotionless black eyes were filled with unspeakable guilt and regret.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze stayed fixed on the scar on Ann Vaughn’s abdomen, his expression seemed to be remembering something.
What is he thinking now?
Ann Vaughn pressed her lips tightly, turned her head away to close her eyes again to avoid being discovered.
But that scene, like rampant vines, tightly entwined around her heart, nearly suffocating her.
She dared not think nor gamble on that one potential reason.