Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 122 - - bad attitude!

Jim noticed his silence and continued,

"I later sent people to investigate that area, but no one saw who left you there. But boss, who saved you?"

Albert Wilson furrowed his brow and pondered deeply for a moment before murmuring a few words,

"Sunflower!"

He recalled the cold and composed eyes he had clung to in excruciating pain that night, and her teasing words. For some reason, he couldn't help but associate the sunflower with that petite woman.

Jim exclaimed in surprise,

"Sunflower? What a coincidence! I was just arranging for her to meet you a few days ago, and now you've already run into her. By the way, boss, did you get a good look at her?"

Albert Wilson looked a bit annoyed,

"No! She was wearing a mask!"

Thinking about how he almost managed to pull off her mask but failed made him restless. He reached out and groped around the bed.

Jim immediately handed over his phone, acting obsequiously,

"Boss, is this what you're looking for?"

He guessed the boss was likely planning to call Cynthia. After all, she hadn't visited yet, which must have wounded his boss's proud self-esteem.

Honestly, she was being way too heartless. When he updated her on the injuries, he had purposely made it sound serious. But it had been three days, and she hadn't shown up, not even a phone call or a message. Jim felt a pang of disappointment on the boss's behalf.

Watching Albert Wilson take the phone and start dialing Cynthia's number, Jim quickly stopped him,

"Boss, Miss Lucca is still outside!"

This reminder brought Albert Wilson back to the fact that Lucca was still waiting outside. With a headache, he said to Jim,

"Take her home. Just tell her I'm tired and need to rest!"

For some reason, he wanted to see that petite woman right now. He convinced himself that it was to question her—why she was so cold and indifferent, why she didn't care whether he lived or died.

Jim carried out his orders and left. Not long after, Lucca burst into the room, tears streaming down her face.

"Albert, you're injured so badly that you can't even take care of yourself. Let me stay and look after you, okay?"

Lucca was genuinely worried about him, terrified of losing him. She loved him more than she loved her own life. If she didn't, she wouldn't have taken that bullet for him back then. Sometimes, even she thought her stubbornness was frightening. But love was like that—once you love, you love.

Years ago, she had begged her father to save him. The moment he opened his eyes, she saw in them the depth, determination, resilience, and unyielding spirit of someone who wouldn't compromise or give up. She knew then that this boy would achieve greatness someday.

And now, time had proven her right. But something between them had changed. Ever since he suddenly decided to marry that woman, Cynthia, things had become... different.

Albert Wilson's frown deepened.

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"Lucca, you should go home. You've already stayed here for three days. Don't attract suspicion from others."

His words brought a flicker of hesitation to Lucca's face. He was right—her mission was to act as an undercover agent by Karl's side. Taking this much time off would undoubtedly raise suspicions in that old fox.

"I'll come back to check on you when I can," she said.

She cast him a worried glance before finally turning and leaving.

After Lucca left, Albert Wilson took several deep breaths, telling himself repeatedly to stay calm. Only after steadying himself did he dial that woman's number, trying his best to make his voice sound composed.

"Where are you?"

The drowsy voice that came through the phone instantly shattered the defenses he had painstakingly built. His lungs nearly exploded with rage.

"At home, sleeping!"

On the other end, Cynthia yawned, her voice heavy with exhaustion. Lately, she had been overwhelmed by assignments from her strict professor. She had stayed up until two in the morning to finish her paper, barely clinging to life.

Albert Wilson lay face down on the bed, and the wound on his back might have torn open. His roar was thunderous:

"I'm on the verge of death, and you can still sleep? Aren't you afraid I'll haunt you even as a ghost?"

After a long pause, her disgruntled mumble came through the phone:

"Well, today I learned that someone 'on the verge of death' can yell this loudly..."

Albert Wilson clutched the phone in silence for what felt like forever, unable to utter a single word. The injuries covering his body hadn't killed him, but one sentence from her could almost make him cough up blood.

Fredy, alarmed by the roar from outside, rushed in, only to see blood seeping from the wound on Albert's back, which had torn open. His face was ashen, his muscles taut, and he was teetering on the edge of fury.

"I'm giving you ten minutes to show up in front of me. Otherwise... deal with the consequences yourself!"

Albert Wilson barely managed to finish the sentence before throwing the phone aside in frustration. He slumped onto the bed, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, his anger nearly consuming him.

Damn that woman—what on earth was her heart made of?

On the other end, Cynthia frowned in displeasure as she stared at the abruptly disconnected call. She hadn't gone to see him for two reasons. First, she knew his condition better than anyone else. No matter how much Jim exaggerated, she was certain he wouldn't die.

Second, she figured Lucca would surely be by his side at this time. If she went over, running into Lucca would only make things awkward, so she decided to quietly live her own life instead.

Who could have guessed this man was determined to make her life difficult? She was already being driven crazy by her tyrant of a professor, and now he had to pile on more trouble.

Reluctantly, she got out of bed and slowly got herself ready. By the time she arrived at his luxurious mansion, many multiples of ten minutes had passed. Albert Wilson's patience had been completely exhausted, and he was already preparing to send Jim to drag her out of her little apartment.

Dressed in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, she appeared at the door of his bedroom looking utterly listless. Heavy dark circles hung under her eyes, and she seemed exhausted.

All the wounds on his body were screaming in pain, but the moment he saw her, that pain seemed to vanish completely. Yet, seeing her in this half-asleep, worn-out state made his pent-up anger swirl violently in his chest, with no way to let it out.

The moment Cynthia arrived, Jim, as if finally liberated, quickly slipped out of the room. Cynthia glanced at the half-naked man lying face down on the bed, then walked over with her hands in her pockets. Leaning forward slightly, she tilted her head to look at him.

His face was still a bit pale, likely due to the blood loss from that night, and that paleness was tinged with anger, no doubt because of her. His back had a long, winding wound wrapped in layers of gauze, faint traces of blood seeping through. She couldn't help but frown slightly.

This man—his temper really was too much. Even in such a state, he couldn't rein in his bad attitude!

She didn't know why, but looking at his awkward, miserable expression now, she couldn't help but burst into laughter. That laugh, to Albert Wilson, was the epitome of heartlessness.

Gritting his teeth and glaring at her, he couldn't stop himself from shouting,

"Cynthia, you can still laugh at a time like this?"