With his increased force, a ripping sound was heard.
Ann Vaughn’s top suddenly tore into two parts, and the warm skin was abruptly touched by the cold, instantly erupting into tiny goosebumps.
Her entire body was pressed down on the sofa beneath Cyrus Hawthorne, his single hand gripping her wrists and firmly pressing them above her head, giving her not a single chance to escape.
He nodded, his thin lips slightly parted, leaving heavy, ambiguous red marks on her delicate collarbone.
"What are you doing?!" Ann Vaughn painfully frowned, her eyes flashed with panic, looking at Cyrus Hawthorne whose entire being was wrapped in hostility and danger, her heart leapt to her throat.
The man remained silent, his cold kisses falling everywhere on her skin, causing Ann Vaughn’s face to turn pale in an instant.
Calling them kisses would be more accurate as biting and nibbling!
The pain coming densely from her skin made Ann Vaughn’s eyes brim with moisture, her white teeth tightly biting her lower lip, her face pale to the extreme.
"Let you go?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes coldly lifted, his slightly calloused hand habitually roaming from her waist downwards, his tone chilling and devoid of emotion: "Isn’t this what you’ve been desperately trying to stay by my side for?"
Ann Vaughn’s face became increasingly pale and humiliated, eyes filled with mist opening wide, stubbornly holding back the moans at the tip of her tongue, her white teeth biting the tip of her tongue.
A taste of rust quickly spread from her mouth, even a trace of blood seeped from the corner of her lips.
——He was deliberately humiliating her!
Glancing at her restrained yet powerless struggling appearance, Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips drew into a mocking smile, "Ann Vaughn, I’ll tell you for the last time, regardless of what means you use to stay by my side, aside from being a bed-warmer to be used when I need you."
"If it weren’t for your body’s remaining appeal to me, do you think you could ever ride above me and wield your power?"
As his last word dropped, the tight string in Ann Vaughn’s mind snapped, her stiff fingers slowly clenching.
The familiar face before her eyes was clearly known to her.
But at this moment, the words coming from his mouth were no different from trampling mercilessly over her dignity.
Forcibly grinding the courage she had painstakingly pieced together into powder.
He was no longer Cyrus Hawthorne—
From some unknown strength, Ann Vaughn suddenly broke free from Cyrus Hawthorne’s grasp, raising her hand to strike hard against his cold, sinister face!
"You’re not worth waiting fifteen years for." Ann Vaughn’s eye corners reddened, her gaze unusually calm, mixed with an unprecedented disappointment.
He was no longer the Cyrus Hawthorne she liked.
The man she loved was the obsession that even when misunderstanding prevailed and covered in scars, she refused to let go.
There are only so many fifteen years in a person’s life.
Only so many four years.
How many can be spent waiting?
Sometimes seeds planted don’t necessarily bloom into beautiful, enchanting flowers.
And she never expected the name Cyrus Hawthorne to grow a field of thorns in the soil of her heart.
Ann Vaughn forcefully pushed Cyrus Hawthorne off her, disregarding the piercing pain from her knee, her hands tightly clutching the tattered top, and step by step walked out.
Every step seemed like walking on the tip of a knife, painfully sharp to the bone.
Ann Vaughn didn’t pause for a second, quickly disappearing outside the door.
As her figure vanished, the indifference and coldness surrounding Cyrus Hawthorne quickly dissipated, his face suddenly turning pale, coughing uncontrollably.
The sharp pain and gnawing sensation spread throughout the chest cavity until penetrating every cell in the body, stripping away every ounce of life inside—
He slightly closed his eyes, as Ann Vaughn’s red eyes, her grievance with tightly bitten lips instantly occupied all his thoughts.
"You’re not worth waiting fifteen years for."
Each word cutting to the heart.
Cyrus Hawthorne raised his hand, half-covering his eyes, the slight curve of his lips filled with self-mockery.
Mark Joyce came in immediately upon hearing the sound, brought medicine and warm water over, and when he saw the man lying sideways on the sofa, in a state of despondency, he nearly jumped in shock.
"President Hawthorne, you should take your medicine."
Although experts from the institute have said that at this stage, there’s no use even taking medicine.
But relying on sheer willpower, he forcibly endured past their predicted time of death, there has been only one infected patient, Cyrus Hawthorne.
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"Send her back, remember, keep your mouth shut." Cyrus Hawthorne slowly lowered his hand, his lips bloodless, yet those narrow eyes remained sharp and intense, forbidding underestimation.
Mark Joyce felt a chill at his heart, fearing he had been seen through in his small actions, "Yes, I’ll handle it right away."
The way downstairs seemed unusually long, Ann Vaughn descended step by step holding onto the stair railing, inadvertently glancing down and seeing a bear’s head placed downstairs.
White color, it appears very fluffy.
It seems somewhat familiar.
Ann Vaughn endured the pain and exited the villa, but soon she couldn’t walk anymore, nearly collapsing on the ground.
Mark Joyce promptly supported her, draped a coat over her, carried her to the car, then left with her.
After briefly easing the dizziness in her head, Ann Vaughn took out the Golden Needle from her sleeve and performed acupuncture on the right leg.
If she hadn’t performed acupuncture on herself earlier in the taxi after climbing the stairs, given the recent struggle, even if she healed the injury, it might leave after-effects.
But after acupuncture, Ann Vaughn felt the wound not alleviated, instead it worsened.
Earlier the knee was painful, but why after a while the whole body felt pain, and the pain in the chest was the most severe?
Ann Vaughn’s eyes were calm yet empty, her slender fingers forcefully crumpling the skirt hem.
"Miss Vaughn, let me advise you, since you’ve already divorced President Hawthorne, it’s better to be clear-cut from now on." Mark Joyce advised earnestly before parking: "No matter what happens to President Hawthorne, you must understand, it has nothing to do with you."
It has nothing to do with her.
Ann Vaughn lowered her gaze, let out a light chuckle.
Indeed, what qualification does she have now to meddle in Cyrus Hawthorne’s affairs, based on her former wife’s status?
"Thank you for the reminder, and I wish Special Assistant Joyce great success in the future." After saying this, Ann Vaughn opened the door and got off.
In the apartment, Susie Sommers hadn’t returned yet, Little Dumpling was snuggling on the living room sofa drawing, saw Ann Vaughn come in, immediately put down the pen and ran over.
"Mommy!" As he ran over, Kenny’s joyful expression changed, glanced at Ann Vaughn’s knee injury for a moment, turned around and went thumping to get the first aid kit.