Mr. Hawthorne, Your Wife Wants a Divorce Again-Chapter 1007: Defeat Taken Sweetly

Breeze glanced at the still-unconscious Ann Vaughn, her hands still cuffed and forcing her to sleep uncomfortably on her side.

Even with Breeze’s hardened heart, seeing her wrists chafed by the handcuffs made him feel uneasy.

He couldn’t fathom what Cyrus Hawthorne was thinking to treat someone like this...

Breeze steeled himself, took out a box of ointment from the bottom of the medical box, and used a cotton swab to apply it to Ann Vaughn’s wrists.

This box of ointment was made from the essence of over a hundred precious herbs, suitable for both external and internal injuries, with potent effects visible within a day.

Using it on scratches like Ann Vaughn’s was, in fact, a waste of its value.

But to help her recover quickly and to free himself from this torment, Breeze held back his aching heart and used the ointment.

"How is she?"

Suddenly, a low, hoarse voice came from behind Breeze, startling him so much that his hand trembled, nearly pressing the cotton swab into the bleeding wound on Ann Vaughn’s wrist.

"Mr... Mr. Hawthorne? Could you make some noise when you walk next time?"

Breeze prided himself on his acute senses, able to catch even the slightest movement.

But every time Cyrus Hawthorne appeared around him, unless he spoke up, Breeze couldn’t sense his presence at all.

Thankfully, Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t intend to kill him; otherwise, he wouldn’t know how many times he would have died by now...

Just thinking about it, cold sweat broke out on Breeze’s back; he was way too conscious of it.

Locking eyes with Cyrus Hawthorne’s cool, dark gaze, Breeze touched his nose and truthfully reported Ann Vaughn’s condition.

"Miss Vaughn is just under too much mental stress, coupled with exhaustion causing fever, and she has a cold constitution, which coincidentally hit during her menstrual cycle, overwhelming her body."

"When will she wake up?" Cian stepped towards the bed, his eyes falling on Ann Vaughn, whose cheeks were flushed with fever and looked weak and exhausted, causing his heart to clench.

He had gotten used to her lively, bunny-like hopping and chattering every day, but somehow he felt unused to her current silence.

"She’ll wake up once her fever breaks." Breeze coughed and said, "Mr. Hawthorne, I understand that when passion runs high, control can be lost between couples. But Miss Vaughn’s frail body really can’t handle too intense entanglements; perhaps be more mindful next time..."

Villa No. 8 had its own examination room, fully equipped with medical facilities, where Ann Vaughn’s earlier body examination was conducted.

Breeze was brought back to treat Ann Vaughn, and he needed to check her examination report beforehand to prescribe the right treatment.

So naturally, he knew the main reason behind Ann Vaughn’s fever and fainting this time.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes darkened for a moment, then he bluntly issued an order: "Leave the ointment; you may go."

Breeze: "???"

"Mr. Hawthorne, this is the only box of ointment in the world, its value immeasurable, and I’m afraid I can’t part with it..."

"Name your price."

"...Deal."

Leaving the ointment, Breeze took the medical box and exited the master bedroom.

For a moment, the room was so quiet that even the sound of breathing was clear.

Cyrus Hawthorne sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze landing on Ann Vaughn’s wrists, reddened from the handcuffs, frowning so intensely that it could crush a mosquito.

Her skin was snow-white, not exaggerating to say it surpassed snow in purity; even a slight pinch would leave a mark.

Not to mention such a glaring wound, cuffed by the handcuffs, the wound seemed unable to heal, continuously seeping crimson blood.

"Mmm..." Perhaps feeling discomfort in her stupor, Ann Vaughn’s delicate brows knitted, and her cuffed wrist involuntarily rubbed to ease the itch and pain from her wounds.

Cyrus Hawthorne’s keen eyes narrowed, promptly holding down her flailing wrist to prevent further abrasion by the cuffs.

However, her brief movement still aggravated the wound, causing more blood to ooze, staining the bedsheet beneath her wrist.

Witnessing this, Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes deepened, stirring an uneasy torrent.

After a moment of silence, he retrieved the handcuff key from under the pillow, unlocked the handcuffs, avoided her wound as carefully as possible, and removed the handcuffs, tossing them into the trash can.

Cyrus Hawthorne reached to touch her forehead, only to feel cold dampness; not only her face but her hair and body were drenched with sweat.

Cyrus Hawthorne cradled her horizontally and headed to the bathroom.

Since Ann Vaughn was still feverish and drenched in cold sweat, it wasn’t fitting to take a long bath, so after a brief clean-up, Cyrus Hawthorne carried her out.

Returning to the bedside, he half-embraced her in his arms, holding a hairdryer with meticulous care, drying her long hair.

Julian Ford, who had come up with the medicine on behalf of the servants, witnessed this scene upon arrival.

Even with Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression remaining stern and detached, as if nothing in the world could catch his eye, an aura cold enough to keep anyone at a distance surrounding him.

Like The Wolf King standing atop a snow-covered mountain, bloodthirsty and arrogant.

Yet, the hands threading through Ann Vaughn’s hair were gentle, without the slightest force, as if afraid of causing her pain.

Julian Ford’s eyes flickered, realizing Evan Sawyer hadn’t been wrong with his comment.

No matter the depth of one’s denials, details always dictate success or failure.

From the moment Cyrus Hawthorne lowered himself to seek reconciliation with Ann Vaughn, he had already lost this cold war.

But perhaps, he was utterly content with the loss.

"Bro, Sis-in-law’s medicine is ready." Julian Ford symbolically knocked twice on the door, entered, and placed the medicine on the table. He accidentally sighted the handcuffs in the trash and then Ann Vaughn’s wrist, causing his eyelids to twitch immediately.

"Bro, you didn’t keep Sis-in-law locked here with handcuffs the whole time, did you?!"

Julian Ford was horrified internally.

He suddenly couldn’t make sense of whether they were in a cold war or some captivity play.

Was he falling behind the times??

"What are you trying to say?" Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t even lift his eyes, applying the ointment to Ann Vaughn’s wrist with a cotton swab.

"I’m just saying..." Julian Ford’s expression was complex, "Bro, Sis-in-law isn’t one of your allied forces, much less those Hidden Guards you can deal with as you please when they make mistakes. Sis-in-law is delicate, how can she withstand being treated this way?"

Seeing that Cyrus Hawthorne was quietly focused on applying the ointment, Julian Ford continued earnestly: "Girls hope to be treated gently; rough methods like this won’t do. You risk pushing Sis-in-law further away..."

Especially with quite a few wolves eyeing Sis-in-law clandestinely.

There was Warren Vance, then Josiah Keaton, and before that, there was Sutton Jennings...

Damn, why didn’t his brother have any sense of the impending crisis??