Chapter 221: Chapter 221: Terminally Ill with Love, Sick with Obsession
It was an observation-type glass display case almost the size of a wall, each compartment strictly uniform in size, with red velvet cloth lining the bottom, showcasing various items above.
This room should belong to Cyrus Hawthorne.
Unexpectedly, this man has a hobby of collecting these bizarre things.
It’s strange because Ann Vaughn actually saw something resembling a pacifier in the case.
"Tsk, tsk, really should let others see these things." Ann Vaughn clicked her tongue twice, traced her slender finger across the glass, but the sneer on her face froze in the next moment.
This small red flower medal stained with jam, why does it look a bit familiar?
And this crystal brooch, hasn’t she seen it somewhere?
Not only these, Ann Vaughn’s pretty face suddenly tensed, her gaze scanning inch by inch over the items in the glass display case, she suddenly froze in place.
Aren’t these all... things she used when she was young?
Looking closely at the edge of that pacifier, there’s even a little blue cloud engraved on it, unmistakably hers.
And the plush little glove she once loved but accidentally lost is also here among them.
Almost... all her belongings.
But why are they appearing here?!
"What are you looking at?" A deep, cold male voice suddenly came from behind Ann Vaughn, startling her almost into goosebumps.
Ann Vaughn paused for a while, took a deep breath to calm down, and looked at the sleek and reserved man in front of her, gritting her teeth to ask, "Cyrus Hawthorne, don’t you think you should explain?"
"Why are my things here with you?!"
"Are you a pervert?"
Actually collecting things she used before, like pacifiers and bottles, as some kind of treasured collection, does he have some unspeakable fetish??
Just thinking about it, Ann Vaughn’s gaze turned somewhat horrified.
Unexpectedly, Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes indifferently swept over the display cabinet, finally settling slowly on her face, his thin lips curving into a wild smile.
"A pervert? Maybe."
If loving her is an incurable disease, then he probably is already terminally ill, loving her obsessively.
Therefore, wanting him to let go, unless with broken limbs, a broken heart, or death, would be impossible.
Suppressing the dark tumult at the bottom of his eyes, Cyrus lifted his gaze, already appearing as the usual cool gentleman, even his soft voice showed no trace of deviation, "Come over here to drink the ginger tea."
Ann Vaughn choked up, turned her head to look at the glass cabinet, lightly biting her lip.
If she had a hammer now, she might smash this glass wall.
What exactly is this man thinking?
Even if he’s acting, isn’t this an excessive degree of horror?
Ann Vaughn hadn’t pulled her thoughts back from puzzlement, hence only after picking up the bowl of ginger tea did she belatedly frown slightly, "What is this?"
"Ginger tea, drink it to drive away the cold."
"...Not drinking." Saying this, Ann Vaughn put down the bowl of ginger tea, pushing it away somewhat dismissively.
She hated the taste of ginger most of all, would rather give herself a few extra injections than drink this stuff.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes, black like ink, flashed a hint of helplessness, his deep voice tinged with a trace of coaxing, "There’s no ginger taste in it. Do you want to get sick tomorrow?"
Ann Vaughn smelled the bowl of ginger tea, indeed not catching a hint of the ginger smell.
She somewhat hesitantly drank a few sips, the taste still slightly spicy but lacking that unpleasant aroma, making it bearable.
"The butler’s skills aren’t bad." Having finished the ginger tea, Ann Vaughn felt much more comfortable in her previously cold chest cavity, and praised without reservation.
Beside her, the shallow smile on Cyrus Hawthorne’s handsome face froze.
Before he could speak, Mark Joyce, who had brought things over, knocked on the door and came in, placing a few exquisite paper bags on the table.
"President Hawthorne, the items have been delivered."
Cyrus Hawthorne nodded slightly, lifted his gaze to where Ann Vaughn had returned in front of the glass cabinet, his voice slightly cool, "If you like, you can take some with you."
Ann Vaughn’s lips twitched, these were originally her belongings, is it really up to him to decide?
She pulled up the black velvet cloth to avoid looking and feeling vexed.
"Go change into these." Cyrus handed the paper bags to Ann Vaughn, his ink-like eyes glanced over the black bathrobe she wore, recalling something unknown, a faint smile spreading at the bottom of his eyes.
Ann Vaughn opened it and took a look, saw the clothes inside, gave a casual hum, and then carried them into the bathroom.
If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have fallen into the fishpond either, taking a set of his clothes was considered light.
Only...
The measurement of these clothes was excessively well-fitted, as if tailored for her.
If not for the tags still hanging on these clothes, Ann Vaughn would have thought they were taken from her wardrobe.
While pondering, Ann Vaughn chose the red fishtail long dress to change into. Although it fitted her body curves perfectly, the fabric was comfortable, a very everyday kind of outfit.
But on Ann Vaughn, it gave an unfounded sense of beauty, like competing glamorously on the red carpet.
After changing, Ann Vaughn went out. Cyrus was instructing Mark Joyce about some work matters, but hearing slight sounds, he turned aside.
Under the light, the little woman’s face looked fine and white like porcelain, rosy cheeks tempting, bright eyes shimmering with indescribable allure.
The red complimented her immensely, outlining her slim yet gracefully curved figure, neither thin nor plump, just the right amount of beauty.
Like a soul-stealing enchantress, stunningly beautiful.
Beside her, Mark Joyce, who was waiting for instructions, was momentarily dumbfounded. Although he previously disliked Miss Vaughn as a person, she was indeed beautiful, but with gentleness and patience, like a slow flow.
But now Ann Vaughn was bold and brash, not concealing a bit of her sharpness, like a diamond unveiled from beneath a black cloth, dazzling extremely.
Suddenly, Mark Joyce subconsciously shivered, and upon turning his head, saw his boss watching him with cold eyes.
Frightened, he immediately shifted his gaze, daring not to continue looking at Ann Vaughn.
Only then did Cyrus withdraw his intimidating gaze, looked at Ann Vaughn and squinting, opened his lips slightly, "This dress doesn’t suit you, especially the color."
Speaking as if the one who was just staring in a daze at Miss Vaughn wasn’t actually him.
Mark Joyce lowered his head and silently criticized.
"Do you care if it suits me or not? It’s not for you to see." Ann Vaughn snorted lightly, turning to head towards the door, "Just in time for us to settle scores, I’m leaving first."
"Where are you going?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s aura suddenly grew somber.
"Home."
Only after these two words fell, did the warm air inside seem to suddenly malfunction, a cold chill continuously seeping into one’s bones.
Mark Joyce immediately sensed if Miss Vaughn left now, he would not have good days ahead for quite some time.