Compared to her aggressive demeanor, which makes her seem ready to devour someone, Cyrus Hawthorne sitting opposite her remains unaffected, dining without making a sound, exhibiting elegance like a born aristocrat. So this scene, observed by those nearby, elevates their evaluation of Ann Vaughn again: "Look at her, isn’t she eating like she hasn’t had enough while with some wild men, like a bandit entering a village." What bandit enters the village? Ann Vaughn turned her head, her gaze precisely locking onto the female employee who intentionally mocked her loudly. Just as she was about to speak, the female employee shrunk her neck and lowered her head, looking pale. Seeing her give in so quickly, Ann Vaughn found it quite uninteresting, so she turned back and continued eating. Cyrus Hawthorne also slowly retracted his icy gaze, latent with warning, and continued his meal unhurriedly, as if nothing had happened just now. But the entire dining hall became quiet as a result, and those piercing remarks ceased to appear. Due to the soreness in her knees and the unsettling rumors, Ann Vaughn didn’t have much of an appetite, putting down her knife and fork after eating less than half. Cyrus Hawthorne’s deep, narrow eyes glanced at her, almost imperceptibly, before picking up a napkin to clean his fingers, then stood up and left. Ann Vaughn hurriedly followed, but having sat for a long time, as she stood up suddenly, her knees couldn’t bear it, and the pain made her sit back down immediately. By the time she composed herself, the figure of Cyrus Hawthorne was long gone from her sight. Ann Vaughn took a deep breath, pressing hard on the bruise inside her knee to disperse it, and once she felt better, she immediately stood up and headed out. Dragging herself slowly step by step towards the president’s office, Ann Vaughn felt bitter, like she was moving at a turtle’s pace. "Miss Vaughn, is your leg injured?" The ladies from the secretary’s office, returning with documents, saw her and approached to help her. "It’s not serious, don’t mind me, continue with your work." Worried that if she delayed, Cyrus Hawthorne might leave her behind, Ann Vaughn lifted her steps, intending to rush into the office. But the next second, her knee injury taught her a lesson. Ann Vaughn inhaled sharply in pain, her face starting to turn pale. At the beginning, it didn’t feel like much, so why does it hurt more now? Seeing this, the secretaries enthusiastically pulled her into their office, "Why are you being polite with us? I happen to have a bottle of imported injury ointment, a little of it can make you recover faster." The secretaries hadn’t seen Ann Vaughn pop up in the ’spy group’ for a long while and had been stifled with things they wanted to say to her. Taking advantage while the secretary applied the ointment, they couldn’t wait to unload. "Honestly, we don’t believe for a second that with President Hawthorne being so outstanding, you would notice any other man. Those rumors sound fake from the get-go, yet many people believe them as if they’re true." "We’ve poked around a bit, and these rumors are circulated from the PR department; there’s a woman there who’s quite familiar with Beatrice Strong from The Sinclair Family, and she heard it from her." "The girl with the almond-shaped face who tried to schedule a meeting with President Hawthorne two days ago?" "That’s her! And who knows where she got those rumors, all kinds of nonsense." The secretaries might not know where Beatrice Strong heard these things, but Ann Vaughn knew quite clearly. She had a good relationship with Miyi Yates, so it wasn’t surprising to learn some things about the Hawthorne Family through her. But their ability to twist facts was unparalleled! "Miss Vaughn, is there really no possibility between you and President Hawthorne?" the secretaries asked worriedly. There’s a reason why they liked Ann Vaughn so much. The most update n0vels are published on novｅlfire.net Aside from her pleasant appearance, her easygoing nature, not getting jealous easily, and not suspecting them female secretaries of harboring ulterior motives to seduce her man, were reasons they got along well with her. No one wants to work hard only to be suspected of inappropriate intentions by the boss’s wife. But Ann Vaughn was stumped by this question. Was there really no possibility between her and Cyrus Hawthorne? Seeing that Ann Vaughn’s expression was not quite right, the secretary applying the ointment immediately said, "The ointment is done, Miss Vaughn. Take this bottle with you and apply it three times a day, and you’ll be better in a few days." Ann Vaughn wanted to refuse, but the secretary forced the ointment bottle into her hand, "Don’t be polite." Anyway, this bottle was originally prepared specifically for her. After thanking the secretaries, Ann Vaughn slowly made her way to the president’s office. Pushing open the door and seeing the tall figure standing elegantly in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, Ann Vaughn let out a sigh of relief, taking small steps towards the sofa. The man, who was on the phone by the window, looked back, his narrow eyes inadvertently sweeping over Ann Vaughn’s knee, which had the ointment applied, the tightly knit brows slightly relaxed before he turned back to continue the phone call. "...I thought you were well aware of your current health condition; skipping one treatment would be a significant blow to your body, you should come to the institute as soon as possible," Director Shaw advised gravely on the phone. "With only one day left, the result is the same whether I accept it or not," the man’s thin lips lifted slightly, his tone colder than ever before: "Why bother." Director Shaw was momentarily speechless. Asking a patient with not much time left to endure the torment of treatment in their final moments... seemed too cruel. Cyrus Hawthorne hung up the phone, turned, and sat back at his desk, staring at Ann Vaughn, who was half-reclining on the sofa reading a magazine, his expression indecipherable before he resumed dealing with subsequent matters. If Ann Vaughn turned her head slightly, she would be able to see his working demeanor clearly. The warm afternoon sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling window behind him, perfectly enveloping his figure in a thin, gossamer-like glow, like a god descending from the heavens, noble and unattainable. Ann Vaughn involuntarily extended her finger, tracing his silhouette in the air, moving slowly, drawing deeply, as if each stroke resonated with the softest part of her heart. Unwilling to let go, unable to touch. She had never recognized so clearly that wanting to protect him was merely an excuse for her urgent desire to see him. Soon, Ann Vaughn realized she didn’t quite want to see this man that much! From two in the afternoon to five-thirty, Ann Vaughn followed him to no less than five places, spending no more than half an hour at each location. Her knee injury hadn’t improved yet, only to worsen. Especially as Cyrus Hawthorne seemed intent on messing with her, taking the stairs and leaving her behind while waiting for the elevator, given his long legs. Annie gritted her teeth, going up and down stairs without making a sound, even keeping her pace steady. Mark Joyce felt compassion seeing her pale face and stepped forward to persuade her to stop following and go back. "Even if you keep following, President Hawthorne won’t have an ounce of pity for you."