Chapter 233: Chapter 233: His Little Ancestor
She couldn’t quite believe it and took another bite, picking up a cluster of noodles and chewing for a while—
Such a familiar taste.
It seemed like she had tasted the same noodles somewhere before, but she couldn’t remember where.
Of course, it might just be an illusion of hers.
"How does it taste?" Cyrus Hawthorne hadn’t started eating, his hands resting casually on the table, his chin supported by his palms as he gazed at her with deep eyes.
"...Not bad." Ann Vaughn licked the broth off her lips, blew on the noodles to cool them down, then slurped a big mouthful, her cheeks puffing up.
She remembered that Cyrus Hawthorne never used to cook; in his own words, if he had the time, he’d rather sign a few more documents.
He was never one to waste time on trivial matters, every moment spent with precision; otherwise, he wouldn’t have built the business empire he had today.
Yet, the time he wasted on her was excessively much.
If it was out of guilt alone, it would truly be a burden for him.
Thinking of this, Ann Vaughn slowed down in eating the noodles, took a few sips of the soup, then pushed the bowl away, appearing listless, "I’m full."
"Leave the bowl; someone will clean it up tomorrow morning." Cyrus Hawthorne set down his chopsticks, picked up a napkin to wipe the corner of his lips, and looked at Ann Vaughn’s low-spirited expression, pressing his thin lips slightly, "Do you want to watch a movie?"
"At this time, all the cinemas outside are closed." Ann Vaughn glanced at him, then lowered her eyelids.
"There’s a home theater and gym on the third floor, and an outdoor pool and small sports field on the fourth floor."
Ann Vaughn’s eyes subtly brightened, a little tempted, yet she still shook her head, "No, I have to go home tomorrow."
Even if those fifty-six rare medicinal herbs in the garden were placed before her, she wouldn’t waver.
Cyrus Hawthorne responded with a faint "Hmm," a shadow flickering across his gaze, quickly disappearing as he looked at Ann Vaughn.
"What about my proposal last night, have you thought it over?"
"Not interested, not considering it." Ann Vaughn was initially a bit tempted; being Cyrus Hawthorne’s assistant was tantamount to being his right-hand man, easily obtaining important information.
But after this morning, she suddenly didn’t want to do it anymore.
No particular reason, just didn’t want to be so entangled with him anymore.
But inexplicably, an unexplainable feeling of irritation cloaked Ann Vaughn’s heart, wrapping tightly around it, making her almost unable to breathe.
She stood up abruptly, intending to leave the dining room.
Pain radiated from her ankle, causing her to clench her teeth tightly, but she didn’t want to care about it, almost jogging to the elevator.
The next second, she was suddenly airborne, lifted from behind and carried on someone’s shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Ann Vaughn wanted to get up, but her waist was held firmly by Cyrus Hawthorne, and no matter how she twisted, she couldn’t fall down.
"Ann Vaughn, you’ve truly grown bold." Cyrus Hawthorne’s voice was cold and deep as water, his handsome face shrouded in what seemed like an impending storm, dark and intimidating.
Entering the master bedroom, Cyrus Hawthorne placed Ann Vaughn onto the large bed, and then leaned over as she tried to roll away, easily pinning her down.
Ann Vaughn couldn’t move, staring into Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes as if a storm was about to break, her pupils contracting slightly.
A rush of anger surged to her brain in an instant.
"You—"
"Little ancestor, what tantrum are you throwing now?" Cyrus Hawthorne spoke with a tone of helplessness and indulgence from his thin lips.
There was an affection hidden so deep that it was almost imperceptible, yet distinctly present.
Instantly, the rage Ann Vaughn was about to unleash got stuck at the tip of her heart, like a balloon suddenly deflated.
Her eyes widened, her red lips tightly pressed.
Seeing her not speaking, her blushed cheeks puffed up again, Cyrus Hawthorne couldn’t help but go over what he’d done today that could have made her so angry.
But no matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t figure it out.
Even if Ann Vaughn was subtly angry, to the point that one wouldn’t see it without paying careful attention.
But even a furrow of her brows would be caught by Cyrus Hawthorne; even her lack of appetite was clearly seen in his eyes.
Seeing how she was feeling wasn’t difficult.
Unable to figure it out, he took the initiative, which had always been Mr. Hawthorne’s way.
"Who’s throwing a tantrum? But Mr. Hawthorne, it would be nice if you could kindly not lay on top of an injured person."
They say beauty brings trouble, and in Ann Vaughn’s view, aren’t handsome men trouble too?
Cyrus Hawthorne twisted his brows, got up and sat beside her, then held her injured ankle, examining it; it was even more swollen and red than it had been in the morning.
It wasn’t hard to guess it was because of the few steps she rashly ran earlier.
"Ann Vaughn, would you die if you didn’t irritate me for a day?" Cyrus Hawthorne glanced at Ann Vaughn like a cold arrow, the hidden danger in his gaze was evident.
Ann Vaughn also looked at her ankle, swollen and slightly bruised, her shoulders slumped in frustration.
God knows what kind of nonsense she was thinking then, now she was utterly regretting it.
Even with Cyrus Hawthorne’s anger, facing Ann Vaughn looking pitiful, he had no choice but to concede.
He got off the bed to fetch some medicinal wine, dutifully massaging her.
Truly indebted to her.
At this moment, Ann Vaughn couldn’t quite recall why she was angry in the first place, still harboring a slight discomfort.
Especially now, as Cyrus Hawthorne, without disdain, was massaging her foot, his profile calm and gentle, inexplicably captivating.
Yet all she could feel was her heart as if being torn open, with cold winds pouring in continuously.
Even she couldn’t articulate why she felt this way.
Once Cyrus Hawthorne finished the massage, he tucked both of Ann Vaughn’s slender legs under the covers, then lifted his gaze to see she had already fallen asleep.
The pure cotton nightshirt she wore had accidentally rucked up above her small belly, revealing a small patch of cute, fair skin.
However, the faint scar on her abdomen unexpectedly pierced Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze.
His fingers trembled slightly as they covered the scar on her abdomen, his thin lips pressed tightly, his handsome face as if frozen, revealing no emotion.