Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 110 - - Marc is critically ill

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He quickly turned and chased back along the path they came from. As he passed the small kiosk, he turned his head and saw her laughing carelessly among a group of people. He had to admit that this woman was really quite heartless, cold, and selfish.

With a serious face, he strode forward and roughly pulled her out of the crowd. She rubbed her arm in displeasure, complaining, "Albert Wilson, why are you pulling me so hard? I can walk by myself!"

He had been boiling with anger and was ready to scold her, but for some reason, no words came out. Instead, a sense of joy, like something lost and then found, slowly replaced his anger. So, he just stood there, pursing his lips and glaring at her.

Cynthia, confused by his inexplicable mood swings, was on the verge of breaking down. One moment he was angry, the next it seemed like he wasn't. But thinking about the photo behind them, she excitedly grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the screen, pointing at the photo on it and saying, "Look at our photo from the ride, it's so funny!"

Albert Wilson followed her finger and looked at the photo. His face was horribly contorted, almost unrecognizable. It took him quite a while to realize it was his own face. Then he looked beside him, and saw her expression completely calm, as if she were admiring the scenery. His face instantly turned black with rage.

"What's so funny? Let's go!"

He glared at the young woman managing the photos, grabbing Cynthia and pulling her away without looking back.

He swore that for the next ride, he would keep a calm and elegant demeanor to make up for this embarrassment. She, following behind him, grumbled, "Why are you in such a rush? I want to buy this photo as a souvenir. I don't want to leave France with nothing to remember it by!"

Souvenir? Albert Wilson felt like she was going to kill him. She was probably the only one in the world who would say something like that. Didn't she see what a mess his face looked like in that photo? Was she planning to take it home and make him the laughingstock?

"Let's buy it after the next ride!"

He angrily threw a sentence at her, then grabbed her hand and left the kiosk.

For the second ride, Cynthia chose a thrilling one called the Flying Chairs, which was only slightly less intense than the roller coaster they just rode. Of course, Albert had no idea, and just by looking at the ride, he assumed it was simpler than the previous one.

His pale face had improved a little, but once they got on the ride, he realized that just looking at it wasn't enough—you had to experience it firsthand to judge how terrifying it really was.

The chairs they sat in spun, and the large platform supporting all the chairs also rotated, like the Earth and the Moon's revolution and rotation. The most important part was that they were spinning 10 meters above the ground, constantly spinning... spinning... spinning... Sometimes it would stop suddenly, and when you thought it had come to a halt mid-air, it would unexpectedly flip and drop.

Each time it dropped, his heart felt like it was violently thrown from the high clouds. He couldn't do anything but tightly shut his eyes, hearing only the whistling wind and the screams of people—of course, hers too.

He thought to himself that he must be crazy to repeatedly go on these terrifying rides just to keep her company.

By the end of the second ride, not only had he failed to stay calm, but his face had grown even paler. Meanwhile, she was still full of excitement, trying to drag him to look at the photos.

Without a doubt, his face still expressed agony, while she remained completely composed. This time, she insisted on buying the photo, but he refused adamantly—it was too embarrassing. If she took it back and others saw it, they'd laugh themselves to death.

In the end, they had an argument and parted on bad terms. No matter what, he couldn't compromise; it was a matter of his reputation. She didn't seem to want to compromise either, leaving him alone as she went off to find more exciting games.

Poor him—if he didn't follow her, he was afraid she might get lost; if he did, he didn't have the courage to go on any more rides. So, he had no choice but to follow her in line. Once it was her turn, he stayed behind and watched. After watching one ride, he absolutely refused to let her go again because he found watching her play more agonizing than playing himself.

Cynthia didn't argue with him anymore. After a few rides, she was so exhausted that her legs felt like they were going to give out. Her much-anticipated bungee jumping had to be put off, and she couldn't help but sigh, thinking that she must be getting old.

That night, when they returned, he was finally too tired to torture her anymore. After a shower, he fell into a deep sleep, while she secretly smiled to herself, feeling victorious.

The two of them stayed in Paris for a few more days before heading back to their home country. He took her to visit all the places worth seeing in Paris. Indeed, Paris lived up to its reputation as the city of romance. After spending so much time there, one couldn't help but feel as though the air itself was imbued with romance.

They caught an early morning flight back home. Because they had to get up so early, Cynthia continued to sleep drowsily in the taxi. Albert Wilson looked down at the person peacefully sleeping in his arms and was suddenly struck by a few thoughts. Looking at her beautiful exterior and her noble lifestyle, he realized that her heart was actually very lonely. Her life was filled with only so much warmth, and it seemed that over the past few days... all that warmth had been given to this little woman.

In the airport lobby, Cynthia was pushing the luggage and waiting not far away, while Albert Wilson was checking in. From this not too far, not too near distance, she looked at his broad back, and she felt that something within her was gradually changing.

This trip was something she hadn't anticipated. It happened when she least expected it, but in the end, it changed many things.

Suddenly, her phone rang with a crisp sound. She looked at the caller ID and, happy, answered the phone. The person on the other end said only one sentence, and it instantly wiped the smile off her face. Her slender fingers trembled so much that she couldn't even hold the phone. Slowly, the phone slipped from her hand and fell with a sharp clink onto the smooth marble floor.

On the other end of the phone, Victoria's sorrowful voice came through.

"Senior, Marc is critically ill..."

Cynthia only felt her head explode with a loud ringing sound, and after a brief moment of suffocation, a sharp pain shot through her chest. It felt as though a hand was fiercely grabbing, squeezing, and twisting her chest, or as if countless sharp knives were stabbing, piercing, and slashing through her. She trembled as she reached out with both hands to clutch her chest, bending down and crouching to the floor.

She wasn't unaware of Marc's condition—she had known something was wrong in Boston. However, she never expected it to escalate so suddenly. As early as during the New Year, she had noticed he was off, but he refused to let her get close and wouldn't go to the hospital for treatment. He insisted that as a doctor, he knew his own body best.

Albert Wilson heard a sharp sound behind him and instinctively turned around. He saw his little woman, pale-faced, clutching her chest and crouching down, her frail body stumbling as though she might fall at any moment.

He didn't bother with his boarding pass anymore. In just a few strides, he rushed over, pulling her weak body into his arms, supporting her entire weight against his chest.

"What happened?"

His voice trembled slightly. He thought she had suddenly felt unwell.

She slowly lifted her head from his chest and looked at him. The pale face was filled with heartbreaking sadness and pain, and it made his heart twist painfully in response.

She gazed at him with vacant eyes, completely unfocused, her lips parted as if she was trying to speak, but no words came out. He could feel her body trembling, and her fingers clutching her chest were shaking uncontrollably.

Seeing her in such a state, he had no choice but to gently place his hand on her frail shoulders, bending down to get closer and patiently ask,

"Darling, don't panic, tell me what happened!"

The warmth of his palm spread from her shoulders, driving away the chill in her heart. His voice was firm and full of strength. It was only then that a glimmer of light appeared in her eyes. She clutched his shirt tightly, like a drowning person grabbing onto their last lifeline.

"Victoria said... H-Heng, Marc... is critically ill..."

Before she could finish, tears began to fall. She wasn't an emotionless person. She wasn't someone who didn't care, but the people she cared about were few. And because the number of people she truly cared for was so small, any problem with them was enough to shatter her.

Albert Wilson was clearly startled by her words. However, as Vice President Wilson, he could keep a clear head and remain calm even when the sky was falling. So the next second, he helped her sit down on a nearby chair, then walked over to pick up her phone that had fallen to the floor. The last call displayed on the phone was from Victoria at the orphanage.

Albert Wilson dialed Victoria's number. As he listened, his brows furrowed deeper, his expression growing more serious and tense. Finally, his voice was heavy as he said,

"I understand."