Bang——
Jane Sheridan’s body violently slamd into a decorative vase nearby, and then she awkwardly fell to the ground, her legs splayed wide, her already short skirt barely covering anything.
She never expected Ann Vaughn to suddenly make a move, and by the ti she realized it, the pain had already spread all over her body.
Her eyes were filled with bone-chilling humiliation and hatred. She reached out to pick up the phone that had fallen beside her, only for it to be kicked away by a small white high heel.
Ann Vaughn looked down at her, as if she had transford into soone else. The gentle and soft aura she once had all turned into a tangible blade.
"If I wanted your life, anyone who tried to stop wouldn’t make it in ti." Her voice was cold, and the tip of her high heel landed less than an inch from Jane Sheridan’s neck.
At any mont, it could crush her main artery and take her life.
Jane Sheridan’s eyes kept widening, her heart pounding, feeling unprecedented danger looming before her.
She was the heiress of the Sheridan Family, how could this powerless nobody dare treat her like this?!
Yet at that mont, Ann Vaughn lifted her high heel heavily, and Jane Sheridan imdiately closed her eyes, screaming, "Help——"
"Trash." Ann Vaughn coldly finished this sentence, then withdrew her foot, turned around, and quickly walked into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.
Her pretty face was tightly tense, her red lips pressed together, her gaze fixed on the display screen, wishing desperately to reach the top floor imdiately.
Unless she saw it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t believe a single word that ca out of Jane Sheridan’s mouth, not even a punctuation mark.
Dingdong.
The elevator doors opened, and Ann Vaughn rushed out before they were completely open, seeing Mark Joyce and several black-suited bodyguards guarding the door from afar.
"Special Assistant Joyce!" Ann Vaughn ran over, hurriedly calling out, "Quick, open the door!"
"Miss Vaughn, how are you here?!" Mark Joyce’s mind nearly exploded at the sight of Ann Vaughn. In an instant, he realized sothing, his face turning pale.
"Don’t ask, just open the door!"
Mark Joyce hurriedly took out the room card, which Ann Vaughn snatched and swiped to open the door!
Just entering, Ann Vaughn heard a woman’s moaning from inside, feeling like her heart was pierced and exposed to the bone-chilling cold wind.
Mark Joyce’s heart also dropped, but then he suddenly slled a faint scent of blood from inside. He quickly turned on the lights in the outer hall, just as he was about to go in, Ann Vaughn stopped him with a hand.
"I’ll go in myself. You stay outside and stop any guests who might co in." Ann Vaughn’s usually fair face was without a trace of color, looking ghastly pale.
"Miss Vaughn..." Mark Joyce dared not promise anything more, nor did he dare to offer comfort, nodding and turning to leave.
In this situation, any words would be in vain.
Ann Vaughn took a deep breath, lifting her sowhat heavy steps, walking inside step by step.
The bedroom, still dimly lit, was filled with a terrifying and pungent sll of blood, the air thick with a nacing atmosphere, and danger pressing in from every corner.
"Cian, Cian, I really am Annie, please, don’t do this, I’m so scared..." The woman on the ground shook her head, sobbing pitiably.
Her brow was pressed against a sharp, glinting black dagger. The man wielding the dagger had cold, penetrating eyes, his narrow, dark orbs seemingly covered with a layer of frost, chills surging in waves.
In the second after the woman said this, the man’s lips curled into a cold smile, "Do you really think you’re worthy to be compared to her?"
Hearing his voice, filled with hidden threats, the woman gulped hard, desperately retreating, but no matter what, she couldn’t escape the dagger poised at her brow, the fear nearly spilling from her eyes.
She couldn’t believe it!
Facing him with this face, surely he couldn’t bear to harm her!
Though he held the dagger to keep her away, from his lack of action, it was clear he couldn’t overco the psychological barrier!
"Cian, do you really have no feelings for at all? Looking at my face, do you really not want ?" The woman suppressed her deep fear, a hint of seduction in her eyes, reaching out to touch his hand holding the dagger.
"Ah——"
The next second, a piercing scream of agony filled the whole bedroom!
The woman reached to cover her face that had been scratched, only to feel sothing wet, the bloody sll so strong it nearly made her faint.
Her face?!!
Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes were cold and devoid of any emotion; seeing the woman’s pitiful state, he lifted her chin with the dagger, staring into her eyes filled with desire and ugliness, his thin lips curling with mockery.
"Did you think that by making yourself look like Ann Vaughn, you could match her in any way?"
"Even if you were reborn, you wouldn’t be worth a single finger of hers, understand?"
"Cynthia Vaughn."
Those last three words were like a curse, causing Cynthia Vaughn, who was covering her injured cheek, to shudder violently, tears streaming down.
Why, why would he know!
Even those around Ann Vaughn couldn’t tell the difference, why was he able to imdiately recognize that she wasn’t Ann Vaughn!?
She was clearly so much like that woman, whether in appearance, temperant, or speech, she was indistinguishable from that woman!
Yet she arrogantly forgot that so people don’t need appearance, temperant, or manner of speaking to recognize soone they care about.
She was his most treasured possession, no one understood her every move, her every smile, even the emotion behind the rhythm of her breathing, more than he did.
He relied on aura and perception, and the speed of his heartbeat when she was near.
These superficial things could never replace or obscure them.
So how could he be mistaken?
Cyrus Hawthorne’s chilly aura seed to rge with the darkness; looking at Cynthia Vaughn’s repugnant face, the black dagger in his hand pressed against her other cheek.
"This face of yours is an eyesore to , how about I destroy it."
His casual tone as if remarking on the fine weather sent Cynthia Vaughn’s blood flowing backward, her teeth chattering in fear. She wanted to stand up and escape, but couldn’t muster the strength!
Why, she couldn’t possibly lose to that bitch Ann Vaughn!
The next second, the black dagger in Cyrus Hawthorne’s hand moved with an indifferent yet sharp force, slashing down her face!
Click.
At that mont, the bedroom lights suddenly ca on.
Seeing the bloody scene before her, the daze and desolation in Ann Vaughn’s eyes only lingered for a heartbeat before disappearing entirely.
She blinked a few tis, looking at Cyrus Hawthorne, whose clothes were intact and bore no sign of being violated at all, and the bitterness swelling in her heart nearly to the point of bursting suddenly vanished.
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