"Miss Vaughn, Miss Cynthia would like to see you." The bodyguard knocked on the door and respectfully spoke to the woman sitting on the hospital bed. Despite her pale complexion, she remained stunningly beautiful.
"Oh, and so what." Ann Vaughn looked down at the magazine in her hand, her voice devoid of any emotion.
"Please come upstairs to see her."
"How novel, the Veridian Dynasty hasn’t fallen yet? You tell her, she can summon me once she becomes Empress, there’s no rush."
"..." The bodyguard was momentarily at a loss for words. Since offending neither side was possible, it was easier to offend the one with lower status.
Though Ann spoke like that, she mostly understood that these people would comply with Cynthia Vaughn’s wishes. Hence, she showed no emotion when they took action.
It’s a waste of effort anyway, better conserve some strength.
Cynthia Vaughn’s ward was upstairs, seemingly as if they feared Ann would harm her, thus separated by a floor.
It’s likely the bodyguards stationed at her ward’s door weren’t just there to prevent her escape.
Ann smirked coldly in her heart, but her pretty face remained calm and unruffled as she walked into Cynthia Vaughn’s ward.
With just one glance, Ann could immediately tell that Cynthia’s condition was genuinely bad, not a performance like her usual ploys.
But this was the first time Cynthia faced her without makeup, prompting Ann to look twice.
Usually, Cynthia would appear in flawless makeup and the most graceful and captivating demeanor, showing how much she valued her external image.
This was why, ordinarily, Ann found it impossible to determine her health from her appearance.
After all, she didn’t possess X-ray vision to see through a layer of foundation.
Just as Cynthia was about to speak, Ann interrupted her.
"My time is precious, and I’m not particularly keen on seeing your face right now, so make it quick and start."
Upon hearing this, Cynthia’s expression froze, rendering her speechless. She seemed diminished compared to Ann. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on ɴovᴇl(ꜰ)ir(e).nᴇt
This vile woman, staring death in the face, yet her words were still sharp!
Filled with resentment, Cynthia suppressed the anger in her heart, got off the bed, and walked up to Ann.
"Stay away from me. With a gust of wind, you might not need to move — you’d crumble and then accuse me." Ann looked at Cynthia defensively, maintaining a one-meter distance.
"Is this how my sister sees me?" Cynthia nearly ground her teeth in frustration, yet her expression was pitiful. "Sister, I know you hate me, but I want to explain. I never intended to use your heart to keep living."
"I don’t hold a grudge against how you used the Golden Needle to wound me in the apartment. I came to reconcile with you. After all, I don’t have much time left."
Her voice was low and soft, evoking an indescribable sympathy, tenderness, and weakness.
If it were a man standing before her, he’d want to cradle and comfort her.
Upon hearing "I don’t have much time left," Ann smirked mockingly, "Cynthia Vaughn, do you believe what you’re saying? No one’s around here, no need to act so convincingly."
"If my sister still doesn’t believe me, I can tell Cian that I’d rather die than use your heart to live!"
Cynthia suddenly stepped forward, trying to grasp Ann’s hand, which Ann promptly dodged.
Cynthia’s demeanor was far too suspicious.
She had exposed her true colors before Ann multiple times. Now in this room, there were only the two of them, and Cyrus Hawthorne wasn’t around. So, who was she acting for?
Does she really think Ann would foolishly believe her claim of not wanting her heart?
Cynthia’s desire to tear out her heart and return it was practically written on her face.
"If you’re just saying these useless words, spare me. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving." Ann wanted no part in her drama and turned to leave.
Suddenly, the seemingly fragile Cynthia lunged forward, seizing Ann’s hand tightly.
Ann’s body abruptly froze. She turned incredulously to see Cynthia’s cunning smile, feeling cold all over.
"Ann Vaughn, guess what I told Cyrus fifteen years ago when he asked me your name?"
Ann’s breath hitched, her eyes filled with chaos for a few seconds before regaining composure, "What... do you mean!?"
Fifteen years ago, Cynthia had met Cyrus Hawthorne?
Why didn’t she know anything about this!?
"Ha, back then he couldn’t wait for you to appear, so he came to Vaughn Family. I told him you went out with Grandpa and wouldn’t be back for a while."
Cynthia’s deliberately low voice slithered like a venomous snake against one’s body, filled with malice and sharpness.
With every word she spoke, Ann’s heart was struck hard.
"Then, he asked me what your name was."
"I told him your name was Cynthia Vaughn!"
As Cynthia’s whispered, seemingly boastful words came out, Ann’s pupils dilated multiple times, her mind bombarded by buzzing that nearly robbed her ability to think.
Before Ann could unravel the entire story, a sudden sharp pain radiated from her arm.
Instinctively, she pushed Cynthia away, glanced at her arm, seeing a shallow scratch.
Then, in the next moment, Ann found something forcibly thrust into her hand, raising her head just in time to witness Cynthia lunging—
No, she was lunging toward the fruit knife in Ann’s hand!
The sound of the blade piercing flesh, accompanied by splattered blood, made one’s scalp tingle!
Ann stared blankly at the scene before her, mind going blank until she pushed Cynthia away without thinking!
Ann’s hands trembled as she threw the fruit knife away, rushing to examine Cynthia’s injury.
Cynthia seized the opportunity to clutch Ann’s wrist tightly, revealing a sinister smile like poison, "Ann Vaughn, fifteen years ago you lost to me, fifteen years later, you still can’t defeat me."
"What exactly do you intend to do?" Ann’s brows tightly knitted, attempting to free her hand, which Cynthia gripped even harder.
The words Cynthia just spoke and her suicidal act muddled Ann’s mind further, a sense of foreboding rising within.
Cynthia chuckled coldly twice, her expression suddenly turning agonized, clutching her abdominal wound, seeming to convulse in pain.
Then, just as Ann was about to call for the doctor, she heard Cynthia scream with all her might, "Help! Murder—"