Chapter 129: Chapter 129: Sneaking into the Pharmacy at Midnight
Ann Vaughn’s spine stiffened bit by bit, and with difficulty, she turned to look at Cyrus Hawthorne’s indifferent expression.
"If anything happens to Cynthia’s health, I’ll make sure you and the Vaughn Clinic pay the price."
He knew very well what Ann Vaughn’s weakness was, and as long as someone has a weakness, it’s easy to exploit it.
The Vaughn Clinic was Ann Vaughn’s untouchable soft spot.
He really cared for Cynthia Vaughn to the extent that he wouldn’t mind sacrificing anyone for her.
Ann Vaughn’s pretty fingers, hanging by her side, clenched and unclenched repeatedly. It took her a while to calm her turbulent emotions, and she spoke each word with suppressed humiliation, "I understand."
Cynthia Vaughn, sitting to one side, had a smug smile on her face. Hah, she thought Ann Vaughn was tougher than this, but she broke just as easily.
"Sister, pour me a glass of water." With Cyrus Hawthorne backing her, Cynthia Vaughn feared nothing and immediately ordered Ann Vaughn.
Ann Vaughn took a deep breath, her pretty face stoically went to the kitchen, and brought out a glass of water for Cynthia Vaughn.
The moment Cynthia took a sip, she complained the water was too cold, saying her body couldn’t handle it and told Ann to get another.
Several times, Cynthia took advantage of the water temperature to make Ann run back and forth, until Ann brought a glass of hot water.
Ann Vaughn intended to place the water on the table, but seeing Cynthia reaching for it, she handed it over.
Just as she let go, Cynthia suddenly tilted the cup, causing the hot water to splash onto Ann’s hand!
"Oh, it hurts!" Cynthia was the first to cry out, holding her reddened hand with tears in her eyes, "Sister, I know you don’t want to take care of me, but you can’t burn me on purpose with hot water."
"Let me see." Cyrus Hawthorne, who was dining, put down his knife and fork, took Cynthia’s hand, and the more he looked, the tighter his eyebrows became, his handsome face turned slightly somber, "Go upstairs first, I’ll call a doctor."
With that, he helped Cynthia up and left, not giving Ann Vaughn, who stood dumbfounded next to them, a single glance.
Ann Vaughn lowered her gaze and looked at her own hand, reddened and blistering from the burn, the burning pain leaving her a bit lost.
Her eyes inexplicably turned sore, and the prickling pain lodged in her heart felt like a floodgate had opened, unstoppable.
A soft ’plop’ sound followed.
Ann Vaughn bit her lower lip, quickly wiped away the trace, and headed upstairs with her head down.
Fifth floor guest room.
After the private doctor examined Cynthia Vaughn, his expression turned somewhat serious, "If I had been a bit later..."
"What then?" Cyrus Hawthorne stood to the side, his thin lips slightly pressed together upon hearing this.
Cynthia Vaughn felt a bit nervous too; she had controlled her strength well, although the hot water splashed, it should not have harmed the skin.
"It would have healed on its own." The private doctor’s expression relaxed a bit, somewhat helplessly, "Such a minor injury doesn’t even require ointment, it will disappear naturally."
This level of fussiness, the private doctor admitted, was the first he’d seen.
It wasn’t as if she were a clay doll that would dissolve upon contact with water?
However, regarding the somewhat complex Hawthorne family matters, the private doctor chose not to comment, sticking to his duty was enough.
Cynthia Vaughn’s face turned somewhat embarrassed, with a somewhat apologetic look at Cyrus Hawthorne, "Cian, I made you worry. Just now, the sting from the burn made me think I was seriously hurt."
Having said that, she cast an annoyed glance at the private doctor, who was oblivious to the situation.
A shadow of depth floated in Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes, and then he responded with a faint "Hmm," "As long as you’re alright, I’ll take the doctor out."
With that, he left the guest room with the private doctor.
Servant’s room.
Ann Vaughn happened to have run out of healing agents from the small clinic, and even the ones she gave to Sawyer Jennings last time were extracted from herbs she had on hand then.
Now she was without herbs or tools.
A clever woman can’t cook without rice.
Ann Vaughn could only temporarily use other things, but the effect was ultimately not as good as the healing agents or a proper wound ointment.
Fortunately, for the entire day following, Cynthia Vaughn did not reappear before her, nor did Auntie Golding come to bother her, allowing her a rare moment of peace.
Looking at the glaring red burn marks on her hand, Ann Vaughn pursed her lips and gently blew on it, in an attempt to alleviate the stinging heat under her skin, but it had little effect.
For some reason, her eyes began to redden, an unrelenting lump stuck in her chest, deeply discomforting.
She missed her grandfather. Besides him, nobody in this world cared whether she was upset or if she had been wronged.
No one would listen to her complaints, no one would comfort her with words that everything would get better.
Gradually, Ann Vaughn fell asleep in the lengthy, complex, hopeless thoughts.
The clock on the wall ticked on to midnight, and the door of the servant’s room quietly opened. A tall, graceful silhouette silently stepped into the room, approaching the single bed.
The space in the servant’s room was narrow, with the moonlight filtering through the skylight, casting a faint glow on the person lying in bed.
Cyrus Hawthorne lowered his gaze to look at Ann Vaughn’s still tear-damp lashes and her porcelain-white face, and then down further to her hand, cautiously placed to one side.
Her hand was reddened all over, glaringly conspicuous.
Cyrus Hawthorne furrowed his brows, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his thin lips.
Then, he sat on the edge of the bed, gently taking Ann Vaughn’s burnt hand, and slowly applied ointment to it.
The cool scent quickly spread through the air.
In her sleep, Ann Vaughn sensed some discomfort, her fine brows lightly furrowing, as if trying to withdraw her hand.
Cyrus Hawthorne held firmly onto her soft hand, preventing her from pulling away, patiently and meticulously applying the ointment before placing her hand back on the bed.
As he looked up, he saw Ann Vaughn’s slightly parted red lips, her lovely, adorable sleeping face making his throat move slightly twice, and then he softly chuckled.
Truly foolish.
Getting burnt just from pouring water.
However, until the sky began to lighten, Cyrus Hawthorne pressed down Ann Vaughn’s hand, which uncontrollably scratched at the burnt skin once more.
Only then did he slowly rise, walking out of the servant’s room and closing the door behind him.
Auntie Golding had just stepped out and saw Cyrus Hawthorne coming out of Ann Vaughn’s room, feeling as if her heart was about to jump out from fright.
"Mr. Hawthorne, are we preparing a Chinese or Western breakfast today?" Auntie Golding asked cautiously, glancing at Ann Vaughn’s door.
Internally, she was astonished.
She truly didn’t know whether to praise Ann Vaughn’s high-level tactics or criticize Mrs. Hawthorne’s ineffectiveness.
"Chinese." Cyrus Hawthorne paused slightly, handed the ointment to Auntie Golding, and lightly instructed, "After Ann Vaughn wakes up, make sure she applies this ointment. If she asks about it, just say it was your idea, understand?"
"Understood, Mr. Hawthorne, rest assured!"
Upon hearing this, Cyrus Hawthorne nodded slightly and proceeded to leave the floor.