Chapter 220: Chapter 220: Behave Yourself, Stop Making a Fuss
The alarm bells in Ann Vaughn’s mind rang instantly as she took a big step back, trying to avoid the arm reaching for her, but unexpectedly, her foot suddenly slipped––
What the hell?!
Ann Vaughn’s clear eyes widened in terror. Just as those three words emerged, she lost control and fell backward!
"Annie!"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression changed suddenly, and without the slightest pause, his tall figure swiftly lunged forward, enveloping Ann Vaughn in his arms.
Splash!
The two figures fell tightly together, and the splash that ensued soaked the shore and the lounge chairs, sending ripples across the water’s surface.
It was already chilly in early autumn, and the water was icy cold, creating an illusion of freezing solid just from being submerged.
Ann Vaughn choked on several mouthfuls of water, her limbs flailing in the water as she tried to float back to the surface.
But the more she struggled, the more the oxygen in her lungs depleted, and she felt like she was being pulled down by iron weights.
"Help, cough cough––"
She tried to call for help, only to have several more gulps of cold water enter her throat, causing a sharp pain.
Just then, an arm suddenly wrapped around her waist, and another hand hooked under her shoulder, pulling her towards the surface.
With a series of splashes,
Cyrus lifted Ann Vaughn onto the shore, then leaned on his hands and jumped onto the land, striding over to grab a jacket from the lounge chairs.
Ann Vaughn was brought to the shore, but after being deprived of oxygen for a while, her head felt heavy, her throat itched, and she felt uncomfortable.
She quickly pulled out the Golden Needle and pricked a few points on her arm, then let out a "cough," expelling the water she had swallowed, slightly relieving her discomfort.
Having been soaked in the water for so long, her clothes were completely drenched, the cold seeping into her bones, and her whole body trembled in waves.
What a punishment!
Just as she was thinking bitterly, she felt a black jacket being draped over her shoulders. Before she had time to react, Cyrus Hawthorne had already bent down to pick her up from the ground.
"Cough, cough cough, put me down, I can walk myself." Ann Vaughn coughed a few times, angrily reaching out to push him.
Cyrus held her tighter and strode forward, saying softly, "Be good, don’t make a fuss."
Who’s making a fuss?
Ann Vaughn rolled her eyes, wanting to say more, but her lips were trembling, so she decided against it and quickly wrapped herself in the jacket.
When Cyrus carried the equally soaking wet Ann Vaughn into the house, he almost scared the butler. "Mr. Hawthorne, Miss Vaughn, what happened to you both?"
"Prepare two bowls of ginger tea and send them up, and after Grandpa’s check-up, have the doctor come over." Cyrus ordered sternly, then carried Ann Vaughn upstairs.
"Understood, right away," the butler replied immediately and hurried towards the kitchen.
In the room on the second floor, as soon as they entered, Cyrus turned on the heater with the remote control and then took Ann Vaughn into the bathroom.
"Take a hot bath first, and change out of those wet clothes." He gently placed Ann Vaughn on the marble countertop in the bathroom, then turned around to fill the bathtub with hot water.
Ann Vaughn curled up against the wall, her lips stark white, her bright eyes watery and red, like a pitiful wounded fawn.
She sniffed, glaring at the man’s busy yet composed back, and said bitterly, "If it weren’t for you, how would I have fallen into the water? Now you’re acting all sympathetic, for whom?"
The chill wouldn’t be stopped, and it directly snapped the tight string in Ann Vaughn’s head.
At the other end, Cyrus tested the water temperature, and when it was suitable, he rose to leave the bathtub. Hearing Ann Vaughn’s words, his narrow eyes showed a hint of helplessness.
"It’s my fault."
"If it’s not your fault, then whose fault is it, mine?" Ann Vaughn’s eyes had a touch of red, her voice trembling fiercely. "Stay away from me, the farther the better, so I don’t get unlucky every time I bump into you!"
Cyrus knew she was in a bad mood, his thin lips pursed, silent, as he walked over to lift her from the countertop.
After placing her properly by the bathtub, he set the bath supplies on the nearby rack and said softly, "Call me if you need anything, I’ll be right outside."
With that, he turned and left the bathroom.
Ann Vaughn watched him leave, then tucked away the Golden Needle from her fingertips.
Just then, he had suddenly hugged her, and she thought he was going to take advantage, but he actually did have some conscience.
"Ahchoo!" Ann Vaughn shivered from the cold, sneezing.
To prevent catching a cold, she quickly stripped off the wet clothes and slipped into the perfectly warm water.
Outside the bathroom, Cyrus leaned against the wall, waiting for a while, until he heard the sound of water, then he took strides toward the table.
He picked up the phone and made a call to Mark Joyce, asking him to bring over a few sets of Ann Vaughn’s clothes.
After hanging up, Cyrus went downstairs.
The butler was making ginger tea, the strong ginger aroma wafting out, causing Cyrus, who just entered the kitchen, to frown slightly.
"Is there any more ginger?"
"There’s some left, do you want to put it all in?" the butler asked.
Cyrus casually rolled up his sleeves, motioned for the butler to move aside, and picked up the ginger nearby, washing and slicing it. Despite those hands being used for signing important documents, doing this did not seem out of place.
It was as if a god had suddenly touched earthly smoke and fire, becoming filled with humanity.
The butler was somewhat surprised, pointing to his pot of ginger tea, asking, "Mr. Hawthorne, this ginger tea..."
"She doesn’t like the ginger smell," Cyrus replied evenly, his focus on making the tea.
Creating ginger tea without any trace of ginger aroma isn’t easy, otherwise, its spicy taste wouldn’t be so off-putting.
After an unknown amount of time, the ginger tea was finally ready.
"Mr. Hawthorne, your clothes..." The butler intended to remind Cyrus that the wet clothes needed changing to prevent catching a cold.
But before the words were out, he had already disappeared.
The butler couldn’t help but shake his head and smile—oh, the youth these days.
Upstairs, after her bath, Ann Vaughn realized her clothes were unwearable. She resorted to wearing a new black bathrobe from the bathroom before stepping out.
The room was warm, yet Ann Vaughn inexplicably felt short of breath.
Reaching out to check her pulse, unsurprisingly, she’d caught a cold.
She had only one dose of medicine for colds with her, brought especially after hearing Uncle Dexter mention Grandpa Hawthorne recently came down with a cold.
This minor ailment didn’t require acupuncture; probably just sleeping it off would do the trick, so she dismissed it.
Sniffling her reddened nose involuntarily, Ann Vaughn looked around, her gaze stopping at the black velvet drapes hanging ceiling to floor in the room.
She couldn’t help but walk over, pulling the cord beside them, the black velvet drawing open on either side.