Mr. Hawthorne, Your Wife Wants a Divorce Again-Chapter 867: How Much Must It Hurt?

Ann Vaughn is Kenny’s weakness, but isn’t she also Cyrus Hawthorne’s vulnerability?

Little Dumpling sniffed, "Did something happen to Mommy? Is Warren Vance using Mommy to threaten you?"

Besides this reason, Little Dumpling couldn’t imagine any other justification that would make Cyrus Hawthorne give up the plan to rescue his mommy and return to the mainland.

Cyrus Hawthorne stroked his soft hair, not answering the question.

His thin eyelids lowered slightly, concealing the deep gloom in his eyes.

Three days ago, according to an insider report, Ann Vaughn had been severely injured with excessive blood loss and was sent to the best hospital in Y Country for surgery.

But when Cyrus Hawthorne’s forces arrived at that hospital in Y Country, Warren Vance caught wind of it and used their hands to convey a message to Cyrus Hawthorne.

"If you don’t want her to die, don’t appear within my sight."

Even though Cyrus Hawthorne had the capital and confidence to contend with Warren Vance and take Ann Vaughn away from the hospital, he couldn’t dare to do so.

He couldn’t gamble with Ann Vaughn’s life.

If he lost the gamble, he couldn’t afford the consequence of losing her forever.

Thinking of the photos his subordinates had sent, Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes shut heavily, the anger and heartache rising in his chest nearly igniting and consuming everything.

In those photos, Ann Vaughn lay on a hospital bed, covered in blood, riddled with scars, as if she would vanish like a bubble with the slightest touch.

Normally, even a small bump would make Ann Vaughn whimper for a long time, and if he was there, she would cutely demand a hug, needing over half an hour to be cheered up.

But in the photos, Ann Vaughn’s body was covered in crisscrossed and bloody wounds, and even in a coma, her delicate brows were tightly furrowed.

How painful must that be?

Cyrus Hawthorne dared not imagine.

If possible, he wished that he could be the one lying there enduring it all.

Only after Cyrus Hawthorne and his subordinates withdrew from Y Country did the insider report that Ann Vaughn was wheeled into the operating room.

But before the news of the surgery’s completion could come, Warren Vance and his men vanished with Ann Vaughn from the hospital as if they had evaporated, leaving no trace.

Until just now, the phone call from Ann Vaughn’s assistant was the only clue in two days.

But even knowing Warren Vance took Ann Vaughn to K Country, as long as her injuries hadn’t healed, Cyrus Hawthorne couldn’t act hastily for a moment.

Little Dumpling lay on Cyrus Hawthorne’s shoulder, feeling more and more uneasy, looked up at him, "Daddy, do you have another plan?"

If Cyrus Hawthorne had intended to track Warren Vance, he wouldn’t have been discovered so easily.

Moreover, taking no action and returning to the mainland wasn’t in his style.

"You should go to sleep." Cyrus Hawthorne tucked Kenny into the blanket, his narrow eyes as heavy as mist, with depths unplumbable, "Your mommy will be fine, Daddy promises, okay?"

"You’d better keep your word." Kenny pursed his little lips, looking at him with wet eyes.

"Yes, I will."

...

Gothasen is surrounded by the sea, with two gourd-shaped verdant islands facing each other from afar. From the center bridge connecting the two ends, a magnificent silhouette could faintly be seen extending rightward across The Ostaric Sea.

Just its outline alone makes one feel it’s like poetry, like a dream, fantastical to the extreme.

That’s the heavenly territory no Gothasen resident could ever reach even in a lifetime.

——The Royal City.

In the dimly lit room, a few wisps of breeze blew in through the long windows, rustling the burgundy curtains and letting in some sunlight.

Ann Vaughn struggled out of a chaotic nightmare, slowly opening her eyes, only to find that everything in sight was complete darkness.

She struggled to sit up but realized something was covered over her eyes, likely causing her total lack of vision.

Before Ann Vaughn could reach out to remove the covering from her eyes, she heard barely audible footsteps by her ear.

Ann Vaughn froze, tentatively asking, "Quinn, is that you?"

The next second, her wrist was gripped by a hand cold as snow.

The extraordinarily low temperature made Ann Vaughn’s heart jump, and she instinctively shook off the hand, her hoarse voice filled with shock.

"...Warren?"

A light chuckle came from above her head, "You still remember me, not bad."

Hearing this familiar voice, Ann Vaughn felt the blood in her body turn cold, her throat choked, and she wanted to flee the moment she regained her senses.

Remembering the covering over her eyes, Ann Vaughn promptly reached out to tear it away, but the moment she touched her eyes, a sharp pain drilled straight into her brain.

The pain drained all the color from her face, leaving her pale to the extreme.

Only then did Warren Vance remove her hand, leisurely saying, "Your eyes are injured, covered with anti-inflammatory and pain-relief medicine. If you don’t want to go blind, you’d better not move around."

The pain made Ann Vaughn’s heart contract, her mouth twitching at his words, "Then why didn’t you say so earlier?"

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

He sounded justified, as if he were saying, "Why waste my energy?"

Ann Vaughn: "..."

"Drink water." Warren Vance poured a cup of warm water, bringing it to Ann Vaughn’s lips, casually asking, "Hungry? Want to eat something?"

Ann Vaughn, weakly, "I want to eat your flesh and drink your blood."

Warren Vance raised an eyebrow, "You may not dare to eat my flesh, but you’ve used a lot of my blood."

For a moment, Ann Vaughn almost thought she’d lost her hearing, unable to hold the straw in her mouth, her stomach churning.

"What are you thinking about?" Warren Vance wiped the water stains from her mouth, amusedly asking as he watched her face turn frightened, "My blood is very valuable. How could I let you drink it?"

"What wouldn’t you do?" Ann Vaughn pushed his hand away, her delicate brows furrowed in disgust.

"If you don’t say what you want to eat, I’ll really give you blood to drink." Warren Vance’s tone was eerie.

Even though Ann Vaughn couldn’t see his expression, she could tell he wasn’t joking.

Despite her lingering fear of him, Ann Vaughn wasn’t planning to wrong herself and rattled off the names of five or six dishes in one breath.

Warren Vance seemed pleased with her compliance and patted her head, "Good girl."

He then turned his head to instruct the servants in the room, "Did you hear clearly? Go prepare."

"Yes, Your Highness." The servant respectfully complied, pushing open the door to leave.

Ann Vaughn secretly bit her lip, thinking, I’m not some pet, listen to your damn words!

"Do the injuries still hurt?" Warren Vance asked again.

The injuries?

Ann Vaughn was momentarily taken aback; if Warren Vance hadn’t mentioned it, she would have almost forgotten about falling into a thorn bush and getting wounded all over.

At the time, she just wished she could pass out and escape that excruciating pain.