Darkness.
Endless darkness surged in, threatening to swallow all the light before her.
Ann Vaughn kept running in the dark, her limbs growing more and more weary, but she dared not stop, for behind her lay an abyss.
If she stopped, she would fall into it and be smashed to pieces.
"Annie." A voice full of warmth and acceptance called from ahead.
Ann Vaughn’s eyes lit up, she quickened her pace, running toward the kind and gentle-faced old man.
"Grandfather!"
"Annie." The old man was as gentle and kind as ever, his eyes filled with love and affection, making one feel a pang in the nose.
Ann Vaughn finally reached the old man’s side, looked up, and asked, "Grandfather, did you come to pick me up specially?"
The old man shook his head gently, "Annie, that place does not belong to you, you should go back."
"Go back?" Ann Vaughn’s eyes were filled with confusion and puzzlement, "Where should I go back to? Where do I belong?"
"The place where your loved ones and those who love you are is where you should be. Listen to grandfather, don’t linger in the darkness too long, or you’ll forget the light."
His words were heartfelt, reminiscent of when he taught Ann Vaughn about music, chess, calligraphy, and medicine. Though years had passed, it felt like it was right before her eyes.
His figure became fainter and fainter, almost disappearing.
Ann Vaughn wanted to chase after him, but suddenly a voice that shook her soul came from behind.
"Annie, Annie..."
Who was calling her?
Ann Vaughn felt compelled by the voice, unconsciously turning around, walking toward the abyss behind her—
Ann Vaughn struggled to open her eyes and saw the worried faces of Cyrus Hawthorne and Kenny. A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye.
In an instant, the darkness dispersed, and her world was filled with light.
It turns out, the place she should go back to was by their side.
"Mommy is awake! Quick, call the doctor!" A child’s voice with a sobbing tone shouted.
The gloom that had been pressing in Cyrus Hawthorne’s chest for three days eased a little with Ann Vaughn’s awakening, but when he saw the tear at the corner of her eye, his heart clenched suddenly.
"Annie, can you hear me?" He gently wiped away the wetness from Ann Vaughn’s eye corner, afraid of hurting her.
Ann Vaughn nodded slightly, "Quinn, Kenny."
After being in a coma for days, her voice was hoarse, unlike the usual soft tone.
But to Cyrus Hawthorne, it sounded like music to his ears.
This was his lost and found treasure.
Mark Joyce soon called the doctor over and conducted a thorough examination for Ann Vaughn.
She had various external injuries, with abrasions on her forehead and neck being the most severe, and a mild concussion and some damage to her heart and lungs, requiring hospitalization for recovery.
Ann Vaughn hadn’t eaten for three days, so Cyrus Hawthorne had some light food brought over to feed her.
Kenny held her injured hand while applying medication.
The father and son worked in tandem, their solemn demeanor making Ann Vaughn find it both comical and touching.
"I just feel a bit dizzy, my hand isn’t broken."
"Impossible." The father and son rarely agreed, unanimously rejecting her statement.
In their eyes now, Ann Vaughn was like a small baby, needing personal care in all aspects.
Such small tasks were fine for them to handle, why burden her?
Ann Vaughn thought, such small tasks really aren’t exhausting.
After applying the medicine, Kenny went to Old Master Hawthorne’s ward to tell him that Ann Vaughn had woken up, to ease his worry.
Ann Vaughn had been in a coma for these three days, missing out on quite a bit.
The person who hit her was caught by Cyrus Hawthorne’s people within half a day, and they revealed the mastermind behind it.
But the result was unexpected.
"Elias Hawthorne?" Ann Vaughn’s eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at Cyrus Hawthorne, "Wasn’t he already..."
"So it was fake." Cyrus touched her cheek with slightly rough fingers, his abyss-like eyes deeper than the sea, "The person behind it is just using whatever value he has left."
Ann Vaughn frowned slightly, a vague memory suddenly flashing through her mind.
A memory she had originally forgotten long ago.
"Previously, when I went to the research center for the virus, Elias Hawthorne stopped me and told me something." Ann Vaughn’s hoarse voice was somewhat heavy, "He said, if I save you, I will die."
A cold glint flashed in Cyrus Hawthorne’s dark eyes.
"I originally thought he was just scaring me and didn’t take it to heart, but..." By now, Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but think more about it.
What exactly did the person behind it want?
Why must it be either her or Cyrus Hawthorne who dies?
The more Ann Vaughn thought, the angrier she got, "Who do they think they are! How dare they decide others’ life and death, better watch out for a bolt from the blue!"
As soon as she finished cursing, she accidentally pulled the wound on her arm, gasping in pain.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s brows furrowed deeply, he lifted her hand and gently massaged it, "Leave these things to me, you just focus on recovering. There’s no need for you to think about other matters."
He had found quite a few clues as well.
But for Ann Vaughn’s sake, it was safer for her not to know anything.
Ann Vaughn still had some worries, but he gently drew her into his embrace.
The unique cold fragrance of his body filled her senses, her cheek pressed against his warm chest, conveying a sense of safety like a safe harbor.
Ann Vaughn never knew that a simple embrace could bring such contentment.
Cyrus Hawthorne had wanted to do this for a long time.
She had only slept for three days, yet for him, it was as long as a century.
He held her tight, as if embracing the entire world, and the emptiness in his heart started to fill up, spreading warmth within.
Ann Vaughn lifted her head, reaching out to touch the rough stubble on his chin, a result of days of neglect.
Cyrus Hawthorne was always particular about his image, his suit impeccable, shirt buttons often done all the way up, and he shaved every day, with his dark hair neatly done.
Exquisite in every way, elegant and noble.
Yet now, the man before Ann Vaughn looked like he hadn’t closed his eyes in three days, a weariness evident on his once composed face.
His suit was wrinkled, the collar of his shirt discolored.
She had never seen Cyrus Hawthorne like this before.
Stunned, pain spread meticulously over her heart.
Though it was she who was in trouble, the one who felt hollowed out, like the walking dead, was him.
Ann Vaughn’s eyes reddened, she hugged his waist tightly, "I’m sorry, for making you worry."
If she had been more careful, had she been just a little more cautious, she wouldn’t have fallen into those people’s trap, wouldn’t have made him worry so much.
Cyrus Hawthorne chuckled, his palm rustling her hair, "What a silly thing to say."
That she could return to his side meant that fate had not treated him poorly.