The shower switch was set to cold water.
This ans Ann Vaughn had just taken a cold shower, causing herself to get a fever.
Anger flashed across Cyrus Hawthorne’s refined brow, suppressing the flas surging in his heart, as he dampened the towel with warm water before turning around to go out.
He kneeled by the bedside, carefully wiping away the sweat from Ann Vaughn’s face and neck with the towel, only to have her grab his hand, placing it directly on her face.
His palm was cold, which felt like it was lowering her temperature.
Cyrus Hawthorne couldn’t help but pinch her porcelain white and delicate cheeks, lowly cursing, "Taking cold showers and blowing cold winds making yourself sick, really impressive."
Unfortunately, right now, Ann Vaughn was sleeping with clouded judgnt, unable to hear what he was saying, unaware that her little thoughts had already been seen through by him.
As for the reason behind her actions, Cyrus Hawthorne was currently clueless.
The family doctor arrived soon after receiving the call, asured Ann Vaughn’s temperature, set up an IV drip, and then said, "The fever is quite severe. We’ll see how it goes after the infusion; it might relapse during the early hours."
Given Ann Vaughn’s physique, even if she has a fever, it shouldn’t be this serious, but she has just recovered from a major illness, and her previous injuries haven’t fully healed yet.
Given all this ordeal, it’s imaginable how uncomfortable it must be.
Her mind was so muddled that even being awake was difficult; she vomited twice in the early morning and couldn’t even swallow the dicine, utterly hazy from the fever.
The bedroom was filled with ominous clouds, ready to unleash a storm at any mont.
The family doctor didn’t dare look at the man sitting by the bedside, whose face seed extrely grim, his hands shaking a few tis while trying to insert the needle, almost missing.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s cold and frightening gaze swept over, causing the family doctor to almost drop the needle, as if he was about to turn and flee.
It’s really terrifying.
Fortunately, after much effort, the family doctor still managed to precisely insert the needle into the vein on Ann Vaughn’s hand.
Though Ann Vaughn was asleep, her delicate brows were tightly furrowed, uncomfortably restless in Cyrus Hawthorne’s embrace, letting out low whimpering sounds like a small creature.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s arms instinctively tightened, his other hand gently patting her back in comfort, narrowing his eyes at the family doctor, "Why is she still suffering?"
"Mr. Hawthorne, that’s typical for illnesses; the patient needs to gradually..."
But the family doctor dared not utter "endure through," for Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression resembled an Asura climbing out of hell, ready to kill at any mont.
"Young master, I’ve brewed traditional dicine with the prescription Miss Vaughn gave the old master for treating cold and flu. Try giving it to her and see if it works."
At that mont, Uncle Dexter walked into the room gently with a bowl of traditional dicine, speaking to Cyrus Hawthorne.
"Give it to ." Cyrus Hawthorne raised his hand to take the bowl of dicine from Uncle Dexter, positioning Ann Vaughn upright, blowing cool the liquid in the porcelain spoon before feeding it into Ann Vaughn’s mouth.
The mont the bitter scent reached her nose, Ann Vaughn involuntarily pulled away, not letting the dicine near her mouth.
The liquid splashed onto Cyrus Hawthorne’s pure white sleeve, yet with his usual compulsive cleanliness, he showed no disdain, scooping up another spoonful of the dicine for her.
Ann Vaughn tightly closed her little mouth, refusing to open no matter how he tried to feed her.
Watching anxiously from the side, Uncle Dexter was sowhat exasperated, "Young master, feed her mouth-to-mouth! That’s how they do it in dramas!"
Cyrus Hawthorne: "..."
Another spoonful was avoided by Ann Vaughn, making Cyrus Hawthorne seem to sigh, his voice deep as he whispered near her ear, "Will you open your mouth and drink it yourself, or do you want to feed you directly?"
Uncle Dexter: "..."
Oh, my young master, could you be more enlightened!
But as soon as Cyrus Hawthorne finished speaking, Ann Vaughn opened her small mouth and drank the spoonful he offered, her expression carrying an inexplicable sense of grievance.
It showed she still had a bit of awareness.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been startled into opening her mouth by Cyrus Hawthorne’s final words.
Feeding the dicine subsequently went much smoother, Cyrus Hawthorne managed to feed every drop of the decoction from the bowl into Ann Vaughn’s aggrieved little mouth, instructing Uncle Dexter to take away the porcelain bowl.
Once the infusion was done, the family doctor left the dication and departed.
Only then did Cyrus Hawthorne lean down to briefly kiss Ann Vaughn’s slightly slackened lips where so dicine still lingered, his voice low and hoarse, "Annie, you’re so obedient."
Before others, he simply couldn’t bring himself to perform such an intimate mouth-to-mouth feeding of dicine.
The little one possesses thin skin; without entirely losing consciousness, she is aware of his actions.
Though she might pretend to have forgotten at that mont, he wasn’t sure how she’d annotate him in her ntal notebook.
Scaring her away would be a great loss.
After drinking the dicine, Ann Vaughn felt the oppressive heaviness dissipating sowhat and quickly fell into a deep sleep.
It continued through the following morning.
Her head ached terribly, her throat parched, and her body utterly drained of strength.
That was Ann Vaughn’s first sensation upon opening her eyes, feeling as though she’d been run over by a truck, lacking even the strength to get out of bed.
After a long mont, she regained so strength, sitting up and confusedly looking around the room.
"...cancel the schedule, and don’t let hear of anyone making decisions on their own, that’s that."
She heard a voice from near the floor-to-ceiling window and slowly turned her head.
She saw that towering figure standing by the window, bathed in the soft morning light that fell upon him like a sheer layer of gold, and it made him seem dignified, cold, and utterly alluring.
He seed like a deity walking out of a painting.
Ann Vaughn blinked her eyes, cancelling the schedule? Did she manage to keep him here last night?
Good, suffering for nothing would have been pointless!
As she noticed the man turning, Ann Vaughn quickly lay back on the bed, giving the appearance of just waking up.
Cyrus Hawthorne paused his gaze, disregarding objections and dissatisfaction from the other side of the phone, directly cutting off the call, and walked towards Ann Vaughn.
He felt her forehead’s temperature, which wasn’t as hot as last night.
"Still a bit warm." Cyrus Hawthorne slightly frowned, "Does your head still hurt? Do you have any appetite?"
"Cough, cough cough." Ann Vaughn feigned weakness, coughing twice, showing a just-right touch of bewildernt on her pale face, "It hurts a lot, was I beaten last night?"
Upon hearing that, Cyrus Hawthorne was nearly amused by the little thing who was unaware of causing so much trouble, "Knowing well it’s cold outside, yet daring to take a cold shower. I think you need so discipline."
How did he find out??
Ann Vaughn pursed her lips, guiltily avoiding his gaze, "I felt anxious and wanted to calm down, is that not allowed?"
"Why feel anxious?" Cyrus Hawthorne raised an eyebrow at her.
Ann Vaughn’s eyes darted several tis, unable to think of a suitable reason.
But noticing Cyrus Hawthorne’s leisurely stance, it seed she wouldn’t be let off without a proper explanation...
Ann Vaughn suddenly beca bold, her face flushed as she shouted out loud, "I wanted to sleep with you, is that not okay!"
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