Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 111 - - You’re tired

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On the phone, Victoria explained that Marc suddenly began clutching his abdomen in excruciating pain last night, forcing them to rush him to the hospital. The test results came back with a devastating diagnosis: late-stage liver cancer, and they issued a death notice.

Some diseases come on so aggressively that from diagnosis to death, it takes no more than a month. What's worse is that Marc had endured it until he could no longer bear it, and it was only then that someone noticed.

After hanging up with Victoria, he glanced at the small woman curled up on the bench, her face pale with tears silently streaming down her cheeks. She clearly hadn't come to terms with the shocking news, or perhaps she didn't want to—refusing to accept the reality.

At this moment, looking at her in this state, he felt nothing but heartache. After making a few phone calls from his phone, he walked over, pulled her into his embrace, and began dragging their luggage toward the exit of the airport.

Cynthia had lost all strength and simply leaned against him, letting him carry her.

Some people, she never wanted to rely on, yet somehow he always appeared just when she needed support the most—time and time again.

When Vincent was shot for her and she was ostracized, when she was thrown into the sea and nearly drowned, and now, as Marc's condition worsens and she's on the brink of collapse, it's always him beside her, offering her support.

Some people, some situations, are simply impossible to resist.

At a helicopter in the outskirts of Paris, a group of people had been waiting to take their luggage. He bent down, lifted the frail woman into his arms, and boarded the helicopter. She curled up in his embrace like a little cat.

The closer they got to the helicopter, the stronger the air currents became. Her burgundy hair flew wildly in the wind, a few strands even brushing across his cheek. The delicate fragrance and soft touch left a deep mark on his heart.

Throughout the journey, she silently cried, and Cynthia's mind was flooded with memories of her time with Marc. He had treated her like a mentor and a father, and if not for him, she wouldn't have been who she was today.

She vaguely remembered when her mother had passed away and she was sent to the orphanage. Marc had always taken great care of her. She never understood why he treated her so well, until she grew older, and he told her about his admiration and love for her mother.

He said that the mesmerizing dance her mother performed back then had not only won William S. Lancaster's heart but also his, as he sat alone in the corner drinking in silence.

He was originally a highly talented graduate of a prestigious medical school, capable of securing a respectable job. Yet, for the sake of that fragile and delicate woman, he became the family doctor of the Lancaster family, simply to be able to see her every day and protect her.

But over the years, his relationship with her had evolved. He no longer took care of her merely for the sake of her mother; he had long since come to treat her as his own daughter, and she regarded him like a father.

She knew how much he had worried over the orphanage all these years. She had always planned to take over his work once she graduated, so he could enjoy his later years in peace. But she never expected that he wouldn't live to see the day when she could repay his kindness...

Thinking of this, her heart ached even more, filled with regret, sorrow, and the unbearable pain of loss. Her tears flowed even more freely, but she made no sound, biting her lip and allowing the tears to streak down her face.

Over the years, she had grown accustomed to silently crying alone.

Albert Wilson was quite dissatisfied with the way she was handling her emotions. A woman should allow herself to be vulnerable when the time comes, especially now, with a man by her side. What harm would it do for her to cry in his arms? Why did she have to be so stubborn?

He had been sitting opposite her, and when he raised his eyes, he saw her tear-streaked face. After a few minutes, he could no longer contain himself. He stood up, walked over, and pulled her into his arms, roughly pressing her small head into his chest.

"Cry if you need to, but crying silently without a sound? That's not crying," he said, his tone firm.

Cynthia, already dizzy from crying, was pulled into his embrace. Her nose collided with his firm chest, making her feel even more overwhelmed. Her tears flowed faster, soaking the front of his shirt in no time.

But she still didn't make a sound. Albert Wilson truly didn't know what to do with her. He could only hold her in his arms, letting her tears soak through his shirt. This was the first time he had ever been at a loss when it came to a woman.

When they landed the helicopter, Jim was already waiting there. He quickly drove them toward the hospital. Throughout the flight, Cynthia had continued crying. She cried until exhaustion took over and she fell asleep, only to be jolted awake in her dreams. By the time they arrived, her eyes were completely swollen and red, resembling walnuts.

At the hospital, Victoria and Gary were waiting by Marc's bedside. Marc had just taken his medication and fallen asleep. Cynthia rushed into the room, but as soon as she saw Marc's face, now pale and gaunt, her legs gave way, and she nearly collapsed to the floor. Fortunately, the man who had entered behind her quickly caught her and held her up.

"Cynthia—"

Victoria, seeing her break down, walked over to her and gestured for her to follow her outside the room. Marc had been a great benefactor to them all, and their pain was no less than hers.

Cynthia placed her hands on her face and took a deep breath before turning to follow Victoria outside the room. Victoria's eyes were also red, her voice heavy with emotion as she spoke.

"Senior Sister, the doctor said... he won't make it... past three days."

Cynthia raised a hand to cover her mouth, swallowing all her sobs and tears, and only after a while did she slump against the wall behind her. She was a doctor too, and with a single glance, she could tell Marc didn't have much time left.

But why? Why did fate have to be so cruel to Marc? Wasn't it always said that good people would be rewarded? Marc had spent his entire life healing others, saving countless innocent children, and rescuing so many lives. Why, then, was he being taken away when they were finally in a position to help him?

When Albert Wilson came out of the room and saw her slumped against the wall, his heart ached. He stepped forward and gently pulled her up.

"You're tired. Why don't you go home and rest for a while?"

Cynthia slowly raised her eyes to look at the man in front of her. She had never felt such a sense of security before, feeling as though he was her everything, her protector. But she still shook her head.

"I'm not tired. I want to stay here with Marc!"

Marc didn't have much time left. She didn't know when he might leave them.

Albert Wilson raised his hand to brush aside the strands of hair from her forehead, revealing her fair and smooth skin.

"Be good, go back and take a rest. If anything happens, I'll let you know!"

Victoria, standing nearby, was surprised to hear him speak to her with such tenderness. This man actually had such a gentle side? But was this tenderness a good thing or a bad thing for her senior?

Albert Wilson noticed Victoria's gaze and his eyes darkened. Seeing her, a member of the Lancaster family, in such pain should have made him feel satisfied, shouldn't it? But why was all he feeling pain and reluctance? Why had he spoken such tender words and made such affectionate gestures?

Cynthia, however, was oblivious to his emotions. She was so immersed in her own sorrow that she didn't notice anything about his mood. It was only when his warm fingers touched her forehead that she became slightly aware of her surroundings.

She turned to glance at Victoria, who was comforting her.

"Senior, you've been running around and must be exhausted. I'll stay here with Marc, you should go rest."

Cynthia nodded in agreement, feeling like she was physically drained. Just as she was about to leave, the man suddenly grabbed her. There was a hint of concern in his gaze.

"Come to my place first. I'm not at ease with you like this. At least, at my place, Fredy will be there, right?"