Ann Vaughn sat in the passenger seat, her heart almost jumping out. After calming down for a while, she said with a pale face, "Cyrus Hawthorne found ; this approach is no longer feasible."
Cyrus found out?
Sutton Jennings frowned, recalling the last ti he saw Cyrus in the restaurant; he seed to be looking for soone.
Now thinking about it, he must have had suspicions back then, doubting if Ann was still alive, but without evidence, he didn’t take any action.
Sutton briefly told this to Ann, then added, "You should lay low for a while and not approach him. He won’t let it go easily."
"I know." Ann nodded, leaning tiredly on the seat.
With this developnt, her plan was completely disrupted.
Thinking about it, Ann placed her slender fingers on her wrist to feel her pulse, her fine brows furrowing in dismay, still nothing.
Now that Cyrus had found out she wasn’t dead, trying to get close to him again would not be easy, let alone sleep with him.
Ann thought about when she was pregnant with Kenny, it clearly happened in one try, why not this ti?
"Don’t worry too much, with so many people in the world, a suitable marrow match will be found, you don’t..." Sutton pressed his lips together, his grip on the steering wheel tightening, for the first ti showing a hint of defeat in his eyes.
Ann didn’t answer him, her nerves had been tightly wound for days, not daring to relax. Now, as she entered what she thought was a safe zone, she relaxed and fell asleep.
Sutton looked at her with a complex gaze, sighed lightly, raised the temperature in the car, and slowed down.
-
Click.
Ann sneaked open the apartnt door, tiptoeing her way to the room, only to see a small figure sitting on the living room sofa, startling her.
"Baby... why are you still awake so late?" Ann felt guilty, shuffling over in slippers.
"Mommy, you’ve stayed out for three nights in a row!" The little one, almost asleep after waiting half the night, looked at her accusingly with big eyes.
"Mommy went to collect herbs, it wasn’t intentional." Ann’s heart softened, hugging the little dumpling, feeling imdiately satisfied, "Mommy really missed Kenny."
Hugging the baby, still slling milky and soft, was more comfortable, unlike a certain soone who was stiff as a board...
But Kenny nestled in her arms, sniffing with his little nose, said, "Mommy, you have a strange sll on you!"
"Ah?" Ann was taken aback, then sniffed herself lightly, her fair face slightly frozen, "This is..."
It was the unique cold fragrance of Cyrus Hawthorne, she must have accidentally co in contact with it at so point.
How awkward.
Ann looked at Kenny’s expression, as if saying "Are you seeing another dog out there?" and couldn’t help touching her wrist, "Uncle Jennings changed his car fragrance, Mommy just got back in his car."
She couldn’t betray Brother Shane, so she used him as a shield.
Kenny, knowing it all too well, didn’t expose Mommy’s la excuse.
"Oh right, Mommy, the dress shop called today, saying you could pick up your dress in a few days."
"This fast?" Ann glanced at the calendar; Sherry had just taken the design to the shop to consult the designer half a month ago, was the finished product ready this fast?
The conference is this Friday evening, the timing is just right.
Previously, Ann might have hesitated on whether to attend the conference, but now...
Cyrus had found out she wasn’t dead, if he found her...
"Mommy, what are you thinking about?" Lost in thought, Ann was brought back by Kenny’s small face approaching, his little hand on her forehead, "Normal temperature, then why is Mommy’s face so pale?"
Seeing the worry almost overflowing from the little one’s eyes, Ann felt a small twinge of guilt.
She was too anxious about the cord blood issue, leading to neglecting the little guy these few days.
Perhaps Kenny, always so steady and sensible, made Ann subconsciously think he wouldn’t worry too much about her being gone for a few days.
"Mommy’s fine, just too tired, collecting herbs is tiring work."
"Then Mommy should quickly go to bed." At Kenny’s urging, Ann obediently went to bed.
Once inside the room, Kenny made Ann lie down and, with so effort, helped cover her with the blanket.
Afterwards, Kenny ran out of the room and returned with a storybook in hand, his little face serious.
"Mommy, close your eyes, today Kenny will tell you a story!"
Ann was both amused and moved, feeling like she had beco a little baby needing to be soothed to sleep by her son.
She didn’t make Kenny urge her, obediently closing her eyes.
"Once upon a ti, there was an incredibly beautiful princess. To win her heart, princes from all over presented their country’s rarest treasures. But strangely enough, every prince who gave a gift to the princess disappeared the next day, and the whole country couldn’t find them. Until one day, the princess was captured by a dragon..."
She didn’t rember placing such a suspenseful book on the little one’s bookshelf!
This thought had just arisen when Ann slowly relaxed under Kenny’s soft, lulling voice and soon fell asleep.
She never heard the ending of the story.
Once Ann was asleep, Kenny stopped reading, adjusted the air conditioning temperature higher, then tiptoed out.
Back in his room, Kenny sat at his computer, typing away.
Soon, a short video appeared on the screen.
Just as Kenny expected, Mommy wasn’t out collecting herbs but went to see that person.
...
The morning light fell precisely on the big bed through the floor-to-ceiling window.
The man lying on it furrowed his brows slightly, his narrow eyes squinting uncomfortably, then picked up the remote to draw the curtains.
With heavy drapes and blackout curtains drawn, the room returned to darkness.
Suddenly, like sothing deeply buried bursting forth, the events of last night flooded back into his mind.
Cyrus Hawthorne rose abruptly, his bloodshot eyes frantically searching the room, yet nowhere could he find the petite figure from last night.
His expression turned cold and fierce for an instant, suddenly recalling sothing, he walked to the desk and opened a drawer.
The small scented ball that originally lay inside had vanished without a trace.
Half an hour later.
Mark Joyce couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination, but it seed like President Hawthorne was in a particularly bad mood today?
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