CHAPTER 901: CHAPTER 901: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT

Originally, Ann Vaughn still held a glimmer of hope, thinking that perhaps her right hand wasn’t paralyzed, but instead, as Warren Vance said, it was just not fully recovered because she had slept for too long.

Besides, there were no wounds on her right hand; maybe it wasn’t as serious as she imagined...

Yet the facts often don’t go as one wishes.

Her right hand was only a step away from being useless.

Back at the apartment, Ann Vaughn locked herself in her room.

Kenny wanted to knock on the door, but he was worried it would upset Ann Vaughn, so he waited outside for her to come out.

But before Ann Vaughn came out of the room, Susie Sommers came in from outside.

"Godmother!" Little Dumpling ran over with short legs. "Mommy locked herself in the room as soon as she returned. Did something happen?"

Susie bit her lip and nodded. "I was a bit worried, so I went back to ask the doctor and heard him say that Annie’s right hand is... useless."

Useless!?

Little Dumpling froze on the spot, his eyes wide open. "Impossible!"

"Godmother hopes it’s impossible too!" Susie looked worried, grabbing her hair with force. "I should have noticed earlier, but I completely overlooked her right hand problem!"

Yesterday, when she saw Ann Vaughn holding a knife and vacuum cleaner, it seemed like a struggle. Susie thought she was just tired, so she insisted on helping her out.

But she never thought about Ann Vaughn’s right hand...

Pregnancy mood swings were too intense. Susie’s eyes became increasingly red, her voice choked with sobs.

"Your mommy’s hand is meant for holding Golden Needles and making potions. How could heaven bear to render her hand—"

It was her pride.

Susie couldn’t bear to think if Ann Vaughn regained her memory only to find her right hand in such a state, what her feelings would be like.

Little Dumpling stood in a daze for a long time before suddenly remembering something. He turned and ran back to his room.

He made a phone call to Cyrus Hawthorne, but for some reason, it was Mark Joyce who answered the phone.

"Uncle Joyce, where’s my dad?" Little Dumpling quickly asked.

"Little master, President Hawthorne is inside changing his bandages. If you have something to convey, I can pass it along for you." After speaking, Mark Joyce couldn’t help but add, "Little master, please try to persuade President Hawthorne."

Little Dumpling was stunned, "What’s wrong with my dad? Did his condition worsen?"

"The doctor repeatedly advised President Hawthorne to rest so the wound can heal. But President Hawthorne leaves the hospital every two days and goes abroad every three days. How can his body handle that?"

At this point, Mark Joyce lowered his voice, "Also, President Hawthorne caught a cold last night when he returned to the hospital, which worsened his injury. He just woke up. Little master, we really need your help to persuade him..."

"Whose call is it?" A cold voice suddenly sounded behind Mark Joyce.

Mark Joyce’s heart skipped a beat. Just as he was about to hang up, he heard Little Dumpling say, "Uncle Joyce, please give the phone to my dad."

"Alright, alright!" Mark Joyce, more than happy to comply, immediately handed the phone to Cyrus Hawthorne, "President Hawthorne, a call from the young master."

Cyrus Hawthorne nodded and took the phone.

"What is it?"

"According to our agreement, you’re supposed to rest well, and Mommy is my responsibility to take care of. You’ve broken the promise." Little Dumpling said, puffing his cheeks.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes lifted slightly as he cast a cold glance at Mark Joyce, "Did you tell him?"

Mark Joyce felt a chill down his neck and forced out a dry laugh.

"If you don’t want anyone to know, then don’t do it." Little Dumpling huffed, scolding Cyrus Hawthorne loudly, "Don’t think that just because Mommy can’t control you now, you can do as you please!"

Little Dumpling’s childish voice was so loud it reached the ears of Mark Joyce and the doctor standing nearby.

The doctor gave Mark Joyce an incredulous look, as if asking with his eyes: No way? Is Mr. Hawthorne’s wife that fierce?!

Mark Joyce: Well, maybe someone who obsesses over their wife secretly enjoys it?

Listening to Little Dumpling’s questioning, veins subtly twitched at Cyrus Hawthorne’s temple, showing a trace of helplessness in his expression.

"How is your mommy today?"

What Little Dumpling originally wanted to say got stuck in his throat.

He knew if he revealed this now, Cyrus Hawthorne would rush back to the country immediately, and if his injury worsened...

"With me and Godmother around, Mommy will be fine." Little Dumpling said sullenly, "Don’t worry, take care of yourself first."

Cyrus Hawthorne let out a short hum of approval and advised, "If anything happens, let me know immediately. If I’m not available, find Uncle Joyce."

"Before you take care of me, Dad, you’d better take care of yourself first!"

Cyrus Hawthorne: "..." This brat.

...

Inside the room.

Ann Vaughn sat dazedly on the window seat, her forehead resting against the cold glass, reflecting those beautiful yet lackluster eyes.

The phone resting on the cushion rang over and over again before it finally caught her attention.

Seeing the unfamiliar number on the screen, Ann Vaughn furrowed her delicate brows slightly, then swiped to answer.

"Hello?"

"Darling, how are you?" The familiar voice accompanied by a sound like wind chimes came from the other side of the phone.

Warren Vance...

Ann Vaughn paused. She just got a new SIM card yesterday, and the phone was newly purchased. How did he know her number?

"Warren Vance, are you a stalking psycho?" Ann Vaughn asked, unable to hold back.

"Hmm?"

"I haven’t even held you accountable for installing surveillance in my room, and now you have people following me!?"

On the other end, in the lounge at Gothasen Royal City.

Warren Vance leaned back in his seat and said, feeling a slight headache, "Ah, darling, how should I explain to you? I didn’t install any surveillance in your room; I don’t have such strange hobbies."

After all, one should have the most basic respect for their future bride.

"Then how did you know my phone number?"

Warren Vance chuckled softly, "Please forgive my abruptness. After you left Gothasen, I became somewhat worried about your safety, so I discreetly checked your itinerary. I hope you don’t mind."

Having said so much, and given that his intentions weren’t malicious, Ann Vaughn’s anger finally subsided.

"Warren Vance, thank you for taking care of me during those days." Ann Vaughn thought for a moment and said, "Also, I’m sorry if my leaving like this caused you any inconvenience."

All things considered, he was the one who saved her, and it was thanks to him that her eyes and right hand didn’t worsen.

Even though she didn’t understand why he would lie about being her fiancé, she undeniably owed him a lot.

"I’m also sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed what was best for you and kept you by my side." Warren Vance’s voice was gentle, without a hint of resentment, "If I had told you the truth sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have been so resistant to staying here."

"The truth?" Ann Vaughn’s eyes showed confusion. "What truth?"