Chapter 269: Chapter 269: Why Have Such a Good Figure for No Reason?
Ann Vaughn raised her hand to wipe away the fine sweat on her temples, exhaled a turbid breath with difficulty, and then put the Golden Needle back into the needle bag, her slender fingers now limp.
Her physique is considered pretty good, plus she occasionally wakes up early for morning runs, even climbing the highest mountain in The Imperial Capital in one go is no problem.
Yet she’s exhausted like this.
It’s still a lack of exercise.
Ann Vaughn bent down and buttoned Cyrus Hawthorne’s shirt one by one. Her fingertips accidentally touched his defined and strong abs, causing a layer of red to appear on her cheeks.
...What’s the point of having such a good body when there’s nothing going on?!
Ann glared with bright eyes as she tidied his collar, waving her small hand to disperse the heat from her cheeks. Only after it faded did she turn around and walk out of the operating room.
Outside, things were about to become chaotic.
It had been a full four hours since Ann Vaughn entered the operating room. Neither too long nor too short.
Laura Quinn was so furious that she could only call Cloudmere Manor, asking Old Master Hawthorne to come over.
But when Old Master Hawthorne came and heard that Ann Vaughn was treating Cyrus Hawthorne, he told Laura not to worry so much, showing his trust in Ann.
This left Laura speechless; she can’t do anything to Old Master Hawthorne, but can’t she handle these Hawthorne Corp employees?!
"What kind of witchcraft has Ann Vaughn fed you to make you trust her, despite Cyrus valuing you so much? Is this how you repay him? When he wakes up, do you believe that I’ll have you kicked out of Hawthorne Group?!"
"Are you all blind? Do you not trust me, the Matriarch of the Hawthorne Family, and instead trust a deceitful woman? If anything happens to my son, I’ll demand your lives!"
As soon as the operating room door opened, Ann heard Laura’s sharp and abusive shouts, causing her to pause.
Upon hearing the commotion, Mark Joyce, despite being almost unable to lift his head due to Laura’s reprimand, turned to Ann with hopeful eyes, "Miss Vaughn..."
In fact, Ann had been inside for so long, although he had people guarding the place and kept Laura outside, not allowing the original attending doctor to approach.
Saying he wasn’t worried would be a lie.
But he still chose to trust Ann Vaughn, not for anything else, but simply because President Hawthorne trusted her.
Ann gave him a slight nod, "He’s fine now, with good rest he’ll recover quickly."
After speaking, Ann handed the prescription in her hand to Mark Joyce, "Follow these instructions, three doses of medicine daily, drink for three days."
"Thank you, Miss Vaughn, thank you for your hard work!" Mark quickly received the prescription and bowed deeply to Ann.
Seeing him do this, the bodyguards beside him also followed suit, bowing ninety degrees to Ann.
The pale face of Ann broke into a faint smile, "You don’t need to do this; fundamentally, this situation is because of me, so everything I’ve done is what I should."
This is what she owes him.
"You don’t need to feel guilty, even if it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else." Mark sincerely spoke, glancing at the slightly displeased Laura beside him, "Let me arrange for someone to escort you back to the ward."
After this incident, he had a complete change of opinion about Ann Vaughn.
She solved an illness that many doctors found troubling so easily, and with such external pressure.
"No need, I’ll go back myself, you all stay busy." Ann waved her hand and didn’t look at Laura’s slightly twisted expression, turned with the medicine box, and left.
"Stop right there!" Laura shouted sharply at Ann, "Who said you could leave? Jane, Dr. Chaney, hurry and check inside; this woman always has ill intentions, who knows what she did to my son?"
Ann’s red lips pressed slightly, her lips curled in sarcasm.
Mark Joyce and the bodyguards did not stop them this time, letting Jane Sheridan and Dr. Chaney enter the operating room.
A faint medicinal fragrance drifted out, which revitalizes one’s spirit.
Mark thought it might be his illusion; he often has to stay up late because of work, erratic schedules leading to migraines, suddenly felt much relieved.
In no time, Jane Sheridan and Dr. Chaney came out of the operating room looking a bit displeased.
Laura immediately asked, "What’s the situation? Can it still be saved?"
"Mr. Hawthorne is already fine." Dr. Chaney said with difficulty, face full of shame for having accused Ann Vaughn in front of Mark earlier.
Laura’s expression eased a little, and her gaze toward Ann wasn’t as sharp as it had been.
Jane Sheridan standing by was much more calm, her smile unchanged, "Auntie, we owe it all to Dr. Vaughn, otherwise even with antidotes we wouldn’t have been able to quickly find a way to heal Mr. Hawthorne."
At these words, Laura’s just relaxed face turned icy again.
"Owe to her? It’s good enough if she doesn’t harm anyone, always following to take credit for achievements. Without your antidotes, where would Cyrus’ condition improve?"
With a few words, Laura attributed all the credit originally belonging to Ann to Jane Sheridan, as if without Jane’s "antidotes", Ann today wouldn’t have been able to save anyone.
Ann just found it amusing, so amusing that she didn’t bother to argue with Laura.
She understood that people like Laura always live in their own perceived world.
In that case, what’s the point of wasting words with her?
But Dr. Chaney quite agreed with Laura’s words, if not for Jane Sheridan’s antidotes, even if Mr. Hawthorne were healed, he’d still be plagued by the virus.
This played the most crucial role in the process.
Perhaps this woman really lucked out, like a blind cat catching a dead mouse?
Without paying attention to how others viewed her, Ann turned and left.
Mark Joyce assigned someone to escort her all the way to the elevator to prevent Laura from coming to bother her again.
As the elevator door slowly closed, the faint smile on Ann’s delicate face suddenly disappeared.
The medicine box in her hand fell heavily to the ground, and she leaned her back against the cold wall, crouched down, hugging her knees with her face buried in them.
Her heart felt like it was being tugged, the pain tearing so badly it almost left her unable to breathe, even this posture didn’t relieve anything.
Regarding Cyrus Hawthorne, Ann Vaughn had imagined countless plans to kill him.
As long as he died, she could be freed from the terrifying nightmare of possibly being killed and having her organs taken at any given moment.
Her hate for him is beyond doubt.
She no longer loves him, so she can be indifferent about everything related to him, neither joyful nor sad, like a puppet set on a program.
She thought she could do this, but just now, on the operating table, as she watched him on the brink of death, she unexpectedly had the urge to let him die right there.
To personally experience the feeling of being pressed onto an operating table, unable to live, unable to die!
Yet this thought only emerged for a moment and never appeared again.