Mr. Hawthorne, Your Wife Wants a Divorce Again-Chapter 1005: Who Will Save Her

Upstairs.

The room was pitch-black and gloomy, hard to catch a sliver of light, only a violent aura lurking in the air, ready to explode at any moment.

It felt like being under the Netherworld, with frost seeping deep into the bones.

After being carried such a long way, unwillingly, by Cyrus Hawthorne, Ann Vaughn’s stomach was already churning with acid.

At this moment, after Cyrus less than gently tossed her onto the bed, she felt even more uncomfortable.

As she lay by the bed trying to catch her breath, he domineeringly gripped her shoulders, pressing her back onto the bed.

In the darkness, Cyrus said nothing, pressing her wrists above her head with one hand, following up with his oppressive body trapping her small frame in a confined space.

A chilling aura engulfed Ann, as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart, her breathing intensified.

In the next moment, a soft sound of a belt buckle being undone came from the darkness, startling Ann into struggling, "Let me go—"

But her struggles were too weak, incapable of affecting Cyrus in the slightest, instead provoking the violent energy surrounding him, threatening to erupt at any moment.

"Ann Vaughn," Cyrus’s mocking voice sounded next to her ear, mingled with bone-chilling coldness, "do you think you have the right to end this? If I don’t agree, even imprisonment won’t stop me from keeping you by my side—"

"Accompany me to hell."

Ann was terrified by the brutal aura he exuded, her eyes filled with horror, suddenly feeling a chill as her clothing was stripped away piece by piece, her mind instantly went blank.

She felt something was off, but her vacant eyes moved slightly, yet they seemed to lack clarity.

"Even if you imprison me by your side, my heart won’t belong to you, I—ah!"

A sudden, ripping pain surged through her body, causing her to cry out, her fingertips digging tightly into Cyrus’s distinct forearm, her delicate face contorted in agony.

"Thud thud thud..." Suddenly, the phone’s ringtone rang from the bedside.

The crisp sound of a wooden fish infused Ann’s tumultuous mind with a hint of clarity, her originally hollow and unfocused eyes gradually focused, finally becoming completely clear.

The impenetrable darkness alarming Ann’s heart with a jolt.

But before she could think, she was again distracted, the pain drawing a sharp intake of breath.

"It hurts..."

She furrowed her brows tightly, feeling no happiness, only the boundless pain spreading throughout her body, instinctively wanting to escape.

This action inadvertently touched Cyrus’s reverse scales, his narrow eyes blood-red, like a brutal beast breaking through its cage, ignoring her cries of pain as he savagely plundered everything from her.

As if only imprinting his marks on her body could completely trap her by his side.

No longer able to escape him.

Ann’s body trembled in pain, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, and eventually, even her consciousness was nearly shattered, broken sobs spilling from her lips.

Someone save her...

"James..."

The tearful voice faintly sounded, barely audible without careful listening.

Cyrus’s tall body abruptly paused, the violent aura around him subtly dissipating, but not entirely before it gathered once more.

"Ann Vaughn, you can only be mine."

Cyrus’s eyes darkened like the night, his deep, hoarse voice carried a declarative tone, his invasive actions showing no trace of pity. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

No matter how she cried or struggled, he turned a deaf ear.

...

It felt like a century had passed.

In the chaos of consciousness, Ann only felt a burning sensation in her head, scorching her like being in a steamer, her entire body sticky with heat, her limbs exhausted and aching, making it hard for her to breathe.

She wanted to open her eyes, but her chest felt like it was filled with lead, heavy and uncomfortable, as if she were sinking deep into a quagmire, struggling for a long time before barely opening her eyes.

Ann woke up drenched in sweat, staring blankly at the familiar crystal chandelier above her.

This is room number 8...

Wasn’t she negotiating with Warren Vance? How did she wake up here?

Ann’s eyes slowly turned, trying to recall what happened last night.

All she could remember was Warren saying, "Look into my eyes."

And...last night’s ruthless plunder by James, as if he wanted to devour her whole, with each forceful thrust more aggressive than the last.

She was in excruciating pain, but he disregarded her wishes, frantically taking from her.

Such a James...like a demon.

Ann bit her lip hard, the physical pain unbearable, yet it couldn’t compare to the ache in her heart, tears welling up in her eyes.

Could it be the tenderness he showed in the past was all an illusion, and cruelty his true nature?

Ann dared not believe it was true, but everything that happened last night, clearly reminded her, it wasn’t a dream.

"Thud thud thud..."

The phone ringtone suddenly rang, pulling Ann’s scattered thoughts back.

She was about to prop herself up to get the phone on the table, her gaze caught in shock.

No wonder she felt something was amiss since earlier, her wrists were handcuffed, the chain passing through the headboard’s decorative carvings, rendering her unable to move an inch.

He handcuffed her!

Was she his prisoner?!

Ann was almost furious to death, struggling mightily, but the cuffs chafed her wrists painfully, forcing her to bite her lip and give up.

She watched helplessly as the phone screen dimmed, the word "Brother" disappearing with it.

Ann couldn’t figure out what was happening, but her body could no longer sustain her, falling back again.

The physical discomfort and mental humiliation made Ann’s nose tingle with soreness, turning her face into the pillow, her lips pressed tightly together.

...

Meanwhile.

The Maplewood Club.

In a private room not open to the public, light and shadow floated, mingling with the scent of alcohol and tobacco wafting heavily through the air, suffocatingly rich.

A handsome man sat amidst the smoke, long legs crossed, with a lazy demeanor, holding a wine glass in one hand, his face half-hidden in shadows, increasingly profound, his dark eyes full of sinister light.

With just one look, it felt like seeing the icy sea, whipped by howling winds.

Unapproachable.

Julian Ford and Evan Sawyer crouched in a dim corner, nervously muttering to each other.

"What kind of shock did our brother receive tonight? My drinking capacity is nowhere near his, and if we keep guzzling like this, my little life will be forfeit." Julian clutched his forehead, looking distraught.

Though Cyrus rarely indulged in smoking and drinking, only occasionally for business entertainment, and no one dared force him.