CHAPTER 939: CHAPTER 939: DO YOU LIKE IT?

Villa No. 8.

Before getting out of the car, Ann Vaughn was about to ask Mark Joyce for help with supporting Cyrus Hawthorne, when she suddenly lowered her head and was caught in his dark, night-like eyes.

Ann Vaughn’s heart quivered slightly, and her voice inexplicably softened, "Mr. Vaughn, we’re home. Can you stand up?"

"Do you find my eyes beautiful?" The man didn’t answer her question but instead asked his own, his voice even deeper and more hoarse than usual, like sandpaper rubbing against the ear.

"Ahem!" Ann Vaughn almost choked, and didn’t dare meet his unwavering gaze, feeling the heat rising to her ears.

As Ann Vaughn hesitated, not giving an answer, Cyrus Hawthorne spoke again, "Mark Joyce."

In the front seat, Mark Joyce immediately sat up straight, "Yes, President Vaughn?"

"Tell Sept to dig out Josiah Keaton’s eyes for me." His slow tone carried a chilling promise, with no hint of a joke.

Mark Joyce: ?

Ann Vaughn: ?

Ann Vaughn found it rather creepy and hurriedly stopped him, "Come on now, why would you do that?"

Cyrus Hawthorne replied succinctly, "You like them, I’ll give them to you."

Ann Vaughn was now certain that Cyrus was drunk, extremely so.

She quickly shook her head in denial, "Who said I like his eyes? I don’t like them at all. Don’t listen to Josiah Keaton’s nonsense. What’s so great about his eyes? They’re just ordinary, not nearly as nice as yours!"

"Really?"

"Yes, yes, yes! His eyes are so boring and unattractive, nowhere near as deep and charming as yours, more lovable than cash!"

"Truly?"

"True, true, true! More genuine than pearls, truer than the legendary stabilizing needle itself!"

Cyrus Hawthorne seemed finally satisfied, the chill on his handsome face dissipating a little, and he didn’t mention wanting anyone’s eyes anymore.

Mark Joyce, the observer: "..." Miss Vaughn really has it tough.

Miss Vaughn truly had it tough.

Because Mr. Hawthorne wouldn’t let anyone else touch him, Miss Vaughn had to use all her strength to support him to the master bedroom’s bed.

But just as Ann Vaughn helped him lie down for only a moment, he sat up, his messy black hair falling over his forehead, those narrow eyes burning as they gazed at Ann Vaughn, his thin lips pressing together quietly.

For some reason, even though she had just heard from this man’s mouth the creepy words about digging out someone’s eyes,

at this moment, looking at him like this, Ann Vaughn actually found him a bit endearing and wanted to stroke his hair.

"You should go to sleep," Ann Vaughn couldn’t help but soften her tone.

"Give me a scalpel," Cyrus Hawthorne articulated each word slowly.

"What?"

"A man with a scalpel is the sexiest."

"???"

Ann Vaughn froze for a moment, gradually beginning to understand something.

Could James Vaughn have...

Before the thought fully formed in her mind, Ann Vaughn suddenly felt her wrist tighten, a force that allowed no resistance pulled her over.

The next second, Cyrus Hawthorne pressed her beneath him, pinning her hands above her head with one hand, while his other hand, under Ann Vaughn’s shocked gaze—

unhurriedly unbuttoned his shirt.

One button, two buttons, three buttons...

The view Ann Vaughn had once glimpsed in the bathroom during their first meeting reappeared before her eyes.

Unlike last time’s obscurity, this time Ann Vaughn could clearly see the texture of his chest, a truly impactful sight.

But he only unbuttoned up to his abs, stopping his actions there.

That view on the verge of being fully revealed, more tantalizing than if fully bared, making one want to tear his shirt off completely...

"You, you—" Ann Vaughn’s face flushed bright red, her eyes avoiding but still catching glimpses of things she shouldn’t see, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

"Do you like it?"

Cyrus Hawthorne gazed steadily at her, seeming not drunk at all, yet his elegant face bore a touch of blush, alluringly seductive.

This was entirely different from the usual James Vaughn that Ann Vaughn knew.

Her mind dizzy, she even forgot to struggle, stumbling over her words, "Why, why ask me?"

Are all men’s competitive instincts this strong?

But soon enough, Cyrus Hawthorne’s actions showed Ann Vaughn it wasn’t about competition.

"Because I have feelings for you." Cyrus Hawthorne looked down at her, his thin lips parting, a faint scent of alcohol brushing against her face, his voice hoarse, "Feelings that make me want to pin you beneath me, to the point that you’d beg for mercy, yet I still wouldn’t let you go, that kind of feeling."

Boom—

Ann Vaughn’s mind exploded, her heart beginning to quake, her body heating up as if her blood was boiling.

She didn’t know whether it was Cyrus Hawthorne’s overly blunt and intense words or the deeper meaning behind them.

He... was confessing to her!?

"You..." As she began to speak, Ann Vaughn’s voice trembled, her eyes misted from the heat in her cheeks, "Do you know what you’re saying?"

"I have feelings for you."

"..."

Ann Vaughn was gone.

No need for saving, she was ascending straight to the heavens.

"Why do you like me? We’ve only known each other for less than a month." Ann Vaughn really wanted to cover her face, but alas, her hands were still pinned above her head by Cyrus Hawthorne.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes, slightly drunk but not obviously so.

Hearing her question, he chuckled lightly, "I’ve known you longer than you think."

So long that it seeped into his bones like poison, scorching his throat like fiery liquor, the longer the time passed, the deeper the mark she’d made.

She might forget, but he would not.

"I, I get it, but get up first..." In this completely dominating position, Ann Vaughn really couldn’t talk to him properly.

Yet surprisingly, in her heart, there was panic, fear, and embarrassment, but notably absent was any dislike.

"First, tell me," Cyrus Hawthorne squinted his eyes at her, his voice hoarse, "Is Josiah Keaton more charming, or am I?"

Hiss—

The flush on Ann Vaughn’s face had now spread to her neck. Someone tell her, why does James Vaughn, usually so calm and gentle, become like this after drinking?!

Might as well just kill her, ahhh!!

"...You’re more charming." Ann Vaughn, enduring her shame, whispered.

As soon as she finished speaking, the corners of Cyrus Hawthorne’s lips curved into a pleased smile.

The next instant, he collapsed on Ann Vaughn, resting his chin in the hollow of her shoulder, closing his eyes to sleep soundly.

He was content, while Ann Vaughn was pinned beneath him, not daring to move, afraid of accidentally brushing against something she shouldn’t, clearly struggling greatly.

Ann Vaughn: Small, pitiful, helpless, and struggling to breathe.

Finally, she managed to move Cyrus Hawthorne and wriggle out from under him, at last breathing a long sigh of relief.

Turning to look at the already-sleeping Cyrus Hawthorne, she aggressively ruffled his inky hair, indulging herself before pulling her hand back.

"That’s what you get for pinning me!"

Gazing at Cyrus Hawthorne’s oddly reddened lips, Ann Vaughn momentarily dazed, her mind uncontrollably replaying his recent words.

"To pin you beneath me, making you cry and beg for mercy..."

The memory abruptly stopped.

Ann Vaughn forcefully smacked her own head. What was she even thinking about?!