CHAPTER 121: CHAPTER 121: ARE YOU CRAVING MORE?

The air was filled entirely with her warm, soft, and sweet fragrance.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s Adam’s apple moved up and down a few times. His jaw was tense, and the palm he had placed on Ann Vaughn’s abdomen to protect her now pinched her slender waist, forcibly lifting her slightly.

This action startled Ann Vaughn awake from her escape, forcing her to stare directly into Cyrus Hawthorne’s deep black eyes, which seemed like whirlpools, capable of capturing a person’s soul at any moment.

Ann Vaughn’s heart skipped a few beats, leaving her speechless as she watched him.

"Taking the initiative like this?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s ears were faintly covered with a thin, almost imperceptible layer of red, yet his demeanor remained utterly natural.

Ann Vaughn’s cheeks were burning hot. She wanted to get up and flee, but she couldn’t shake off the large hand around her waist, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed.

"You could’ve caught me just now, but you fell down with me instead." She argued stubbornly.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips curved slightly, looking into her eyes with a smirk, "If I didn’t cooperate with you, who knows what bold move you’d make next time."

He was clearly twisting her words on purpose!

Ann Vaughn placed her small hands against his chest, twisting her waist to leave, "Let go of me, I want to get up."

"Ding—"

The sudden ring of the phone finally interrupted the heated atmosphere that was about to erupt in the room.

Ann Vaughn felt his hand loosen from the back of her head and waist, allowing her to leave.

Once she was up, she immediately threw the quilt back onto the bed and dashed into the bathroom as if escaping.

Looking at the reflection in the mirror, Ann Vaughn felt like a fire was about to burn its way to her head.

She quickly turned on the faucet and lowered her head to wash her face.

While doing so, she repeatedly told herself in her mind that it was all an illusion, just an illusion...

Meanwhile, inside the room.

Cyrus Hawthorne half-closed his eyes, which were lazy yet filled with dark desire. He knelt down, waiting for the impulse inside him to fade before leisurely picking up his phone, his voice low and hoarse.

"What’s the matter?"

"President Hawthorne, there’s news from the hospital. Miss Cynthia is experiencing massive bleeding from her wounds and needs immediate surgery, but the blood type isn’t available in the blood bank."

"Nearby hospitals don’t have it either?"

"We’ve contacted them all, but there are no sources of Rh-negative blood at the moment."

The room temperature suddenly plummeted, the silence eerily chilling.

When Ann Vaughn calmed down and emerged from the bathroom, she saw Cyrus Hawthorne idly playing with a phone between his long fingers, his profile exuding an unfathomable depth.

Just as Ann Vaughn was about to speak, he turned his eyes towards her, his previous tenderness gone, and asked her in a cold and indifferent tone, "I remember you’re Rh-negative blood."

-

At the First Hospital.

The question that had puzzled Ann Vaughn throughout the journey was finally answered when she was wheeled in front of Cynthia Vaughn’s operating room.

"You know perfectly well what harm blood donation will cause to me and the child, that the child might not be saved..." Ann Vaughn bit her lip tightly, her eyes filled with resistance and disbelief.

She couldn’t imagine how little she mattered to Cyrus Hawthorne, whose decisions of life and death hinged on his momentary whim.

It seemed as if the previous tenderness was just a dream of her own.

"You’re the one who caused her to be kidnapped and grievously injured. Donating your blood to save her is merely debt for debt." Cyrus Hawthorne had one hand in his trouser pocket, turned slightly away not looking at Ann Vaughn, his voice extremely indifferent.

It was as if Ann Vaughn was not being asked to donate blood to Cynthia Vaughn but merely being asked to drink water, so nonchalantly indifferent.