CHAPTER 124: CHAPTER 124: STILL THINK YOU’RE FAVORED?

The cold voice uttered words that were more ruthless and harsh with each sentence, as if erecting a solid, thick, icy wall, relentlessly crushing Ann Vaughn on the other side.

"You—"

Ann Vaughn’s fingers clenched, her red lips parted and then closed again, knowing she had no standing to oppose him.

She could only forcefully suppress the sourness welling up in her eyes, get out of bed, hastily pack up her belongings, and leave the room with her head lowered.

The door was shut completely.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s brow remained shadowed for a long time, his expression gradually turning colder and more distant.

Outside the servants’ quarters.

"All the other rooms are filled with things and can’t be used for sleeping, so from now on, you’ll sleep in this room." Auntie Golding opened the door to a room and said to Ann Vaughn with a bit of schadenfreude in her eyes.

Ann Vaughn had just walked in and was immediately blinded by the swarming dust in the air.

Due to not being tidied for a long time and the cramped space, the room had only a small skylight, the air inside was stale and suffocating.

Ann Vaughn only felt a churn in her stomach, forcing her to step outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Oh, a lady’s body with a maid’s fate. Can’t even handle a little hardship," Auntie Golding, who had earlier been ingratiatingly cautious, changed her tone, bumping Ann Vaughn’s shoulder as she passed. "Clean it up yourself. From now on, you’re just a servant. No one’s higher than anyone else!"

With that, she walked away.

Ann Vaughn rubbed her sore shoulder without a word, pressing her red lips together in frustration before entering the room to start cleaning.

She hadn’t eaten for days, her stomach was empty with a lingering burning pain, compounded by lingering aftereffects from a blood draw, causing bouts of nausea and urge to vomit.

A room that could be cleaned in just over an hour took her more than double the time.

Once the room was clean, Ann Vaughn disregarded the discomfort in her stomach, lying down on the bed, gasping lightly, barely able to muster any strength.

She covered the light streaming through the small skylight with her arm, her bright eyes reflecting a faint starlight, yet unclear.

She recalled that day three years ago when Susie Sommers learned her stepbrother was Silas Master Moore, Susie got dead drunk, and she went to allure color to bring her back to the school dormitory.

She later learned from Susie that her mother’s remarriage was brought up when her parents took her home from school, telling her there was a major issue with the family company, and the media would be coming for an interview.

The words she shared with her mother were not believed by the media, only she could speak up, and as long as she said those words, the company crisis would be resolved.

Back then, she naively thought she could finally do something for the family and that her parents would finally notice her, and so she agreed to their plea.

But when she really said the words "It was me" to the media, everything changed.

The tidal wave of insults and slanders nearly shattered her spirit, and she once tried to explain clearly.

However, her parents knelt before her, begging her to save Cynthia Vaughn, saying she was so outstanding that she couldn’t be tainted with such infamy.

They even threatened that if she insisted on telling the truth, they would die, asking if she was really that heartless.

Ann Vaughn was bewildered, and it was then she truly felt she was an outsider to the Vaughn family.

Later, her parents arranged for her to transfer schools, to stay home until the storm passed, repeatedly reminding and warning her not to let slip a word to anyone.

While Cynthia Vaughn continued to live her glamorous life unscathed at school, she could only hide in her room for two months before attending the new school.

Facing the whispers and strange looks from those around her made her more withdrawn but no longer as unbearable as at first.

Because she would always remember that Cyrus Hawthorne, when he was young, had his vocal cords damaged and might never speak again.

Enduring many injuries, he never gave up on his life, and he would even turn around to comfort her, saying he was fine.

Then she felt she could endure whatever she faced.

Ann Vaughn slowly closed her eyes, letting fatigue pull her away from these thoughts, dozing off on the musty-smelling pillow.

Sometime later, Ann Vaughn was awakened by Auntie Golding’s tap.

"Still think you’re pampered? What are you sleeping for, get up and prepare dinner, or do you expect me to serve you?"

Regaining consciousness bit by bit, Ann Vaughn stood up from the bed, her mind a little dizzy, almost making her fall back onto the bed.

"I understand." She replied, waiting for that feeling to pass, glanced at the pitch black sky outside the window, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen, after Auntie Golding handed the evening’s menu to Ann Vaughn, she stood aside, "I used to make dinner, now it’s your turn from here on."

Ann Vaughn furrowed her brows but said nothing, picking up the menu to glance at it, the names of over a dozen dishes made her take a deep breath.

If she remembered correctly, there was only Cyrus Hawthorne dining, weren’t they afraid of wasting food preparing so much?

Complaints remained in her mind as she rolled up her sleeves and began cooking.

After placing the last dish on the table, Ann Vaughn caught, out of the corner of her eye, the tall figure by the elevator door and instinctively turned to leave without thinking.

Unbeknownst to her, Cyrus Hawthorne caught sight of this scene, his heart slightly sinking and his handsome face grew colder.

He walked steadily to the dining table, gazing at the array of over a dozen delicately plated dishes with a trace of surprise in his cold, narrow eyes, then sat down.

Initially thinking Ann Vaughn could only cook simple meals, he didn’t expect her to manage these complex dishes without notable faults.

Meanwhile, Ann Vaughn hid behind the dining room door, watching Cyrus Hawthorne dine elegantly, silently counting in her mind.

Three, two, one...

The next second, Cyrus Hawthorne’s face turned dark as he spit a piece of Mapo tofu into the trash, the layers of spiciness mixed with sourness in his mouth seemed to rise directly to his head, almost unbearable.

"Pfft." Ann Vaughn instantly covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, watching as Cyrus Hawthorne’s handsome face slightly furrowed, clicking her tongue twice.

Thinking he could just order her around as a servant?

She wasn’t a robot to blindly obey every command.

She had a temper too, mind you.

Seated at the dining table, Cyrus Hawthorne drank two glasses of water to barely suppress the sourness in his mouth, his refined eyebrows knitted tightly. His cold, narrow eyes swept outside the dining room to catch a glimpse of a light blue hem of a dress passing by.

By this time, Ann Vaughn had already returned to the kitchen, happily eating her bowl of bone broth noodles, the thought of Cyrus Hawthorne falling for her trick earlier making her feel like she could eat another bowl.

After dinner, Auntie Golding pushed the task of changing the bed linens to Ann Vaughn again, as Cyrus Hawthorne had a mild germophobia, requiring the linens to be changed daily at set times.

Ann Vaughn accepted the task in good spirits.

Late at night.

Having dealt with the piled-up files and business for the past few days, Cyrus Hawthorne returned to the master bedroom from the study, a familiar fragrance lingered by his nose, fleeting.

He looked around the room, which had clearly grown cold and lost some of its warmth, recalling the "surprise" during dinner, lifting his hand to press against the aching point between his brows.