Chapter 222: Chapter 222: When Did I Ever Want to Kill You?
"Miss Vaughn, you can’t leave right now!" Mark Joyce hurriedly spoke to stop her, fearing that the next second it would be too late.
"Why not?" Ann Vaughn walked to the door, lazily turned back, and asked, "Why can’t I leave?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes looked indifferently at Mark Joyce, with an air of ’if you can’t give a reason for Ann Vaughn to stay, you’re out.’
Mark Joyce’s heart skipped a beat, and he started speaking nonsensical words with a serious demeanor.
"Well, it’s like this, as soon as I went up the mountain, I received a notification that due to a landslide, the road is blocked, and it’s not clear when it will be fixed."
Landslide?
Ann Vaughn raised her eyebrows, "Special Assistant Joyce, when did you take courses on how to fool people?"
She finished and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"President Hawthorne, I’ve tried my best..." Mark Joyce said with difficulty.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes carried an amused look, and his voice was so calm it bore no threat, "Vivi is about to join on Continent F; you can go with her."
Mark Joyce: ???
Which deity did he offend this year that he has to endure this kind of hardship?!
Cyrus Hawthorne glanced at the remaining ginger tea on the table, then got up, hands in his pockets, went into the dressing room, and only went downstairs after changing clothes.
As soon as he reached the bottom of the staircase, Cyrus Hawthorne saw Ann Vaughn returning, her face full of confusion and surprise.
He slightly raised an eyebrow, hiding a hint of amusement in his eyes, and asked casually, "Weren’t you leaving?"
"You know the answer," Ann Vaughn assumed he was mocking her, snorted coldly, and walked past him into the living room.
How could she have known that what Mark Joyce said was true, the road down the mountain was already blocked, and by morning, it was still uncertain if it would be passable.
Ann Vaughn initially thought Mark Joyce was playing with her, not expecting he was kindly reminding her; she really shouldn’t have doubted him.
Therefore, while Mark was already prepared to be sent to Continent F, he received "kind care" from his boss, not only canceling his reassignment order but also giving him a raise...
Ann Vaughn didn’t know about any of this; Old Master Hawthorne was very pleased she could stay a little longer to keep him company, so he even ate an extra bowl at dinner.
"Grandpa is old and doesn’t have the energy to entertain guests, the villa has many empty rooms that haven’t been arranged yet." After dinner, Old Master Hawthorne pondered where Ann Vaughn would stay tonight.
"Grandpa, the sofa in the living room is just enough for me; I’ll just sleep here tonight," Ann Vaughn felt embarrassed to trouble Old Master Hawthorne.
Who knew Old Master Hawthorne’s face would turn stern, "How can that be? You sleep in Cian’s room; let Cian sleep on the sofa. He’s a man; anywhere he sleeps is still sleeping."
"Grandpa is right," Cyrus Hawthorne responded calmly, without any dissatisfaction at the preferential treatment.
Old Master Hawthorne glanced at him, snorted, and said nothing more.
Once the clock struck eight, Old Master Hawthorne went to rest first under the family doctor’s reminder, leaving only Ann Vaughn and Cyrus Hawthorne in the living room.
"Achoo!" Ann Vaughn sneezed again, followed by a burst of pain at the back of her head, making her reach up to rub it.
But a hand quicker than hers pressed gently against the back of her head, lightly massaging.
Ann Vaughn’s movement froze, "Cyrus Hawthorne, take your hand away."
"If you’re not feeling well, go upstairs and rest; why keep pushing yourself?" Cyrus Hawthorne gave her a disapproving look, then scooped her up from the sofa without waiting for her to protest and walked upstairs.
"I don’t need your concern; I know my own body well!"
As soon as they entered the room, Cyrus Hawthorne placed her on the bed, then took a thicker quilt from the dressing room and wrapped it tightly around her.
"You don’t need my concern?" Cyrus Hawthorne felt Ann Vaughn’s forehead with his palm; the burning sensation underneath made his eyes turn cold, "Ann Vaughn, do you really think I have no way to handle you?"
"What, do you want to kill me?" Ann Vaughn looked at him with mocking bright eyes, suppressing the urge to cough, and said harshly, "Four years ago, I didn’t die at your hands; are you disappointed by that?"
"If you have the ability, kill me today; otherwise, there will only be more times when I make you unhappy!"
Upon hearing this, Cyrus Hawthorne’s handsome face turned completely cold; the hand hanging at his side suddenly grabbed her cheek, his words almost fell out from between clenched teeth.
"Damn it, when did I ever want to kill you?"
Exactly who put such wrong ideas in this woman’s head, making her think everything he did was to make her die?
What did she mean by those words?
Ann Vaughn fearlessly looked into Cyrus Hawthorne’s deep, narrow eyes, her voice hoarse as she retorted, "You know exactly in your heart, I don’t feel like arguing with you right now; get out!"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyebrows furrowed even tighter, and seeing her resistant and hateful expression, a sudden pain hit his chest.
"What do you know?"
"What should I know?" Ann Vaughn’s eyes showed a faint redness, her lips, reddened unusually by her illness, curved into a wanton smile, "Or, what is it that you don’t want me to know?"
Did he really think that no one knew about the conversation between him and the attending physician four years ago?
Did he think she would still be that foolish, just waiting for him to hand the knife to her neck without knowing to resist?!
"Cough, cough cough cough—" The feelings suppressed for too long erupted unexpectedly, making Ann Vaughn cough heavily, her lungs faintly aching.
But it seemed the worst pain wasn’t from that area.
Seeing Ann Vaughn coughing so severely, the suspicion in Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes vanished instantly; he reached out to help her, but worried he would make her even more annoyed, he retracted his hand.
After a moment of silence, he turned and left the room.
Seeing him walk out at last, Ann Vaughn suppressed the resentment and suffocation in her heart, coughed for a while, then turned over with her quilt in her arms and closed her eyes.
Bang bang bang—
The door was knocked loudly, startling the family doctor who had been sleeping inside, who quickly ran over to open the door.
"Mr. Hawthorne, it’s so late; what can I do for you?"
"The IV drip from this afternoon isn’t having any effect; she’s coughing really badly now, and her temperature is high," Cyrus Hawthorne frowned deeply and said in a low voice.
The family doctor, hearing this, put on glasses and took out the medical kit, "That’s odd; Miss herself is a doctor, and the medicine she made for the Old Master worked better than what I gave him for three days."
Precisely because she is a doctor, she probably hasn’t taken this little illness to heart.
No matter how decisively she treats patients, when it comes to herself, she’s not only afraid of pain but also incredibly delicate; how could she treat herself with this small illness?
Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes showed a hint of helplessness, and after the family doctor entered the room, he leaned against the second-floor railing and lit a cigarette.