In front of a familiar European-style villa. When the passcode lock indicated "incorrect input" for the third time, it directly entered lock mode. She resignedly leaned against the wall among the bulging and concave plants and shrubs, planning to play the waiting game. And so she waited for an entire afternoon. Drowsy from waiting, just as Ann Vaughn was about to close her eyes, a car suddenly flashed by, and she immediately snapped awake. A black Maybach drove straight through the ornate gate, which closed automatically afterward, leaving Ann Vaughn without a chance to stop the car. Ann Vaughn, frustrated, punched herself lightly. Why didn’t she just fall asleep? She wasted an opportunity for nothing. However, since Cyrus Hawthorne went inside, he’d eventually come out. For now, she could only continue to wait. Inside the villa, after parking the car, Mark Joyce got out and opened the rear door while saying, "President Hawthorne, the person standing outside the gate just now seemed to be Miss Vaughn?" A man in a well-tailored suit stepped out of the car, his face cold and stoic. As he turned to leave, he casually instructed, "Ignore her." "Yes." Mark Joyce responded, immediately following. Soon, the light in the study window facing the gate was switched on. It wasn’t until midnight that the light finally went out. Mark Joyce quickly summarized and reported the company’s significant matters from the past two days, including the launch plan for new projects in the second half of the year and the completion plan for Marinia New District, emphasizing each point succinctly. The man silently sitting at the desk appeared to be asleep but was actually just resting his eyes. Whenever Mark Joyce made an error or omitted something, he would lightly tap the armrest, signaling corrections. By this time, a light rain was falling outside. Mark Joyce inadvertently glanced out the window and forgot to continue speaking. "President Hawthorne, Miss Vaughn is still there." The man’s eyes suddenly opened. He got up and walked to the window, looking down. Beside the black ornate gate, a slender silhouette in warm apricot was standing in the rain with an umbrella, occasionally spinning it to scatter layers of raindrops, appearing somewhat bored. "It’s getting colder tonight. Miss Vaughn isn’t dressed warmly and has been standing in the cold wind for a long time. She might catch a cold..." Mark Joyce cautiously remarked. Cyrus Hawthorne’s brows furrowed tightly, his hand at his side clenching and unclenching, before finally restraining his impulses. "Go down and tell her to leave. I don’t want her here." With those words, Cyrus Hawthorne forcibly closed his eyes, drew the curtains, and returned to his desk, his lips pale. Mark Joyce sighed once again, "Yes." Even though Ann Vaughn knew that Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t want to see her now, she didn’t expect him to outright tell her to scram and not be an eyesore. Ann Vaughn gripped the umbrella handle tightly, a sour feeling rising at the tip of her nose. "Special Assistant Joyce, I only have one question." "Please, Miss Vaughn, go ahead." "Why did Cyrus Hawthorne transfer his shares of Hawthorne Group to my uncle and brother?" Ann Vaughn continued, "I know Cyrus Hawthorne told you not to tell me directly." She quickly glanced around, "So you only need to answer me with a blink. One blink for yes, two blinks for no." Mark Joyce initially wanted to refuse but reluctantly nodded. "Did Cyrus Hawthorne do this for me?" Ann Vaughn seized the opportunity to ask. "Did he foresee something happening to him and made these preparations in advance?" Mark Joyce paused for a while before blinking, "Miss Vaughn, this is as far as I can help. You should hurry home." After he finished speaking, he turned and left. Through the door in front of her, Ann Vaughn looked inside, her lips pressed tighter and tighter until they turned white. Mark Joyce had already answered quite a lot, and to know more, she would have to rely on herself. Just what happened that made Cyrus Hawthorne prepare these things in advance... Worried about the road getting blocked if she returned too late, Ann Vaughn had no choice but to drive back first. Soon after hitting the highway, Ann Vaughn noticed two suspicious vehicles tailing her, seemingly planning to flank her from both sides. She had only just returned to The Imperial Capital, so how did those people manage to track her down so quickly? Ann Vaughn bit her lip, overtaking the two cars in front before speeding up. After a stretch, those two suspicious vehicles no longer reappeared, but Ann Vaughn didn’t dare relax and drove straight back to her apartment. After such a thrilling experience, Ann Vaughn was much more cautious when heading up the mountain the next day. Maybe those two cars had been exposed last night since they weren’t tailing her car today. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novel[f]ire.net Just as Ann Vaughn arrived, the black Maybach was about to drive out. She immediately got out of her car and positioned herself directly in front of the Maybach as it came out! The piercing brake sound shattered the air. "Mr. Hawthorne, this..." Mark Joyce was scared out of his wits, never imagining that Ann Vaughn would dare directly block the car. Cyrus Hawthorne’s expression was so dark it could almost drip ink, with a storm brewing in his narrow eyes, ready to erupt at any moment. Her boldness was increasing! The fury within Cyrus Hawthorne’s chest was so intense it even manifested in the way he pushed open the car door. As soon as the car door opened, a petite figure quickly slipped inside. She grabbed Cyrus Hawthorne’s shoulder with one hand while lurching across his long legs, directly sitting on the opposite seat. Cyrus Hawthorne: "..." Mark Joyce: "..." You really just barged in uninvited. Cyrus Hawthorne only felt a faint pain between his brows, with the same ailment that had recently flared up reemerging, almost making him want to throw this reckless woman out of the car. "Get out," he lowered his voice. "You just hit me, and now my leg hurts a lot. Even if I get out of the car, I can’t drive home by myself. Are you not going to take responsibility?" Ann Vaughn folded her arms, her delicate face icy and aloof. Cyrus Hawthorne’s brow knitted tightly, his narrow eyes gliding over her slender, fair legs, with the tips of her white shoes tapping leisurely. She couldn’t even pretend to be hurt convincingly. Mark Joyce restrained a laugh; Miss Vaughn was clearly trying to swindle Mr. Hawthorne. "President Hawthorne?" Mark Joyce quietly prompted. Cyrus Hawthorne coldly withdrew his gaze, "Drive. Take her back first." "Yes." Although Mark Joyce didn’t think doing so would get Ann Vaughn to leave, he complied. Sure enough, when they arrived at Ann Vaughn’s apartment, she not only didn’t get out but also tilted her head to ask Cyrus Hawthorne. "You all seem quite familiar with this area, not even needing GPS, knowing which route is closest."