The night grew darker, and a faint musk scent filled the room. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩 Light leaked out from the crack in the bathroom door. Ann Vaughn lay on the bed like a salted fish, rubbing her sore right hand for a while before getting up and stepping off the bed. She picked up the torn-to-unrecognizable black dress and the automatic flicking cat tail and stuffed them into the trash can! This uniform was something Susie Sommers secretly slipped into her suitcase before she came to X Country. Ann Vaughn had kept it at the bottom of the suitcase, not expecting it to come in handy tonight. The only downside was that while she achieved her goal of punishing Cyrus Hawthorne, she had also gotten her hand caught up in it... Ann Vaughn was dead tired, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep immediately, but her stomach growled relentlessly, making it impossible to ignore. Helplessly, she got up to call room service, meanwhile processing some work information sent by her assistant. Little Dumpling has been exceptionally obedient these days. Initially, Ann Vaughn was worried he might sneakily find a way to follow her, so she made sure not to tell him where she went for her business trip. Now, however, she could rest assured. Ten minutes later, the food was delivered. Ann Vaughn eagerly twirled a forkful of pasta, just about to put it in her mouth, when her expression suddenly froze. Ann Vaughn threw the fork down, turned around to grab her needle kit, and pierced a silver needle into the pasta. Soon, the needle tip blackened. Ann Vaughn sequentially used new silver needles to test the dishes on the table, and surprisingly, none of the food was free from poison... At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Cyrus Hawthorne, with his half-wet black hair, walked out. Noticing Ann Vaughn standing stunned in front of the sofa, his brows furrowed as he approached her. His deep voice brushed her ears. Ann Vaughn turned to meet Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes, deep as night, and was dazed for two seconds before showing him the silver needle. "The food is poisoned. I don’t know who it’s intended for," Ann Vaughn frowned. A chill flashed in Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrowed eyes, "I’ll have someone investigate. Do you want to eat something else?" "If they don’t succeed in poisoning once, they’ll try a second time. Better not, for safety’s sake." Ann Vaughn was indignant, "Couldn’t they use a smarter poison method? Does it not make sense to apply poison to the door handle? Why ruin the food?" Cyrus Hawthorne’s tightly furrowed brows eased slightly, watching her indignant expression, his thin lips curled up, "Little foodie." Ann Vaughn puffed her cheeks, "Everyone has the responsibility to cherish food!" "What do you want to eat?" "Noodles, spicy stir-fried noodles." Ann Vaughn blurted out, thinking about the pasta she hadn’t managed to eat. Cyrus Hawthorne nodded slightly, then rolled up his sleeves and walked toward the kitchen. "Are you going to cook for me yourself?" "You could also choose to stay hungry." About half an hour later, two bowls of beef noodle soup were brought to the table. Ann Vaughn sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of the sofa, accepting clean chopsticks from Cyrus Hawthorne while grumbling, "Spicy stir-fried noodles would taste better." Cyrus Hawthorne glanced sideways at her, "Look at what time it is." Ann Vaughn often indulged herself in midnight snacks, eating heavy food, and suffered stomachaches the next day as a result. Moreover, she had just mentioned that she was on her period and was feeling uncomfortable, so Cyrus Hawthorne naturally wouldn’t cook spicy food for her. The beef noodle soup would warm her stomach without being too overwhelming. Unable to eat what she wanted, Ann Vaughn felt a bit resentful, unwillingly rolling up a chopstick’s worth of noodles into her mouth. The rich aroma of the broth combined with the firm noodles instantly satisfied her taste buds. Ann Vaughn’s eyes lit up. She had eaten Cyrus Hawthorne’s homemade food before, but this time it seemed particularly delicious. In a flash, she forgot about the spicy stir-fried noodles and enthusiastically slurped up the contents of the bowl. "Slow down, do you want to choke?" Cyrus Hawthorne used a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth, noticing that half of the contents of the large soup bowl was gone, and his narrow eyes instinctively glanced at her flat tummy. He wondered how she managed to fit so much food. Luckily, he could afford to feed her. A steaming bowl of noodles filled her stomach, and Ann Vaughn drank the soup until the last drop, contentedly patting her small belly, "I think if you ever stop running a company, you could open a restaurant, and business would be booming." If the people at Hawthorne Corp. and K.S. heard this, they’d likely cry. Cyrus Hawthorne’s thin lips curled slightly as he wiped the corners of her mouth with his fingertip, "Not everyone is qualified for me to cook personally." Ann Vaughn was an exception. Ann Vaughn’s face reddened slightly, then she raised her head, feigning composure, "You’ve managed to bluff me into becoming your fiancée, don’t you think you should treat me better? If I run off with someone else, wouldn’t that be a loss for you?" This man truly was the emperor of the negotiation table. Even proposing marriage could leave someone dizzy and easily led around by the nose. Cyrus Hawthorne smiled faintly, gently rubbing her sore wrist, speaking leisurely, "Indeed, it wouldn’t be a good bargain. So if you run away, I’ll bring you back," "And if you bring me back?" Ann Vaughn asked curiously, but Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Ann Vaughn: "..." She was just joking, honestly. Did being his fiancée require insurance too?? The clock quietly ticked to 3:30 a.m. Ann Vaughn paced the room for half an hour before finally succumbing to sleep on the bed. Cyrus Hawthorne pulled out the blanket trapped beneath her, covered her up, and placed a newly charged heating pad on her small abdomen. Having done all this, he then stepped out of the bedroom. "Family Head, we’ve already checked the surveillance from the restaurant to here and didn’t find any trace of someone tampering with the dishes." The Hidden Guard appeared silently in the living room and reported respectfully, "The chef who prepared the meal is also one of our people, unlikely to have tampered." "Have the ingredients in the restaurant been checked?" Cyrus Hawthorne took a canned coffee from the fridge, opened it with one hand, and took a sip. The Hidden Guard shook his head, "Not yet." Cyrus Hawthorne’s Adam’s apple rolled, then he said in a deep voice, "Check everything in the kitchen thoroughly, then report back to me." In the early morning, the sea was stirred by large waves. Ann Vaughn woke up to find Cyrus Hawthorne was not in the room. She was about to freshen up and then go out to find him. Unexpectedly, as she walked out the door, she saw two people lying in the corner, foaming at the mouth, their bodies twitching slightly, while a nearby waiter cried out in shock. "What happened just now?" Ann Vaughn quickly walked over, squatting down to check the pulse of one of them.