The tallic voice echoed slowly in the enclosed space, lodious like shattered jade, srizing.
But to the man’s ears, it was akin to a death chant, chilling him to the bone and awakening fear in his heart.
Julian Ford and Evan Sawyer were stunned, their jaws almost dropping to the floor.
No way?
Clearly, Cyrus Hawthorne was eting this person for the first ti, yet from the list of accomplishnts, it seed as though... he had witnessed this person’s childhood firsthand?!
"Don’t try to deceive ," the man bit out word by word, "I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t believe you can uncover my identity information."
The information of all personnel at the base was top secret, beyond the reach of outsiders.
Even soone as powerful as the Family Head of Hawthorne Corp. couldn’t access it!
Cyrus Hawthorne’s dark eyes were deep and serene, a hint of mockery in his voice, "Assistant Chambers, confidence is good, but too much... is arrogance."
Donovan Chambers shuddered, blood from his stunned eyes trickled down, leaving a red stain on his face.
"How... how do you know my identity?!"
This was utterly impossible!
Cyrus Hawthorne had no interest in elucidating for him, "I’ll give you half an hour to reveal everything you know, or else... I won’t hesitate to escort you and your family on your final journey."
"Mr. Hawthorne is certainly skilled," Henry Beckett gritted his teeth, his tone resentful.
Ultimately, he could only concede.
The subsequent interrogation was left to Sept, and Cyrus Hawthorne departed.
Julian Ford and Evan Sawyer hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of earlier, hastily following him.
"Bro, how did you know that person’s na and hotown?" Julian Ford was itching with curiosity, "Clearly, when we arrived, you hadn’t even opened a computer; it’s impossible you checked the information en route. Did you et him a long ti ago?"
Cyrus Hawthorne denied calmly, "I haven’t."
"No way! So all those things you said earlier were just random guesses?!" Julian Ford imdiately contradicted himself, "No, if you were making it up, there’s no reason that guy, Chambers, would be so terrified."
"For heaven’s sake, tell us! This is driving mad!" Evan Sawyer urged impatiently.
It’s like being on the final step of a puzzle ga, not letting you know the answer; it’s unnerving.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s cold brows furrowed slightly, he raised his hand to rub his brow, and concisely explained the reasoning process, leaving the rest for them to experience on their own.
After hearing his explanation, Julian Ford and Evan Sawyer faced a crisis of faith.
"That Chambers guy has a head injury, right leg issues, but how the hell can’t I deduce anything from this? How did he figure out the person was injured at a certain age and has mory impairnt?"
"You’re asking ? I can’t understand how, from a faded tattoo, he deduced the guy dropped out at fifteen and joined so organization?"
If this is bullshit, it’d be better.
But given Donovan Chambers’ reaction, Cyrus Hawthorne’s deduction was spot-on.
It’s unbelievably eerie.
Despite the complaints, both Julian Ford and Evan Sawyer knew very well.
What others find impossible, for Cyrus Hawthorne it’s never a concern.
He is the... irreplaceable deity beyond the realm.
...
After one night.
Ann Vaughn woke to a morning filled with a faintly bitter dicinal aroma. Her head felt heavy, and her body was uncomfortably weak, yet the suffocating feeling in her chest had sowhat dissipated.
She pushed herself up, realizing the handcuffs on her wrist had been removed at an unknown ti, leaving two faint red marks.
Ann eyed the nearly invisible marks on her wrist, leaned in to sniff them, and indeed caught a whiff of dicine.
She wondered who applied the dicine, Kenny, a servant, or... Jas Vaughn?
With this thought, Ann Vaughn smiled self-mockingly; how could it be him? When would he ever be so gentle with her now?
Ann Vaughn pulled off the covers and got out of bed, her body swayed slightly before she steadied herself. She then put on her shoes, picked up the phone from the table, and left the room without looking back.
A servant was bringing dicine when she saw Ann Vaughn coming downstairs. She hurriedly went over to support her hand, "Miss Vaughn, why are you out of bed? The doctor said you’re still frail and must rest quietly!"
Ann felt dizzy, but the servant’s support alleviated it sowhat. Upon hearing this, she shook her head, "I want to go ho, sorry for troubling you."
Having said that, she withdrew her hand and walked step by step downstairs.
"But sir said..." The servant couldn’t stop her; she could only follow behind.
The downstairs air conditioning was on full blast, making Ann Vaughn pull her knitted jacket tighter, but she was still cold.
Her lips pressed tightly, turning pale, as the dizziness in her head rose again.
She attempted to take another step, but her legs felt as if they were stepping on cotton; her vision went dark, and she involuntarily fell forward.
"Miss Vaughn—"
Seeing this, the servant cried out in panic, just about to rush over, only to see Ann Vaughn’s body hadn’t hit the ground but was caught by a pair of arms, then lifted through her bent legs.
"Mr. Vaughn, thank goodness you arrived just in ti..."
"Have Breeze co." Cyrus Hawthorne’s thick brows knitted deeply as he commanded solemnly, then carried Ann Vaughn toward the elevator, going upstairs and laying her on the master bedroom’s bed.
Lowering his gaze, he saw Ann Vaughn’s pale complexion and the delicate brows furrowed in discomfort, suffocating his chest with heavy emotions.
"Your body is still frail; you mustn’t move at will. Rest is needed." Cyrus Hawthorne’s voice was slightly deep as his palm gently stroked her brow.
Ann Vaughn finally gathered herself, her vision clearing up. Upon hearing his voice, her body suddenly tensed.
That night’s mory rushed over her like a tide, leaving an incessant sense of suffocation and grievance.
She bit her lip, desperately wanting to turn away from him and leave, yet knowing with her current condition, she’d probably collapse before leaving the room.
But the anger in her heart couldn’t be soothed by a few soft words from him.
Ann Vaughn struggled out of Cyrus Hawthorne’s embrace, clutching the blanket, turning away from him in frustration, refusing to engage.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes darkened slightly, he bent his long legs and sat at the bed’s edge, asking lightly: "Since you’re awake, take the dicine."
The dicine on the table was still warm. Earlier, when Cyrus Hawthorne wasn’t present, the servant didn’t know how to give it to the unconscious Ann Vaughn, so she had to leave it and wait for his return.
Ann Vaughn kept her eyes shut, as if she hadn’t heard him, remaining motionless.
However, it was only half a minute into the stalemate before Ann Vaughn felt her waist being supported, her head turned to the side, followed imdiately by softness covering her lips.
Then the warm tip of a tongue assertively parted her lips, slowly infusing bitterness as she opened her mouth.
Ann Vaughn imdiately opened her eyes to find the handso face close by, along with those deeply icy black eyes.
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