About two hours passed.
Listening to Old Master Ford’s heavy and labored breathing gradually becoming steady, Ann Vaughn took the last Golden Needle and put it back into the needle case, then took out an aromatic ball with the effect of warming and revitalizing blood, lit it, and placed it on the table.
"Clatter."
Just as Ann Vaughn pushed the hospital room door open, she quickly stepped aside to avoid being hit by the person who was about to fall.
She raised her fine eyebrows slightly, looking sowhat puzzled at the Ford Family mbers who had been eavesdropping at the door, "What are all of you doing here?"
The Ford Family mbers imdiately stood up straight, led by Julian Ford’s father, Ronan Ford, who glanced into the hospital room and asked Ann Vaughn as gently as possible, "May I know the doctor’s na? How is the diagnosis?"
"My last na is Vaughn. Old Master Ford’s cold has dissipated, and he’s fine for now," Ann Vaughn replied truthfully, "I will return in a couple of days to give Old Master Ford another treatnt. As long as he takes his dicine on ti, he will recover in about a month."
Upon hearing Ann Vaughn’s words, the Ford Family beca even more convinced she was a scam artist in traditional Chinese dicine.
Her words sounded profound yet left no traces, as if these days one needed eloquence even to be a scam artist.
Ronan Ford’s expression stiffened, just as he was about to "invite" Ann Vaughn to leave, Mrs. Ford whispered in his ear, "This is Mr. Hawthorne’s wife, Dr. Vaughn from the Vaughn Clinic, don’t foolishly offend her!"
Ever since the anniversary celebration of Hawthorne Group, Ann Vaughn had beco famous among the circles of wealthy wives and socialites. Although they had sent her invitations several tis, she never attended even once.
Yet no one dared to speak ill of her.
Though this was how she was treated even before her divorce from Cyrus Hawthorne, her status as an internationally renowned doctor was enough to earn her respect from the wise.
"Sister-in-law, how is my grandfather?" Julian Ford barged in front of Ann Vaughn, leaving Ronan Ford no chance to speak, stretching his neck to peer into the hospital room.
Ann Vaughn stepped outside the room while answering him, "Your grandfather’s condition is stable for now. As long as he takes his dicine on ti and avoids stress or anger, I will co back in a few days for a follow-up."
Julian Ford breathed a sigh of relief, praising rapidly without pause, "Sister-in-law, you truly are the Divine Doctor, not only are your dical skills unparalleled, but you’re also more beautiful than any goddess, simply a walking magnet for charm—"
"Alright, alright." Ann Vaughn laughed at his over-the-top flattery and quickly stopped him before her face ward with embarrassnt.
With such a lively character around, how did Cyrus Hawthorne manage to keep a straight face every day?
Unconsciously thinking of that figure, the smile on Ann Vaughn’s lips faded a little, then she told Julian Ford, "I lit an aromatic ball in the room for your grandfather to mitigate his angina. When it burns out, have soone get another from my clinic."
"Contact if Old Master Ford’s condition changes, I will leave now."
"Wait!" Julian Ford quickly stopped Ann Vaughn from leaving, his gaze slightly evasive, "Sister-in-law, perhaps you should wait until my grandfather wakes up before leaving, just in case of any sudden ergencies..."
Ann Vaughn smiled reassuringly at him, "Don’t worry, your grandfather will be fine now."
With that reassuring statent, Ann Vaughn left.
And just as Ann Vaughn had said, not only was Old Master Ford fine, he slept very peacefully.
Not reassured, the Ford Family had the doctors perform another check-up on Old Master Ford and received results very unexpectedly favorable.
Only Julian Ford was unsurprised.
He quietly left the room and sent several ssages to Cyrus Hawthorne, but they were like stones cast into the ocean, receiving no reply.
anwhile.
Downstairs at the hospital.
The black Maybach was filled with a concentrated, bloody sll mixed with a hint of a special dicinal scent. A handkerchief thrown into the trash can on the back seat was stained with bright red blood, making for a shocking sight.
"Cough, cough." Suppressed coughing sounds echoed, causing Mark Joyce, seated in the front, to feel alard.
"President Hawthorne, shall I send you back to the research institute? If this drags on, I worry about your health..." Before he could finish his sentence, the man interrupted him coldly.
"No need."
Mark Joyce could only send ssages to remind the experts to be prepared, as President Hawthorne’s situation might have worsened.
He initially thought the eting between President Hawthorne and Miss Vaughn at Maplewood last night would be a breakthrough.
Little did he know Miss Vaughn would be late, leading President Hawthorne to mistakenly think she wouldn’t co, prompting him to drink a lot.
If this continues, things might truly...
"Cough, cough." The man cupped his hand against his lips, coughing heavily twice before his tense, slender fra slightly relaxed.
His face remained pale, yet his sharp, black eyes were still full of intensity, fixed unwaveringly at the hospital entrance.
Shortly after, that delicate figure erged from the hospital entrance, quickly getting into a taxi and driving away.
"Maintain distance and follow." Cyrus Hawthorne commanded in a low voice.
Mark Joyce sighed inwardly, "Yes."
It was not until Ann Vaughn safely entered Bamboo Creek Villa that the black Maybach slowly drove away.
Standing by the window, Ann Vaughn opened the curtains to let the sunlight in, and as she glanced down, she just happened to catch sight of the back of the Maybach rapidly disappearing into the distance.
Ann Vaughn quickly withdrew her gaze, walked to the carpet beside the sofa, sat down, and started a video call with Kressiel.
After their usual work conversation, Kressiel couldn’t help but start chatting away to Ann Vaughn.
From things around herself to surrounding countries, and then to Gothasen; she didn’t stop once.
It made Ann Vaughn suspect that her mouth was sohow chanized.
"I don’t know how Warren Vance’s departure from Gothasen got exposed, but it was leaked by the Eighth Prince. In Gothasen, the crown prince leaving the country’s borders unauthorized would an demotion to a commoner."
"But the night before the royal court session, the Eighth Prince died, leaving a suicide note exposing all his past wrongdoings. Do you think he’s an idiot?"
Ann Vaughn’s heart chilled as she watched Kressiel marveling, murmuring softly, "It’s not that he’s foolish, it’s just that his opponent is too clever."
When it cos to public opinion, would the people believe a prince notorious for his malevolent deeds, or trust their seemingly flawless crown prince?
Warren Vance didn’t even need to prove his innocence, easily garnering public sympathy while losing a rival...
Two birds with one stone.
Kressiel didn’t delve deeper into Ann Vaughn’s words, resting her chin on her palm with slight worry, "I heard His Majesty’s health is declining rapidly. It seems that before long, Warren Vance will ascend the throne."
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