Chapter 211: Chapter 211: Evil Lives a Thousand Years
With those words, Cyrus Hawthorne stepped upstairs.
Ann Vaughn had just closed the door to the study, and upon turning around, she almost jumped in fright at the sight of a tall figure.
"Why, why are you standing here?!" Realizing it was Cyrus Hawthorne’s stern face, Ann Vaughn’s heart skipped a beat, then she seized the initiative.
"I should be the one asking you that." Cyrus Hawthorne’s brow slightly furrowed. His narrow eyes discreetly glanced at the tightly closed study door behind her.
"I was bored and wanted to find a few books to pass the time, is that not okay?"
She was quite assertive, showing no signs of weakness.
Cyrus Hawthorne instantly chuckled, "Of course, it’s your home, you can go wherever you please."
Ann Vaughn: "..." This man’s cheek is truly unparalleled!
"Let’s go out for dinner, which restaurant do you want to go to?" Ignoring her obvious resistance, Cyrus Hawthorne grasped her slender arm, leading her downstairs.
This surprised Ann Vaughn somewhat.
She initially thought he would perform the old act again and confine her.
Or perhaps he wanted to test if she would run away?
Ann Vaughn’s porcelain face remained calm, yet her mind was filled with doubts. Once in the car, she closed her eyes, showing a stance of refusing to communicate.
Cyrus Hawthorne started the engine, drove out the villa’s gate, and through the lush mountain road.
He opened the car’s convertible top, letting the gentle cool night breeze in, which was quite pleasant.
Cyrus Hawthorne glanced sideways at Ann Vaughn, who kept her eyes tightly shut, obviously pretending to be asleep, and his thin lips curled into a faint smile.
Suddenly, his gaze paused, and his brows furrowed deeply.
Ann Vaughn’s long hair was being blown by the night wind, revealing a slender, fair swan neck and a reasonably sized scar.
The scar was light in color, showing signs of gradual fading, but remnants were still visible.
Moreover—
With Cyrus Hawthorne’s keen perception, he instantly identified what caused this scar.
A bullet.
What had she gone through in these four years to suffer a gunshot wound?
Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips slightly pressed together, his cold eyes filled with a trace of regret, as intense as the dark night outside.
Soon, the car stopped outside a tastefully decorated, stylish Western restaurant.
Ann Vaughn immediately opened her clear, bright eyes, only to find a light gray blanket covering her, which startled her.
In those few seconds of stunned silence, Cyrus Hawthorne had already gotten out of the car, opened her door from the passenger side, and extended his hand, "Get out."
Ann Vaughn casually tossed the blanket to the back, avoiding his outstretched hand, and slipped out of the car from the side.
Unbeknownst to her, maintaining the same posture for too long had made her legs somewhat numb, causing her to stumble slightly.
"Careful." Cyrus Hawthorne immediately clasped her slim waist, steadily supporting her, his voice slightly gentle: "I’ll hold you."
"No need." Ann Vaughn pushed his hand away and paused for a moment until her legs felt much more comfortable, then walked into the restaurant in small steps.
Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t insist but slowed his pace to walk beside her, ensuring he could catch her if she accidentally fell.
Fortunately, Ann Vaughn didn’t experience any accidents on the way to their table.
Inside the restaurant, besides them and the staff, there were no other guests present.
Ann Vaughn’s bright eyes scanned the surroundings, feeling somewhat puzzled. This restaurant seemed very meticulous and exquisite, but its business was quite bleak.
Could it be that the dishes are terrible?
"The place is booked for tonight, no other guests will be entertained." Cyrus Hawthorne saw through her thoughts in an instant and explained calmly.
Booked the venue??
Ann Vaughn’s lip corner twitched again, damn rich people.
"Mr. Hawthorne, may I start serving now?" At this moment, the restaurant manager approached and respectfully inquired.
Cyrus Hawthorne nodded slightly.
Using the serving time as an excuse, Ann Vaughn went to the restroom and hid inside one of the stalls.
She took out the USB drive from her rolled-up sleeve, while looking around the stall for a place to hide it.
Bringing it back to the villa would definitely be unsafe, if Cyrus Hawthorne discovered it, her plan would be ruined.
Moreover, with her limited knowledge of computers, it’s unrealistic to crack the core files in this USB drive.
She could only temporarily hide it here and wait for Sutton Jennings to send someone to retrieve it.
After quite some time, Ann Vaughn managed to hide the item, sent Sutton Jennings a text message, then washed her hands before heading out.
By now, the dishes had slowly been served, and Ann Vaughn lowered her gaze to glance at them; they were mostly the dishes she liked.
Ann Vaughn: "..." Could the food be poisoned?
Cyrus Hawthorne glanced at her, intending to say something but recalling her previous remarks, he refrained from exposing her thoughts.
Strangely amusing, whatever he did now seemed to harbor ulterior motives in her eyes.
Suppressing the thoughts in his gaze, Cyrus Hawthorne gracefully picked up the cutlery and commenced dining with deliberate slowness.
Seeing this, Ann Vaughn finally felt at ease; apparently, the food wasn’t poisoned.
No wonder she was cautious, the lessons of the past made her wary.
She couldn’t possibly trust the man before her anymore.
The meal was eaten in silence, with varying thoughts in mind, creating a subtle atmosphere.
Ann Vaughn, due to the spark in her mind from the virus research, had a decent appetite, eating with cheeks puffed like a little hamster.
"Cian, why are you dining alone here?" An overly familiar voice suddenly sounded.
Ann Vaughn’s chewing paused, and she looked up to see a noblewoman dressed in a dark purple silk cheongsam walking over.
It was her former mother-in-law, Laura Quinn.
Next to her, she held the arm of an elegant woman whose face was beautifully crafted and carried a graceful smile, possessing the kind of aura that could only be nurtured in families of deep heritage.
Laura Quinn approached with slight surprise, recalling her son repeatedly refusing her invitation to dine at home, showing some displeasure.
Before she could question, she recognized the woman sitting opposite Cyrus Hawthorne, and was shocked.
"Ann Vaughn?!"
If it weren’t for an outsider being present, Laura Quinn might have failed to maintain her image, her face was somewhat distorted.
This woman wasn’t already dead? Why was she sitting here perfectly fine?!
"Long time no see, Mrs. Hawthorne." Ann Vaughn put down her knife and fork, grabbed a wet wipe to dab at her lips, and looked at Laura Quinn calmly.
"You’re not dead?!" Laura Quinn, after all these years as Mrs. Hawthorne, quickly regained her initial composure, although her fingers gripping her purse trembled slightly, "Indeed, the wicked live long, spreading their harm for a thousand years."