Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 14 - -Rest, my girl

Chapter 14 - Chapter 14-Rest, my girl

Cynthia, who had fled in haste, held herself tightly as she dashed out of the hotel and then wandered aimlessly along the wide street. Her mind was a tangled mess of chaotic emotions.

Eventually, she hailed a cab to the orphanage—a place that, to her, was a refuge, a warm harbor to rest in. Although she had a home and was part of the powerful Lancaster empire, a family renowned for its wealth and influence, it was, for her, nothing more than an empty facade.

When she was five, her mother had taken her own life, and Cynthia was sent to the orphanage for three years. There, she met Marc and many other children whose fates were even more tragic than her own. Together, they supported one another, bound by shared hardships and companionship. Though life was difficult, it was warm, and those three years shaped her, tempering her spirit to be as resilient as iron.

Later, under the pressure of public opinion and Maureen Lancaster-Vincent's insistence, William S. Lancaster took her back. From the age of eight to eighteen, she spent those ten years in the Lancaster household, warmed by Vincent's companionship. She thought that once she turned eighteen, they could be together at last, but he suddenly announced his engagement to Grace Lancaster.

From that point on, she never spoke of love so easily again.

Sitting quietly in the back seat of the cab, past memories replayed before her eyes. Her phone suddenly rang. She hesitated before answering, and his cold voice came through the line.

"Take a pill. I didn't use any protection last night."

A sting hit her nose, and a hint of wetness brushed her eyes. She pressed her lips tightly, said nothing, and ended the call. Her knuckles turned an alarming shade of white as she gripped her phone.

The car happened to pass by a pharmacy. She asked the driver to stop, then stepped out and forced herself to buy the medication. Should she thank him for the reminder, or mourn her own misfortune?

When she reached the orphanage, she remained silent, but Marc, noticing her pale and desolate expression, gently pulled her into a comforting embrace.

"Rest, my girl," he said. "When you're tired, you need to rest."

Marc was kind like a father and wise like a teacher. As the director of the orphanage, he had given her years of paternal care and guidance. If it hadn't been for Marc, she wouldn't be the person she was today.

Clinging to Marc, Cynthia finally broke down in tears. The days of pent-up grievance, the madness of the previous night—all of it weighed on her chest like a mountain, suffocating her.

It wasn't that she had no tears, nor that she was exceptionally strong. She simply didn't want to show her vulnerability to those who didn't matter. Someone had once told her, "Never tell others you're sad today, because it won't change anything."

In her room at the orphanage, she fell into a deep, heavy sleep. Last night, he hadn't let her go until the early hours, and she'd barely slept. It felt like she'd only just drifted off before startling awake again, fumbling to stitch together the torn seams of her shirt.

She had never imagined that being with a man could be so tormenting. She swore she would never let him touch her again—his stamina was overwhelming. Even now, it felt like his scent lingered on her skin.

She ended up sleeping until the afternoon. Half-awake, she received a call from William S. Lancaster, instructing her to return home immediately. With a pounding headache, she dragged herself out of bed.

Marc was waiting outside her room, holding a newspaper. He handed it to her, and there it was on the front page: *BGIG's CEO, Albert Wilson, and Lancaster family's Miss Cynthia Set to Wed!* She was instantly wide awake and, of course, understood why William S. Lancaster had called her back in such haste.

Albert Wilson, CEO of BGIG, was already a household name. As a rising power in the financial world, he was trailed by the media daily, his every move scrutinized. At only twenty-six, he was grouped with other influential leaders like Geraint of "Lanshi," Klutz of "Chenji," and Carbles of "Shengshi," collectively known as the Four Titans of BlackRock. Stories of his ruthless tactics and cold-heartedness abounded as he led BGIG to rapid prominence across Europe.

Rumor had it that BGIG controlled 80% of Europe's financial lifelines; even the slightest shift from them would send waves through the entire economy. This made him a prime target for favor among top officials across various nations.

But who, exactly, was this Miss Cynthia from the Lancaster family? And how had she won the heart of Deputy Wilson? By all rights, if he were to marry, it would be to Doreen Lancaster, wouldn't it? Not only was Doreen the eldest daughter of the Lancaster family, but she was also a stunning match for him. As a financial star and an adored model, the two seemed the perfect couple, a pairing that would complement both their careers. Yet here was this sudden, mysterious "Miss Cynthia of the Lancaster family," sparking intense curiosity and endless speculation in the tabloids.

Cynthia glanced at the mass of wild guesses printed beneath the bold headline and couldn't help but laugh. So this was what gossip was—turning nothing into sensational tales. She was just an ordinary woman in this bustling world.

What she didn't realize, though, was that the quiet and simple life she'd once dreamed of was about to be erased entirely. Her world would never return to what she'd once envisioned, not after becoming entangled with this man named Albert Wilson.

"Cynthia, this Lancaster... is that you?" Marc asked with a worried look.

"Yes!" She handed the newspaper back to him with a bright smile, causing Marc to look as though he were preparing his own daughter for marriage.

"Oh…" he stammered, "How…what do we do now? You say you're getting married all of a sudden, and I haven't even prepared a gift!"

His voice trembled with anxious excitement.

She let out a soft laugh. "Marc, what are you worrying about? It's just an act, after all!"

She picked up her bag and started walking away, Marc's voice still echoing behind her.

"Girl, no matter the reason, once a woman marries, she should protect her marriage."

Her hair flew in the breeze as she walked, head lowered, Marc's words stirring a slight turmoil in her heart.

Returning to the Lancaster household, she found things exactly as she'd expected. Everyone was already seated at the dining table, waiting for her under the guise of a family meal. But she knew it was merely an opportunity to employ every possible means to force her to give up.

With a light smile, she greeted everyone before taking her seat with perfect composure. At the head of the long rectangular table sat William S. Lancaster, with Maureen Lancaster and Grace Lancaster to his right. On his left were Wendy and Vincent, while she sat opposite Doreen Lancaster, who was beside Grace. They would never allow her to sit next to Vincent.

She had barely taken her seat when Doreen Lancaster opened her mouth, only to be silenced by a glare from Grace, who seemed to hold her gaze filled with resentment. Cynthia lowered her head and sipped her soup gracefully, waiting for them to make the first move. Right now, her only aim was to keep her calm.

After about five minutes, someone finally lost their composure. William S. Lancaster set down his chopsticks, cleared his throat, and adopted the authoritative tone of a family patriarch as he addressed her in a low voice.

"Cynthia—"

"Dad!"

Her clear, crisp voice cut him off before he could continue. Startled, William S. Lancaster blinked in surprise; it was rare for her to call him that. Before he could recover, she gave him a small, light smile and said,

"I have something to show you all."

The faint indifference in her expression, along with a subtle hint of mockery, bore a striking resemblance to a woman from his memory.

Cynthia took out her phone, scrolling a few times with her slender fingers before turning the screen to face the others. Her lips curved into a faint smile, like a brilliantly blooming poppy—captivating some, unsettling others.

"I'm already his. So… the only person he can marry is me."

As her words landed, gasps of disbelief filled the air, punctuated by the sound of chopsticks clattering to the marble floor.

Holding up her phone, she continued nonchalantly, "Or, if you prefer, I can let these photos circulate and completely disgrace the Lancaster family."

She'd known from the start they wouldn't easily agree to her marriage with Albert Wilson, just as they had once torn her and Vincent apart. But she was no longer the naive, clueless girl they could manipulate as they pleased.

The photo she now held up had been taken earlier that morning, while he'd still been asleep. In it, Albert lay sprawled across the bed, his face looking sated and handsome, softened by the morning light. He was shirtless, with the sheets covering him just up to his abdomen, barely hiding anything. His toned, powerful physique was fully visible.

The image made it impossible for anyone to doubt what had taken place between them. No woman would take such an intimate photo of a man without reason, and with a man like Vice President Wilson, no such photo would exist without a real connection.

Doreen Lancaster stared at the photo for a long moment, her eyes blazing with fury. She practically ground her teeth as she spat,

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

"Cynthia, you really have no shame whatsoever!"