The notifications ca in one after another, and even through the screen, Ann Vaughn could sense Susie Somrs’s indignation.
Upon seeing Susie’s last ssage saying she had borrowed Julian Master Moore’s legal team and that they’d co imdiately at her command, Ann hurriedly stopped her.
Little Rose: Send the monitoring footage first; maybe it’s a misunderstanding?
Susie finally restrained her anger and imdiately sent the monitoring footage to Ann.
The footage displayed Cyrus Hawthorne and an unfamiliar woman entering a hotel suite at precisely 1:15 a.m. and leaving at 6:30 a.m.
Ann took a screenshot of the footage, used software to enhance the image quality, and zood in on the picture—
That woman’s face...where had she seen it before?
Ann scrutinized the woman standing beside Cyrus, whose features were indistinct, but her gentle and elegant deanor was undeniable. Her brows furrowed more deeply.
The na was on the tip of her tongue, but still just out of reach...
n are all pigs: Babe, you’re not thinking of doing sothing stupid, are you?
Hearing the notification sound, Ann snapped back to reality and replied to Susie helplessly: No. Susie, I’m happy you’ve done so much for . When I first saw those photos and the footage, I was indeed angry and wanted to confront Cyrus.
n are all pigs: But?
Ann smiled slightly and continued her ssage: But I would rather believe this is just a partial view and not the whole picture. If Cyrus were really such a womanizer, why hasn’t he been with anyone in these past four years?
n are all pigs: Now that you ntion it... sounds plausible. I once heard at the TV station that a company president tried to curry favor with Hawthorne Corp. by sending him several beauties, but that company went bankrupt soon after. Rumor has it in the industry that he resembles a divine being indifferent to passions, entrapping anyone who dared to get close.
n are all pigs: But whether he hurts others, I don’t care. If he dares to hurt you, I won’t let it slide!
Warmth spread in Ann’s eyes, and she sent Susie a hug emoji, and chatted for a while longer before putting down her phone.
She preferred hearing about it directly from Cyrus rather than from other sources.
—But!
It’s still infuriating!
anwhile.
Mark Joyce hurried back to the villa halfway up the mountain after picking up dication from the research institute, not daring to waste any ti.
To his surprise, he found Cyrus Hawthorne, who usually worked at this hour, leaning back on the sofa with his eyes closed, resting, his long legs casually crossed.
"President Hawthorne, the suppressant is already in developnt and should yield results soon." Mark placed the dicine and so warm water on the table, speaking in a low voice.
The man had his eyes lightly closed, and his handso face was devoid of color, as if the blood had drained from his tightly clenched fingers.
"Leave," he said, his voice hoarse, conveying a restrained sense of control.
"Yes." Mark glanced up at the bloodied palm of Cyrus’s hand, his mood growing heavier.
It seed that the frequency of President Hawthorne’s attacks had invisibly increased again.
A freshly healed hand injury now had a new one added; within just a few days, the external dicine given by Miss Vaughn was nearly depleted.
The only consolation was that the research institute would most likely develop a dication to delay the symptoms by Spring Festival, along with a corresponding treatnt thod.
Though it wouldn’t be a cure, it was better than...
Reaching the end of the line.
"Ding dong." The sudden notification broke Mark’s train of thought, prompting him to withdraw.
Cyrus casually flicked his gaze across the phone screen, then opened the latest ssage.
Drama Queen: I hear President Hawthorne’s got quite the ss with the ladies these days. Tit for tat, should I emulate President Hawthorne, surround myself with suitors, and enjoy the bliss?
Followed by an emoji of "You’re finished, I’m calling soone to hit you," with an aggrieved, tear-filled expression.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow, his narrow eyes squinting slightly. He tapped a long finger to send her a ssage back.
[Aside from you, where would I get any flowers? Be good now.]
His gaze unintentionally rested on the emoji she sent, and Cyrus paused montarily before saving it.
Who knew where this girl got all these quirky images from.
...
Ti flew by like a fleeting white horse, and the Spring Festival in S Country approached. Villa No. 8 was redecorated under Ann Vaughn’s relentless efforts, standing out vividly in the snowy landscape.
Because Old Master Hawthorne would not be celebrating the Spring Festival, Ann sent Little Dumpling to Cloudre Manor in the morning, expecting Old Master Hawthorne to return him later.’
The mastermind behind her previous abduction hadn’t been caught yet, so Ann avoided going out as much as possible to prevent giving them another chance to target her.
These days, however, Cyrus Hawthorne had been preoccupied with work and hadn’t contacted her for so ti.
The chat interface’s last ssage dated back several days ago, with her reply using an "inquisitive cat" emoji.
Ann puffed her cheeks in frustration, recalling his recent recovery from a cold, his weary expression, and how busy he was even on the eve of the Spring Festival. Her heart softened.
[Rember to eat on ti, rest well, and if I notice you looking as worn out as before when I see you tomorrow, my family heirloom, the unyielding teeth, aren’t just for show!]
After fiercely warning Cyrus, Ann returned to the kitchen, enthusiastically preparing tonight’s al.
Once Kenny returned, they’d have a table full of hot dishes to enjoy.
Yet, things did not go as planned. Even after the agreed ti passed, Old Master Hawthorne’s car was nowhere in sight.
Uneasy, Ann called them, but no one answered.
Five minutes later, her phone suddenly rang.
Seeing it was Old Master Hawthorne calling, Ann let out a relieved sigh and quickly answered: "Grandpa, you guys..."
"Annie, Kenny suddenly passed out on the way. I had the driver turn around to the First Hospital. You should also co down quickly." Old Master Hawthorne’s voice carried an unprecedented heaviness.
The breath Ann hadn’t fully exhaled was now stuck in her chest, her ears ringing like thunder had just struck. She froze on the spot.
"I’ll... I’ll be right there!" Forcing down her inner turmoil, Ann turned and bolted upstairs.
Soon, she grabbed the first aid kit and left Villa No. 8.
...
In the VIP room at the First Hospital.
"Given the young master’s current condition, surgery is the only option. It’s not that we’re unwilling to perform the operation, but we simply can’t find a compatible bone marrow match..."
Upon entering the ward, Ann overheard the doctors explaining to a grim-faced Old Master Hawthorne, and her heart wrenched tightly.
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