Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 101 - - Mental illness?

Doreen Lancaster's face froze, her expression stiffening as Cynthia continued her merciless tirade.

"When you and Grace Lancaster insulted me and my mother as children, was that treating me like a sister? When you pushed me into the artificial lake, nearly drowning me, was that sisterly love? Slapping me over and over again—was that how you treated a sister? Crying and begging William S. Lancaster to send me to an orphanage to fend for myself—was that what a sister would do?"

Her voice wasn't loud, nor was her tone particularly fiery, but it carried an icy sharpness that cut deep, like a blade slashing across Doreen's pride. Doreen was left speechless, her face betraying an awkward mix of embarrassment and frustration.

Cynthia let out a cold scoff.

"So, Doreen Lancaster, don't you think it's disgusting to bring up sisterly bonds with me now?"

Doreen trembled with rage, her lips quivering as she retorted,

"Cynthia, fine! You're heartless! Absolutely heartless!"

Being sold to the Golden Triangle, to endure such unspeakable torment, was a fate worse than death for any woman.

Cynthia's lips curled into a faint smirk, her voice dripping with scorn.

"Right back at you, Doreen. Everything I've done, I learned directly from your personal 'teachings.'"

Ignoring Doreen's accusations, Cynthia turned her back on her and calmly addressed Albert Wilson, who had been silently observing the scene from his seat.

"Mr. Wilson, if there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."

He still looked pale, though his efficiency was undeniable. In just one day, he had traced everything back to Doreen Lancaster. Cynthia, however, couldn't help but wonder about the woman behind the scenes who had whispered those wicked suggestions into Doreen's ear. Then again, was there even any need for curiosity? The answer seemed obvious.

As for Doreen's punishment, Cynthia held no opinion. Doreen had been ruthless first, so why should Cynthia show her any mercy now?

Albert rested his chin on one hand, his complex gaze fixed on Cynthia. He said nothing, simply gesturing for Jim to escort her out.

Cynthia left without looking back.

Later, Cynthia heard that it was both Grace Lancaster and William S. Lancaster who had intervened to save Doreen Lancaster. While Doreen was spared the fate of being sold to the Golden Triangle, her time in this city had effectively come to an end. Klutz Corporation outright terminated her employment, and anyone dismissed by Chenji Industries was blacklisted—no other company dared to take her in.

With no other options, Doreen had no choice but to leave for another country once again.

That evening, Lucca returned to her apartment in an exceptionally foul mood. The moment she opened the door, someone seized her and pressed her hard against the wall, stealing a forceful kiss. Startled, she instinctively resisted. But when she caught the familiar scent on him, her shock turned to delight, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into a pool of submission.

"Albert—"

The man said nothing in the darkness, lifting her into his arms and heading straight for the bed. The joy of his unexpected tenderness crashed over Lucca, instantly dispelling all the anger that had simmered inside her throughout the day.

However, the strong smell of alcohol on him dampened her excitement.

"Albert, you've been drinking?"

"Hmm," he responded nonchalantly as he laid her down on the bed.

She let out a soft moan and clung to him as their passion consumed them, leaving no space for words or doubts.

When it was over, she nestled into his arms, holding him tightly and smiling with satisfaction. Her heart swelled with love for the man she adored. As he ran his fingers gently through her hair, his voice, low and calm, broke the silence.

"Lucca, from now on... don't touch her again. I can forgive you once, maybe even twice, but there won't be a third time."

Startled, she abruptly pulled away, sitting up in bed. The dim glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face. Trying to conceal her panic, she cleared her throat and asked in an even tone, "Albert, what do you mean by that?"

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, his crystalline eyes reflecting a swirl of emotions she couldn't decipher—regret? Sadness? A warning? Even a hint of heartbreak?

For a fleeting moment, Lucca felt an unsettling distance between them, as though he was slipping away from her grasp.

He studied her for a long time, his silence stretching unbearably, until she began to falter under the weight of his gaze. At last, he spoke, his voice steady but cold.

"Lucca, you know the lengths I can go to."

Albert rose from the bed without a backward glance and headed into the bathroom, leaving Lucca sitting there, trembling uncontrollably.

Yesterday's incident—he shouldn't have traced it back to her. She had taken every precaution, using a public phone and masking her voice. Most importantly, she had already sent those people away right after the incident.

No one could have betrayed her. How was he so certain it was her?

As anxiety churned in her chest, Albert emerged from the bathroom, walking straight to the wardrobe to change. Panicked, she scrambled out of bed and hurried after him.

"Albert, are you leaving?"

"Hmm," he replied without much thought, buttoning up his shirt. "I just remembered something I haven't finished dealing with."

His tone was casual, his expression distant, almost indifferent.

Her heart clenched painfully.

"But, Albert, it's been so long since you've stayed the night with me!"

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"Be good. Next time, I promise. Things have been busy lately. Get some rest," he said, brushing a light kiss on her forehead. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out, never looking back.

Lucca stood there, wrapped in a thin robe, arms clutching herself tightly. Slowly, she sank to the floor in the vast wardrobe, tears welling up in her eyes.

Was I wrong? she thought, her breath hitching.

All I wanted was to protect the man I love, to guard the feelings we share. Was even that a mistake?

Since that day when she saw him in his office, Cynthia hadn't seen him again. However, Monica often invited her to meals or to hang out at her place, and Cynthia, liking this straightforward and lively woman, never refused.

That day, while Monica was once again at her place for dinner, she casually mentioned that he had been on a business trip to Vietnam recently. Cynthia, half-joking, said, "I wonder how his mental illness recovery is going?"

Mental illness?

Monica immediately spat out the soup she had just lifted to her mouth. If her boss knew she was being called mentally ill, he would probably be so furious it might drive him crazy.

Seeing her reaction, Cynthia chuckled. "Isn't it a mental illness? Mental health disorder, abbreviated as mental illness!"

From her observations, it really did seem like a mental condition. Certain things could trigger such strong stimuli to the brain that it instinctively rejected them.

Monica quickly grabbed her phone and dialed his number, exclaiming that little Cynthia was concerned about his condition. After a brief conversation, she handed the phone over to Cynthia. The moment Cynthia held it to her ear, his mocking voice came through.

"The cold-hearted Miss Lancaster is actually concerned about my wellbeing?"

"Heh!"

Cynthia could only offer an awkward laugh. That scene with Doreen Lancaster was something this man had overheard in its entirety. Now, it seemed he was mocking her for her perceived lack of empathy.

"From Mr. Wilson's tone, it seems like there's nothing serious left. If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now," Cynthia said, preparing to end the call. However, he suddenly stopped her.

"Wait a moment!"