Oh no.
Kenny blinked his eyes and suddenly felt a chill down his spine.
Ann Vaughn noticed his suddenly cautious expression and couldn’t help but laugh, "Don’t worry, Mommy’s not here to settle scores with you. I’m just guessing if there’s a special reason you and your dad hid your identities to get close to ."
If she hadn’t sensed this, Ann wouldn’t have settled things with Cyrus Hawthorne so easily last night.
Absolutely no admitting that there was any temptation involved!
Kenny hesitated for a mont, then briefly explained the whole situation to Ann Vaughn. Seeing she wasn’t troubled by it, he felt relieved.
After hearing Kenny’s explanation, Ann Vaughn was silent for a long ti before a smile slowly ford on her lips.
"So, that’s how it is."
Thinking back, her headaches first began when she heard the na "Cyrus Hawthorne" from Kressiel’s mouth.
The second and third tis were the sa.
But before yesterday, she hadn’t had a headache in so ti, and she even thought her headaches were cured.
But they weren’t.
Even if hearing Cyrus Hawthorne’s na no longer gave her headaches, even if she had accepted in her heart that Jas Vaughn was her ex-husband Cyrus Hawthorne, even if... she still liked him.
It couldn’t change the fact that rembering him made her feel unbearable pain.
Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but wonder whether those lingering emotions in her mind were born out of love or hate...
Or perhaps both?
Unable to figure it out, Ann decided to ask Cyrus directly instead of dwelling on it.
"Kenny, where’s your dad now?"
"Dad’s in a eting at the company, Uncle Joyce said the eting hasn’t ended yet." Little Dumpling answered truthfully.
The enthusiasm Ann Vaughn had just mustered up suddenly dissipated. After thinking it over, the path to Cyrus wasn’t accessible at the mont, but there was another path.
Five minutes later, Ryan Wyatt was brought into the living room by Sept.
"Miss Vaughn, is there sothing you need from ?" Ryan Wyatt smiled ingratiatingly, "Whatever it is, just leave it to , and I’ll get it done perfectly for you!"
Ann Vaughn felt goosebumps at his sycophantic attitude and couldn’t help but sit back a bit, studying him with her eyes.
"Previously in Gothasen, after I fell asleep, Warren Vance brought you in and said sothing. At that ti, I didn’t understand what he ant. I’m still sowhat confused, so I’d like you to help clear it up for ."
Ryan Wyatt was startled, lowered his head, and replied, "Miss Vaughn, please tell ."
Ann Vaughn smiled slightly, looking warm and harmless, "Warren Vance said, ’I only asked you to control her behavior, not to ss with her nerves and make her lose her mory...’ Can you explain what he ant by this?"
"This..." Ryan Wyatt was at a loss for words.
Warren Vance was his master. If he disobeyed his orders and told Ann everything, it would be treason.
But now, he was at Cyrus’s rcy. If he didn’t speak, those four daily pork knuckles would be gone...
Seeing Ryan Wyatt’s hesitation, Ann Vaughn said, "Don’t worry, regardless of the truth, I won’t make things difficult for you. I just want to understand what Warren Vance ant by controlling my behavior and causing my mory loss."
At this point, Ryan Wyatt knew those matters couldn’t be concealed any longer, so he decided to confess.
"This matter is actually quite lengthy. The prince discovered you and..."
Just as he was beginning, Ryan Wyatt’s eyes suddenly widened, bloodshot and bulging slightly, his face turning ashen, while scarlet blood kept flowing from his open mouth!
Bang—
Ryan Wyatt collapsed, motionless for a long ti, then a pitch-black bat flew from the back of his neck, darting towards the skylight.
The sudden change happened in a flash.
Ann Vaughn was stunned beyond belief by what unfolded before her eyes. Just as she was about to step forward to check if Ryan Wyatt was still alive, both Sept and Hex simultaneously stopped her.
"Miss Vaughn, please step back to avoid any danger."
"Is he dead?" Ann Vaughn’s face turned pale, her delicate fingers trembled at her sides, and her voice quivered.
Sept looked at Hex, who was crouching beside Ryan Wyatt. Seeing Hex nod, he then addressed Ann Vaughn, whose face was grim, "Miss Vaughn, please go upstairs and rest, we’ll handle things here, don’t worry."
How could she not worry?
One mont a person is fine, and the next, they die before you in such a horrific manner. Who wouldn’t be scared?
...
Late at night.
Upon receiving the call from Villa No. 8, Cyrus Hawthorne rushed back in the shortest ti possible.
The maid had just finished cooking congee and was about to take it upstairs. Seeing Cyrus return, she greeted him with respect, "Good evening, sir."
"How’s Annie now?" Cyrus casually draped his suit jacket over his arm, his tone calm, but his tightly furrowed brows and serious expression made it clear how he was feeling.
"Miss Vaughn isn’t sleeping well, threw up several tis when taking dicine, can’t eat anything, the low fever won’t go away. Dr. Silas Lowell just gave her an IV and left not long ago..." As Cyrus’s expression grew colder, the maid’s voice lowered.
"Give the congee."
"Y-yes."
Cyrus carried the congee and dicine upstairs, walking steadily to the bedside. By the light of the wall lamp, he imdiately spotted the curled-up, petite figure on the bed.
His footsteps were barely audible, almost silent, yet Ann Vaughn awoke the mont he arrived, her eyes widening with fear and panic, cold sweat breaking out on her back!
But when she saw that incredibly handso face under the wall lamp, the fear gripping her heart slowly dissipated.
"You’re back..." Ann Vaughn forced a small smile, placing her hand in Cyrus’s outstretched palm for support to sit up.
Cyrus, noting her pale face, touched her sweaty forehead with a frown.
"Can you eat sothing?" he asked softly.
"I have no appetite, don’t want to eat." Ann Vaughn shook her head lightly, her small hand tightly covering her stomach.
She was hungry, but Ann Vaughn really couldn’t eat anything.
Just thinking about the scene from earlier made her stomach churn with acid, feeling both pain and nausea, unable to keep anything down, even if forced, it would end up being thrown up.
Cyrus’s brow furrowed even tighter, his warm palm covering her stomach, gently massaging it.
His palm was warm, much better than Ann Vaughn’s cool hand, and soon she felt warmth spreading in her stomach, relieving much of the pain.
Ann Vaughn listlessly glanced up to find Cyrus’s focused expression, his eyes gently downturned, lips pressed tightly, as if he was dealing with sothing more important than a billion-dollar deal, leaving her montarily dazed.
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