Cynthia Vaughn’s slender back stiffened slightly as she slowly turned to look at Cyrus Hawthorne at the bottom of the stairs, and asked with self-mockery, "Cyrus, we haven’t even divorced yet, and you’re already so eager to disgrace me?"
Cyrus Hawthorne’s handsome face remained cold as he hadn’t yet responded to her, when Laura Quinn raised her voice and started to scold, "How many generations of bad luck has the Hawthorne Family had to endure to marry a woman like you, with such an unrestrained private life, who flirts around? Coming back at this time every day, who are you seducing outside? Do you have no shame left?"
The harsh and sharp words almost pierced through Ann Vaughn’s eardrums. Even though she had been ridiculed countless times by Laura Quinn over these unfounded accusations, each time she heard them, her heart still ached with a twitch.
She could barely hold back and was about to argue with Laura Quinn, but was lightly interrupted by Cyrus Hawthorne, "Ann Vaughn, you go upstairs first."
Ann Vaughn immediately felt like a deflated balloon, with all her energy drained and nowhere to go.
She pressed her lips together, walked into her room, and closed the door, only to find Cynthia sitting in a wheelchair, taking her clothes out of the wardrobe.
"What are you doing in my room?" Ann Vaughn halted her steps, frowning.
Cynthia’s complexion looked much healthier than a few days ago, clearly having recovered well in recent days. She seemed somewhat surprised to see her, then smiled gently, "Sister, I didn’t bring enough clothes, and I want to wear yours. You wouldn’t mind, would you?"
Ann Vaughn obviously didn’t believe such an excuse; she feared Cynthia was waiting for Cyrus Hawthorne.
Ann Vaughn had no desire to waste words with her, walked over to close the wardrobe door, and said coolly, "I do mind, please leave here."
"Is sister angry?" Cynthia’s sweet smile was more and more provocative, "While you weren’t here these days, I used your room and enjoyed the attentions of your man. Even your mother-in-law seems to prefer me over you." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ NovᴇlFirᴇ.ɴet
"You see, sister, a substitute is ultimately just a substitute and cannot compare to the real thing."
"Yes," Ann Vaughn curled her lips, her eyes emotionless, "a substitute so eager to be a mistress, how could I stop her?"
Ann Vaughn knew this wasn’t what she meant, but hearing Ann Vaughn refer to her as a "substitute," Cynthia couldn’t help but feel a panic in her heart.
"Let’s wait and see." With that, Cynthia wheeled herself out of the room.
Ann Vaughn found it odd, always feeling that Cynthia’s expression earlier seemed somewhat guilty, although she didn’t know why she would be guilty about anything.
Suddenly, the text message ringtone chimed, and Ann Vaughn returned to her senses, looking down to check.
It was a notification about passing an interview, sent by the famous entertainment club "Aurelia" in The Imperial Capital. It was renowned not only for its luxurious location and expensive consumption but also for its mysteriously powerful background.
The reason Ann Vaughn chose to apply for a job there was because of Aurelia’s impenetrable security, and because here, people with talents in classical instruments would receive special preference and leniency.
As long as she arrived by seven every night to perform music according to the guests’ requests, she could leave by about ten-thirty.
This job was very suitable for Ann Vaughn, who had to make medicine at the small dispensary during the day.
Ann Vaughn responded with a message, exhaled a long breath while holding her phone.
Until she was about to fall asleep, Cyrus Hawthorne didn’t show up, and the gaze cast on the wall looked a bit dim.
Perhaps, he was accompanying Cynthia next door...
The next day, not wanting to see things she shouldn’t, Ann Vaughn left the house early for the small dispensary.
Just like a few days ago, there wasn’t a single customer, but Ann Vaughn wasn’t discouraged. She set up the new extraction agent and headed to Aurelia.
After changing clothes, Ann Vaughn was led by the manager to the twelfth floor, into a circular space with twelve screen rooms surrounding a central observation deck. The instrument she was to play that night was placed there.
Dressed in a snow-white and ink bamboo cheongsam, Ann Vaughn walked over to the guzheng and elegantly sat down.