Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 116 - - operation

But the most bizarre thing was that everyone knew he was involved in the drug business, yet no one could find any solid evidence to incriminate him.

This fully demonstrated how meticulous he was in his actions. Tonight's operation was extremely dangerous. As for Karl and William S. Lancaster, Albert Wilson had never intended to take their lives himself. He only wanted to ruin their reputations and drive them to take their own lives.

But for Robin Laurence, he wanted to personally end his life, because it was Robin who had proposed that malicious suggestion in the past, which had led to his family's destruction.

"Boss, you got humiliated by little Cynthia again. You always take your frustrations out on me! Hmph! I won't go, I'm not going!"

Monica shot him a glare at his grim expression, then turned her hips and walked out of the office in displeasure.

Albert Wilson was so angry he nearly spat blood. What did she mean by "humiliated by that woman"? If it weren't for the fact that he had important matters to deal with, how could he let that woman act so arrogantly?

After Monica left, Jim followed her out. Seeing her graceful figure sway as she walked into the office, he couldn't keep his calm.

Ever since she had broken up and gotten back together with that old man, Albert Wilson no longer opposed their relationship. However, Jim felt something was wrong, though he couldn't quite place it.

Every time he saw the old man's car parked downstairs to pick her up, or saw her fluttering toward the car like a butterfly, or witnessed the radiant smile on her face the day after their dates, he felt a murderous impulse rising within him.

Monica came out of the office holding a delicate cup, only to find him leaning against the door of the break room, smoking. The thick smoke filled the entire top floor, causing her to wrinkle her beautiful face in complaint:

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"Hey, Jim, don't you have any sense of public decency? If you want to smoke, go back to your office and close the door! Don't you know that it's best not to smoke in a place with ladies?"

As she complained, she opened all the windows. After completing this task, she realized, to her surprise, that he didn't argue with her as usual but was silent, not saying a word.

Confused, she turned around and met his deep, burning gaze. She had never seen him look so intense before, and she was startled enough to rush over and touch his forehead. Her large eyes blinked as she looked at him, asking,

"Jim, are you sick? Why do you look like the brooding male lead from a romance drama?"

"Doesn't that old man smoke?"

After a long silence, he suddenly asked this question without any preamble.

"Of course not. He doesn't smoke or drink. He's very clean," she replied.

As she spoke, she carried her cup and walked past him, heading toward the break room to get some water for coffee. Her tone was filled with pride and admiration.

He shot her a fierce glare, stubbed out his cigarette in the nearby trash can, then turned and stormed into his office, slamming the door with a loud bang. She was left stunned. What had she done to upset him again?

Wasn't she just commenting on his smoking? She had scolded him worse in the past, yet he had never gotten this angry. She shook her head helplessly. Did men also have their "bad days" once a month?

In the middle of the night, Cynthia was soundly asleep when a sharp ringtone sliced through the silence, waking her from her dreams. Groggily, she picked up her phone, and to her surprise, it was Bonnie calling. Instantly, all her drowsiness disappeared. If Bonnie was calling at this hour, something serious must have happened.

"Cynthia, you have to help me, save my brother—"

Sure enough, Bonnie, who was usually carefree and bold, was crying uncontrollably on the other end of the line. Cynthia, clutching her blanket, sat up in bed, her voice filled with concern as she asked,

"Laurence, what happened?"

Bonnie's voice was filled with grief and desperation.

"My brother's turf was attacked tonight. He got shot twice and is in critical condition. But for some reason, all the hospitals seem to be in on it—none of them will take him in for surgery—"

Cynthia's heart skipped a beat. She knew Bonnie was referring to Carl Laurence, Robin Laurence's son. Although Bonnie had never been fully accepted by the Laurence family, it was Robin's wife and daughter, who rejected her.

As the older brother, Carl had always been protective of Bonnie. Perhaps it was because men were generally more open-minded than women. Bonnie often spoke highly of her brother, so now that Carl's life was in danger, she was, of course, desperate and heartbroken.

"Cynthia, I know you're a doctor. Please, I beg you, save my brother! You're the only one who can help him now!" Bonnie was sobbing, breathless.

Bonnie had always known about Cynthia's profession. In fact, it was because of this that Bonnie had often helped her skip classes, cover for her, or assist her during exams, believing that being a doctor was a noble vocation.

Normally, as the president of the student council, Bonnie was tough and strong. But hearing her cry like this, Cynthia's heart ached.

"Laurence, don't panic. Where are you? I'll be there right away!"

"I'm at... the Laurence family..."

Bonnie hesitated for a moment before speaking. She didn't mention that she was standing outside the gates of the Laurence family mansion, blocked from entering and anxiously waiting outside.

The Laurence family.

The large estate was brightly lit, and the sounds of crying filled the air. The women of the Laurence family had already fainted from crying several times. Robin Laurence's face was grim, a mixture of rage, brutality, and deep worry.

Carl Laurence was his lifeblood, the only heir to the Laurence family. If he were to die here today, Robin vowed to tear apart whoever was behind it. The more he thought about it, the colder and more vicious his eyes became.

Meanwhile, the family doctor of the Laurence family was sweating profusely, his face as pale as a ghost. He had been a surgeon, but after retiring, he became the family doctor.

However, in all his years of service, he had never faced such a severe injury. He was old, and the scene before him was so bloody and gruesome that his hands trembled uncontrollably, to the point where he could hardly hold the scalpel.

Carl Laurence had been shot twice. One bullet hit his leg, which he could manage, but the other pierced his chest, leaving him helpless. Attempting to handle it himself seemed unthinkable—his life was hanging by a thread, and one wrong move could snuff out that fragile breath entirely.

After hesitating for what felt like an eternity, the family doctor finally stammered, trembling as he spoke.

"Mr. Laurence, y-you'd better find someone more capable. I-I really can't do it!"

"If I could find someone else, why would I even bother with you, you useless old fool!"

Robin Laurence, seething with rage, kicked the doctor to the ground. His chest heaved violently as fury consumed him.

Moments later, Robin suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed onto the sofa. His face turned an alarming shade of red, resembling a liver. The servants rushed to his side, handing him medicine and helping to ease his breathing. It took considerable effort before he finally recovered.

Just then, the Laurence family butler entered hurriedly. His gaze swept over Mrs. Laurence, whose eyes were swollen from crying, and young Miss Laurence, whose face was equally tear-streaked. Looking conflicted, he delivered his report.

"Sir, the eldest miss is outside, asking to see you. She claims her friend can save the young master!"

No sooner had the butler finished speaking than Mrs. Laurence's enraged voice cut through the air.

"Get out! Tell her to get out! If it weren't for that wretched girl, my precious Carl wouldn't be in this state!"

Carl Laurence was typically accompanied by bodyguards whenever he went out. Tonight, however, he'd stepped in to help her after she was caught secretly photographing a celebrity and found herself being relentlessly harassed. It was in the chaos that someone lying in wait struck, and Carl took the bullets meant for her.

"Enough!"

Robin Laurence's sudden roar silenced the room.

"This is no time to argue about bad luck! If Bonnie dares to make such a claim, it must mean her friend really has the skills to help!"

He shot a stern glare at the sobbing mother and daughter before turning back to the butler.

"Bring them in!"

The butler bowed and left to carry out the order. The other two women didn't dare make another sound.

"Carl—"

Bonnie entered with Cynthia in tow. The moment she saw Carl Laurence lying pale and motionless on the bed, tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. Yet, she could only cover her mouth with her hand, muffling her soft sobs.

"I'm sorry, brother. It's all my fault!"

Bonnie's tearful apology echoed in the room. Yet when everyone saw that the person she had brought was an unremarkable-looking woman, they couldn't help but feel disdainful.

Robin Laurence, however, being a man of experience, immediately sensed something different in the woman's calm confidence. His demeanor shifted slightly as he spoke.

"Miss, since Bonnie says you can save Carl, I'll trust you."

Wearing a human-skin mask, Cynthia paid no mind to the skeptical looks. Her focus instead fell on Bonnie's distressed expression. Without a word, she held Bonnie's hand and led her to Carl Laurence's bedside. She knew Bonnie desperately wanted to be close to him, yet the hostility of the Laurence mother and daughter had kept her at a distance.

The mother and daughter opened their mouths to protest, but a single cold, piercing glare from Cynthia silenced them. The threat in her eyes was unmistakable, and with Carl Laurence's life hanging in the balance, they had no choice but to swallow their objections.

Once the room was quiet, Cynthia donned a pair of gloves and took the medical tools from the family doctor. Her movements were deliberate and practiced as she began the operation.

Carl Laurence's chest was soaked in blood, a sight that would have unnerved most people. Yet Cynthia remained utterly composed, her hands steady and sure as she worked. The family doctor, who had been paralyzed with fear earlier, now found himself reduced to assisting her.

The operation continued in tense silence. Everyone held their breath, watching intently. Time seemed to stretch endlessly until the sharp clink of metal broke the stillness. The bullet was finally extracted. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room as the tension eased. Beads of sweat glistened on Cynthia's forehead, a testament to her effort.

What had started as an opportunity for mockery now left everyone in awe. Cynthia swiftly disinfected the wound, applied medicine, and bandaged it with such smooth precision that her movements appeared almost elegant. The efficiency and poise of her work left everyone stunned.

Bonnie stood frozen, unsure whether to cry or laugh, overwhelmed with emotion. Meanwhile, the Laurence mother and daughter broke down in tears of relief. Even the typically ruthless Robin Laurence seemed transformed. Striding forward, he gripped Cynthia's hand tightly, his voice trembling with gratitude.

"Thank you... thank you so much!"