Chapter 522: Chapter 522: She’s Lying
Watching her, with a grievance so deep that her nose turned slightly red, Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes reflected a hidden coldness fading slightly, and his thin lips let out a soft snort, "Spoiled brat."
Is she holding back words to hurt herself or to make him worry?
"You’re the spoiled one!" Ann Vaughn retorted fiercely, "I’m not afraid of pain at all, I... ah!!"
The sudden sharp pain in her knee transformed her expression from "letting heaven know I won’t give up" to "bowing to reality."
The speed of change was truly astonishing.
Ann Vaughn was about to die from the pain, tears welled up in her eyes, and the fiercer she glared at Cyrus Hawthorne, the more pitiful she seemed.
"Cyrus Hawthorne, you’re not human!"
"Didn’t you say it yourself, I’m a beast."
On the bed, that is.
Ann Vaughn: ??? Caught off guard.
"Ba-dum," the hospital room door suddenly swung open, the director and a few doctors walked in, and upon seeing the BOSS gently dressing Ann Vaughn’s knee, a row of question marks slowly appeared above their heads.
Had they possibly entered the wrong room??
Indeed, one doctor stepped out to take a look and found they’d not gone astray, then promptly returned, his expression nearly cracking on the spot.
—The man before them, with such gentle side features, epitomizing a boyfriend, was that truly their BOSS who was aloof and abstinent, disinterested in women??
Even the director, used to big storms, took a moment to regain composure, and respectfully addressed Cyrus Hawthorne, "President Hawthorne, congratulations, you haven’t contracted pneumonic plague. But your stomach ailment and insomnia show signs of worsening, moreover your health appears quite weak, requiring..."
Before finishing, Cyrus Hawthorne’s icy gaze swept over him, instantly silencing the director.
The director wondered if he’d misspoke, just as a furious female voice rang out: "Stomach illness and insomnia worsened? Cyrus Hawthorne, are you even taking your medication and resting on time? Are you just fooling me?"
Mark Joyce clearly sent messages each time saying Cyrus Hawthorne was dining and resting on time, how then would this lead to worsening illnesses?
...Wait.
Mark Joyce works for him, naturally follows his higher instructions, if he doesn’t allow, how could Mark Joyce possibly tell her the truth!
Understanding this point, Ann Vaughn became so angry she forgot the pain in her knee, pushing Cyrus Hawthorne’s hand away in fury, "Leave! I don’t need you helping with the dressing!"
Director: ??? Miss, are you aware that acting this way may risk your life?
The last woman who dared take such a stance, wanting to prove herself to be the unique woman in the BOSS’s heart, already felt the chill...
"Quit messing around." Cyrus Hawthorne softly reproached her, his tone not much blaming her, but instead indulgent, "I haven’t fooled you."
The crowd suddenly choked on dog food: ???
Can someone tell them why this dog food tastes lemony?
Ann Vaughn scoffed, crossing her arms while looking at him, "Not fooling me, then why don’t you dare let Mark Joyce tell me the truth?"
She foolishly thought he acknowledged how poor his health was, starting to care for himself, but it’s all crap!
In Cyrus Hawthorne’s cold gaze flashed a trace of helplessness, soon he turned to the director and entourage, "Leave."
"Yes, yes." The director hurriedly complied, leading his equally dazed subordinates out of the room.
Once outside the hospital room, the director immediately instructed those doctors, "If this young lady comes to the hospital in the future, serve her well, absolutely no negligence."
The few doctors nodded briskly, each face revealing undisguised amazement.
In the hospital room.
Ann Vaughn originally thought Cyrus Hawthorne had let the director and others leave, fearing their continued talk might reveal things she shouldn’t know.
—But in her assumptions, being backed against the bed corner, unable to advance or retreat, was not included.
"What are you doing?" Ann Vaughn’s bright eyes flashed with some confusion, her straight back pressed tightly against the bedside edge, somewhat cautiously watching Cyrus Hawthorne just inches away.
Perceiving her panic all too well, Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips slightly curved, "Worried about my health?"
Ann Vaughn’s wary expression suddenly intensified, convinced he would say something she wouldn’t like in the next moment.
"What’s your reason for being so worried about me, hmm?"
Sure enough.
Inside Ann Vaughn’s heart, something seemed to suddenly collapse as her gaze instinctively avoided his deep and profound eyes, her red lips tightly pursed.
Those few words are actually rather simple to pronounce.
But in the years Ann Vaughn has waited breathlessly, those words have always been—written as secret infatuation, read as unrequited love.
Ah, some people hold their mouth shut, not letting ’like’ escape, yet their eyes fully reflect that person’s figure.
If Cyrus Hawthorne were to lower his head seriously and gaze into Ann Vaughn’s bewitchingly beautiful eyes, he would find that wherever her gaze falls.
It was all him.
"Does there need to be a reason for that?" Ann Vaughn feigned ignorance to his meaning, tilting her head slightly, looking at him with puzzlement, "Do you think I look like someone planning to become a widow?"
Cyrus Hawthorne was not angry, his slender jade-like fingers gently grazed her cheek, finally halting just below it, "Is that all it is?"
"Well, what else?" Ann Vaughn said casually.
But she didn’t know, the intense heartbeat transmitted through her neck’s arteries straight to Cyrus Hawthorne’s fingertips.
She was lying.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s brows slightly lifted, his narrow eyes flashed a hint of amusement, unnoticed by her.
Then he asked in a deep voice, "Not because you like me?"
Ann Vaughn: !!!
The moment those words fell upon her ears, she suddenly seemed to hear her heart explode, her skin becoming immediately scorching hot.
She strained to distract her attention in that area, ensuring she appeared calm and unbreakable.
But the more she did this, the more anxious her heart became, even if her complexion showed no signs of abnormality.
Ann Vaughn instinctively slapped Cyrus Hawthorne’s hand away, moved her body further back, and looked at him with mocking eyes, "So concerned about who I like, you wouldn’t be in love with me, would you?"
Fighting fire with fire.
Though clumsy, it’s the most effective means of escaping reality.
Because she promptly pushed Cyrus Hawthorne aside, the fierce heartbeats that seemed ready to leap out from her chest weren’t sensed by him.
Upon hearing Ann Vaughn’s question, Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes deepened further, his lips bore a languid smile, "Like you?"
Even before he realized it himself, these plain words silently transformed into a deeper sentiment.
And when he did realize it, within his sight, apart from her, others were no longer acceptable.
He accepted it gladly, gradually succumbed, cautiously and restrainedly hid, fear lurked she might flee.