CHAPTER 87: CHAPTER 87: AMBIGUOUS PHOTOS

Sutton Jennings’ tense and frozen nerves gradually relaxed. He glimpsed the candy in the white palm and looked up at Ann Vaughn.

Under the dim yellow light, the girl’s face was as white and translucent as fine porcelain, and hidden in those bright eyes was an imperceptible comfort.

In just a moment, it melted his heart that had been hardened for over twenty years into a soft glow.

On the other side.

After hearing that Cynthia had suddenly fainted and her condition worsened, Cyrus Hawthorne couldn’t care less about Ann Vaughn, whom he had left in the suburbs, and rushed anxiously to the hospital as soon as he arrived.

There was surprisingly no one guarding outside the ward, and the inside was also dimly lit.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s brows furrowed, his sharp eyes flickering with a hint of menace.

These people must not want their jobs anymore.

But when he stepped into the ward, the lights suddenly brightened, and the long table and candlelight dinner, meticulously arranged, were particularly noticeable.

"Surprise!" Cynthia suddenly came out from behind the door, smiling broadly as she linked arms with Cyrus Hawthorne, "I spent a lot of effort arranging this. Do you like the surprise?"

The cold expression on Cyrus Hawthorne’s face had not yet faded. Seeing Cynthia standing perfectly in front of him, his eyes were like a spilled inkstone, dark and hard to disperse.

"Did you conspire with them to trick me into coming here?"

"You’ve been so busy lately, I wanted to see you." Cynthia sensed a change in Cyrus’s expression and felt a pang in her heart. Her gentle face bore some sadness, "I don’t even know when I might not wake up again."

"I just... want to cherish the time with you while I’m still alive."

Hearing this, Cyrus pressed his brow with slight frustration, some of the coldness in his eyes dissipated as he gently said, "Don’t say such silly things, I won’t let anything happen to you. Didn’t you want to have a candlelight dinner? I’ll keep you company."

"Mm!" Cynthia immediately smiled, concealing the resentment in her beautiful eyes.

If it hadn’t been for Auntie telling her, she wouldn’t have known Ann was so capable. She had only been hospitalized for a few days, and this vile woman was already about to steal her man away.

She would definitely make Ann see clearly that she had no capital to compete with her.

In front of the table, the aroma of wine lingered, the fragrance of flowers filled the air, mixed with an unknown scent, gradually intoxicating.

-

Downstairs at The Water Terrace, after thanking Sutton Jennings, Ann Vaughn returned to her apartment.

She took a hot bath to wash away the fatigue, came out of the bathroom, picked up her phone and sent Susie Sommers a message, explaining the spokesperson contract.

Susie quickly replied. She said her contract with the TV station was only for the Chinese medicine program and didn’t limit her other activities.

Ann was relieved, thinking about the contract she quietly placed under those medical books before leaving Cyrus’s office this morning.

She turned over on the bed, tapped open Cyrus’s contact interface, and typed, "I left the contract with the medical books. As agreed, I promise to be your spokesperson..."

After checking several times to make sure there were no issues, Ann was about to send it.

Just then, a few other messages popped up on the screen that Ann didn’t want to deal with at the moment, so she casually swiped them away, accidentally tapping into one.

In front of her were a few photos.

A man’s bare chest tightly hugged a seemingly unclothed woman, their intimate and ambiguous posture was hard to look at directly.

Ann, not yet having seen the faces of the man and woman in the photos, felt a bit embarrassed and wanted to exit, but suddenly a flash of light crossed her mind.

She abruptly turned her face and tapped open the photo, her eyes widening as she looked at it, fearing she was mistaken, and fearing she wasn’t.

In the photo, it was shockingly Cyrus Hawthorne and Cynthia!

Below it was a message from Cynthia, "Sister, happy birthday. I remembered your birthday and specially sent you a gift to die for. Do you like it?"

Those words seemed like Cynthia mocking Ann through the screen, glaringly bright.

The blush on Ann’s face instantly faded entirely, and her mind buzzed into total blankness.

Coldness filled her limbs with each breath, like all her strength had been drained, her fingertips letting the phone "clatter" to the ground.

Still not quite back to her senses, Ann’s hollow eyes gazed at the phone that hit the floor, her red lips tightly pressed together.

Turns out, the reason he left her could be this simple.

She should have already been used to being left by him, she shouldn’t be sad anymore.

Ann’s fingers clenched tightly, and suddenly she looked at the photo on the phone and laughed twice.

He always said she would disgrace the Hawthorne Family and forbid her from having unclear associations with other men, so what about him?

Did he still remember they hadn’t divorced? Such an act was like a slap across her face!

She had only been able to depict in her mind the visage of her little brother, holding on to this memory, and never knew.

Turns out liking someone means experiencing all these bittersweet feelings.

-

The next morning.

When Cyrus Hawthorne woke up, he felt a bursting pain in his head, adding a few shades of a terrifying look to his already cold face.

Unsure of what he remembered, he suddenly furrowed his brow and looked to the side.

There he saw Cynthia covering her face, lying in the spot beside him, with an infinitely shy look, "Cian, last night we..."

"What happened with us?" Cyrus’s handsome face darkened slightly, his slightly hoarse voice sounded particularly sexy, yet mostly cold.

Cynthia, not yet realizing, spoke shyly from her delicate face, "Last night you were drunk. I originally wanted to help you to bed, but then you suddenly... and we just..."

She was smart, not specifying what happened last night, leaving half unsaid, which made it more suggestive.

And anyone seeing this scene would inevitably associate what might have happened between them last night.

After speaking, Cynthia looked helplessly at Cyrus, whose expression didn’t change, "This doesn’t mean anything. You don’t have to worry that I’ll cling to you and demand responsibility, I just..."

She left the sentence unfinished, her face appeared pitiful, easily arousing a man’s sympathy.

And in the past, whenever she said this, Cyrus would certainly comfort her first, then go along with her wishes.

But this time, he didn’t—

Cyrus glanced at the disheveled bed, silently got dressed and got out of bed. His eyes caught the red mark on the sheets, a coldness gleaming in his narrowed eyes.

"Cian, do you think me being so forward is cheap?" Cynthia, seeing he wasn’t answering her, grew inexplicably anxious, "But last night, it was clearly you who pulled me..."

Before she finished, Cyrus’s cold gaze swept over her, his voice like still water, "Do you know why, during dinners or banquets, I always drink in moderation?"

"Because your tolerance is poor, I’ve always remembered." Cynthia immediately replied. If she hadn’t known his poor drinking tolerance, how could she have used getting him drunk?

Cyrus fastened his cufflinks, picked up the coat at his side, a faint curl appeared on his thin lips, looking at her with a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

"That’s because after getting drunk, I temporarily lose the ability to move, falling into a deep sleep."