Chapter 365: Chapter 365: The One I Like Is You
Ann Vaughn instinctively resisted him, but he pulled her into his embrace, giving her no time to breathe as his tongue forcefully broke through her defenses, claiming every inch.
The nearly savage kiss left Ann completely defenseless, mixed with the taste of blood, and tinged with a hint of madness, like a summer’s blaze.
A beauty met at a crossroads.
Eventually, Cyrus Hawthorne released her blood-colored lips, gazing at her flushed cheeks, and suddenly spoke.
"Ann Vaughn, do you take me for a fool?"
The icy tone startled Ann, making the eyes that were so close now seem oddly unfamiliar.
Just like... the look Cyrus Hawthorne had before his amnesia.
In her moment of stun, Cyrus raised his hand to pinch her delicate chin as if to crush it, instantly causing her to frown in pain, her eyes squinting just enough to see the mocking meaning flowing from his eyes.
"You two are infatuated with each other, itching to be together, and I’ve become the one spoiling the scene, have I?"
Who does she like...?
Ann Vaughn’s eyes shook, her pale face full of shock, wanting to say something, trying to speak but only uttering faint breaths.
The atmosphere reached a stalemate at freezing point.
Cyrus Hawthorne gazed down at Ann Vaughn for a few seconds, finally letting go as though releasing her altogether, void of any past tenderness, his voice cold as ice.
"Get out of the car."
Ann Vaughn bit her lip tightly, looking at Cyrus with the tone and demeanor of treating a stranger, a sweeping and overwhelming sense of unease and panic encased her like a cocoon, sealing her breathlessly.
If she stepped out now, she’d never be able to explain—
Instinctively, she reached out, grabbing Cyrus’s sleeve, then deeply inhaled, suppressing the discomfort in her throat, struggling to say, "I’ve never liked Sutton Jennings, no matter how angry you get, at least listen to my explanation."
Her voice was so weak, yet in the deathly silent car, it was still audibly clear.
Especially to Cyrus Hawthorne, whose chest was burning with anger, it was so clear his narrowed eyes contracted, his breath caught.
What was she just saying?
She doesn’t like Sutton Jennings!?
Ann Vaughn didn’t notice his momentary distraction, her throat already dry and painfully parched, yet she carried on, "Last time at the villa, you questioned me about my supposed affection for Sutton Jennings."
"I was furious then, unwilling to verbally back down, hence those careless words claiming I indeed liked him, but saying so now, you probably won’t believe me."
"Since childhood, the person I’ve liked was never Sutton Jennings, the one I liked..."
Is you.
Cyrus Hawthorne.
If liking someone is instinctual, then perhaps she had never lost this instinct.
Ann Vaughn pressed her lips together, mist welled up in her eyes, which she blinked back, and as she received no response from the man for a long time, the bright light in her eyes gradually dimmed.
Of course, he wouldn’t believe her.
Unbeknownst to her, the man’s body gradually stiffened, as if morphed into an elegant sculpture standing there, his ink-black narrowed eyes full of incredulity.
Ann Vaughn’s dry, husky voice at this moment resonated heavenly, echoing and pulsating through his chest.
The nearly obsessive knot festering in his heart faintly showed signs of loosening.
God, he seemed to have misheard something, yet it still seemed true.
The man with unrivaled power and prestige rare for him, remained trembling in place, failing to respond promptly to Ann Vaughn’s explanation.
Ann Vaughn’s throat was in immense pain, having said so much yet receiving no response, not even a glance from him, intending to leave her utterly ignored.
She was aggrieved too; she hadn’t intentionally created this situation, nowhere to argue or reason.
Thinking, Ann Vaughn lowered her eyes in dejection, releasing Cyrus’s sleeve, turned to grasp the car door, intending to get out.
She had barely stuck half her body out when suddenly a hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her back, drawing her entirely into the vehicle, the door slammed shut as well!
Ann Vaughn barely had time to scream when she saw Cyrus Hawthorne’s long narrow black eyes filled with a never-before-seen... ecstatic emotion.
...
The black Maybach sped down the highway.
"Feeling better?" Cyrus gazed down at the woman curled up asleep in his arms, his voice slightly hoarse, amid the cold gleam of contentment, added a touch of gentleness.
Ann Vaughn heard him and burrowed her head further into the coat, embarrassed enough to ignore him.
If only someone hadn’t forced her midway to repeat the statement that she didn’t like Sutton Jennings, saying that if she just said it, he would let her go.
Seeing Ann Vaughn ignoring him, Cyrus wasn’t annoyed either, he extended his arm to wrap her closer, making her lie more comfortably.
Half an hour later, the Maybach finally stopped.
Noticing Ann Vaughn’s sleepy face, Cyrus Hawthorne furrowed his brow slightly, directly scooped her up, getting out of the car.
Ann Vaughn, feeling too weak to walk on her own, let herself rest her head against his chest, nodding tiredly, almost dozing off.
Until she glimpsed that this wasn’t the Azure Gardens apartment, just rousing herself slightly, glanced around in confusion, and asked, "Where is this..."
"The Water Terrace?!"
Upon realizing the excessively familiar furnishings, Ann Vaughn’s eyes widened, releasing Cyrus’s neck and emerging from his arms.
Her legs suddenly buckled, nearly causing her to fall to the ground.
Thankfully, Cyrus quickly supported her waist, preventing her from making intimate contact with the floor.
"Still able to trip walking," Cyrus slightly furrowed his brow, said seriously.
"Isn’t it all your fault?" Ann Vaughn puffed her cheeks in annoyance, her eyes full of accusation.