Just as he was about to draw, he suddenly rembered sothing, extinguished it slowly, and tossed it into the trashcan beside him.
About half an hour later, the family doctor ca out of the room and was surprised to see Cyrus Hawthorne still standing there, "Mr. Hawthorne."
"How is she?"
"Her fever’s gone up to 39.5 degrees. I’ve given her an IV, so her fever should gradually subside. If it doesn’t recur in the middle of the night, she’ll be fine," the family doctor replied.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s tense brows relaxed a little. He was about to enter the room when he paused, turned, and asked, "Her throat hurts, she’s coughing; what would be effective?"
"Loquat syrup and snow pear paste work well—they can soothe the throat and suppress cough."
"Hmm, thanks. You can go rest now." Cyrus Hawthorne murmured faintly, then turned and went downstairs.
The family doctor watched Cyrus Hawthorne’s departing figure, and a daring thought suddenly popped into his head.
Today, the housekeeper saying that Mr. Hawthorne personally prepared ginger tea for Miss Vaughn wasn’t a joke.
In the room, the heating was already turned off, but Ann Vaughn still felt hot, with her chest uncomfortably stuffy.
If she had known it would be like this, she should have brought so cold dicine along and wouldn’t have to suffer this way.
Unable to endure it any longer, Ann Vaughn sat up from the bed, rummaged through her bag for a vial of restorative dication, and drank it down in one gulp.
Her throat hurt badly, and swallowing even a little caused a painful lump.
After several improvents, the restorative dication wasn’t very effective for treating minor ailnts like colds and fevers, but it’s better than nothing.
"Cyrus Hawthorne, that bastard." Ann Vaughn thought angrily as she fell heavily onto the soft bed, raising her slender legs to kick the quilt off herself.
"Oh? In your heart, I’m just a bastard?" Suddenly, that familiar deep male voice sounded again in the room.
Ann Vaughn turned directly to her side, not even glancing at him.
Cyrus Hawthorne looked at her, giving him a kind of satisfaction for no particular reason when she was acting moody.
"Get up and take the dicine, then sleep—it’ll make your throat feel better." He walked to the side of the bed facing Ann Vaughn, put an arm around her shoulder, and directly helped her sit up, placing the kicked-off blanket back over her.
Ann Vaughn was so frustrated. If she weren’t completely exhausted, she’d want to kick him away.
The next second, he brought a spoonful of thick snow pear paste to Ann Vaughn’s lips, bossy and unyielding, "Open up."
"..." Ann Vaughn was so furious her eyes turned red, and she opened her mouth to bite his finger hard!
"Cyrus Hawthorne, do you understand respect for others?"
Each ti, it was either an order or forcing people to act according to his words. Was he possessed by an emperor from so dynasty? So arrogant and domineering!
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes showed a hint of surprise, the explanation he had intended to give swallowed back due to her eyes, red like a rabbit’s.
In fact, for soone born into nobility and a natural leader towering above others in his field, accustod to their admiration.
Considering others’ thoughts or empathizing equally is more challenging than achieving victory.
If soone else dared say that to him today, Cyrus Hawthorne would make sure they never appeared before him again.
But the person speaking now is Ann Vaughn.
She’s the one close to his heart, whom he dares not reveal his intentions toward despite wanting her close.
If he’d realized his feelings four years ago, perhaps he wouldn’t have missed those years, seemingly close yet separated by a thousand mountains.
"I’m sorry." Cyrus Hawthorne lowered his gaze, hiding his deep thoughts, his voice magnetic and low, "I’ll slowly learn to consider your feelings."
This sentence made Ann Vaughn, who thought he’d leave in anger, pause, not expecting such words from him.
He had always been self-centered, proud, and aloof, so how could he...
Consider others’ thoughts?
Ann Vaughn’s eyes flickered, her red lips pursed tightly for a long while before she wiped her lips and bit his finger, suddenly feeling suffocated with nowhere to vent, "I’ll take it, okay?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s typically chilly eyes suddenly blood with a gentle smile, eye-catching enough to seem like an illusion.
Though Ann Vaughn resented this man, she had to admit, she couldn’t even curse him when faced with such a handso presence.
Damn it.
Grumbling inside, Ann Vaughn took small bites of the snow pear paste fed by Cyrus Hawthorne, not noticing anything amiss.
Once the snow pear paste was consud, Ann Vaughn was so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open, her head tilting and she fell into a deep slumber.
Cyrus Hawthorne placed the bowl back on the table, watching Ann Vaughn’s fever-flushed face with slightly parted lips, his previously clear eyes darkening, filled with turbulent emotions.
He stretched out a hand, gently stroking Ann Vaughn’s face.
"I can beco anything you like; so, do you want to like ?"
The sleeping girl didn’t hear his low murmur and thus gave no response.
Cyrus Hawthorne stared at her for a long ti, then bent down, his thin lips gently brushing against her soft lips, a touch of restrained and tender affection.
"If you don’t speak, I’ll take it as consent."
In this way, even if her love is Sutton Jennings, even if she has loved him for fifteen years, he will not let go.
Because the deeply asleep Ann Vaughn didn’t know that she had inadvertently been marked by soone devious while she slept through the night.
The next day, her throat wasn’t so sore anymore, though still sowhat scratchy.
Her head remained fuzzy; Ann Vaughn hugged the quilt, wanting to turn over and continue sleeping, but was startled by the figure leaning against her bed.
"Cyrus Hawthorne?!"
Had he been here watching her all night!?
What is this man thinking??
Ann Vaughn sat bolt upright, intending to wake the man, but hesitated upon seeing his peacefully sleeping face.
His eyes shut tight, long lashes making even won envious, his finely chiseled features softened, complenting a hint of warmth, seeming more approachable than usual.
In gratitude for last night’s bowl of snow pear paste, Ann Vaughn didn’t have the heart to kick him awake; instead, she got out of bed and went directly to the bathroom.
What she didn’t know was, as soon as she entered the bathroom, the man pretending to sleep at her bedside slowly opened his hawk-like dark eyes, carrying a deep smile.
She isn’t indifferent to him, is she?
In the bathroom, Ann Vaughn felt completely differently, furrowing her brows in contemplation while brushing her teeth, trying to make sense of her unfounded feelings.
Sothing was very off.
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