Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 165 - - Don’t hold it in all the time

Quinn found Cynthia's far-fetched excuse both amusing and exasperating. Without saying much, he gently pulled her into his arms and said coolly:

"Cry if you want. Don't hold it in all the time."

Though he hadn't spent much time with her, he could already see her stubborn and strong-willed nature. She always forced herself to appear invincible and composed in front of others, hiding her vulnerability beneath a facade of strength.

Cynthia was deeply moved by his sudden tenderness, and her tears flowed even more uncontrollably. Nestled in his embrace, she began to speak whatever came to her mind, not caring whether he could fully understand. All she needed now was someone to listen.

She had originally intended to call Bonnie or VivianNancy, but halfway through, she realized her phone was gone. It had been smashed earlier in his office during their argument.

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Arguing with the one you love and confiding in a stranger—wasn't that precisely her situation now? She couldn't quite explain it herself. She simply felt that he could be her confidant, someone who would support her unconditionally no matter what decisions she made.

"Quinn," she said with a trembling voice, "he wants to go after Vince. Vince is such an important part of my life—I can't just stand by and watch him be destroyed. So I warned Vince, and then he got mad at me... Quinn, did I do the wrong thing?"

Her voice was full of grievance, and Quinn remained silent for a moment after hearing her. He knew a bit about Albert and his heavy burden of vengeance, especially given that his enemies were three powerful and prestigious figures.

Quinn understood. Their positions were not all that different. Some things were beyond their control—inescapable obligations they had to confront and fulfill. Revenge, for instance, was not something they could simply abandon.

Those who hadn't endured the pain of losing everything could never fully understand. So, he could only hold her gently and say,

"If staying with him makes you unhappy, then I'll find a way to take you away from him."

Cynthia pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him, shaking her head softly.

"Thank you, Quinn, but I don't think things have escalated to the point where I need to leave."

At that moment, she had no idea that a deep rift had already formed between her and that man. Her betrayal had crossed his bottom line, and her defiant lack of regret had left him utterly disheartened.

Seeing her resolve, Quinn said no more. Behind them, Arven was incessantly honking the car horn. Quinn reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and took her hand. In her palm, he scribbled a phone number.

"This is my number. Call me if you need anything. I won't be leaving this city for now."

Cynthia returned to her small apartment, splashed her face with cold water, and suddenly remembered the phone number Quinn had left in her palm earlier. When she opened her hand, the ink had already blurred. She sighed, turned on the tap, and gently washed away the remnants.

She had never thought of leaving him on her own, unless he gave up on her first.

The small loft, her little world, remained unchanged. She quietly performed a handstand in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window, slowly closing her eyes. Deep down, she knew this wouldn't actually help, but she deceived herself into thinking that this way, the tears wouldn't fall.

She wasn't someone who cried easily. In fact, she was so tough that some might call her cold-blooded. But ever since she started being with him, her tears had become unstoppable. She cried when he upset her, when he moved her, and, like now, when she felt desperate and heartbroken.

Later, she napped on the soft couch for a while and regained some energy. After tidying up, she hurried back to his house. She didn't know what awaited her there but refused to leave the place where he was.

That night, she waited for him all evening, but he didn't return. She thought of calling him, only to realize she didn't have a phone. She tried using the landline at home, but to her dismay, she couldn't even remember his number.

Ever since she moved into this house, it was rare for him to stay out overnight. No matter how late he was from socializing, he would always come back. Sometimes, to avoid disturbing her, he'd sleep in another room and then appear refreshed at the breakfast table the next morning to eat with her.

But that night, he didn't return at all. She couldn't sleep a wink. The next morning, she got up early and rushed to the dining room, only to be greeted by Fredy's awkward smile. She quickly turned around, running upstairs to check all the bedrooms, but there wasn't a single trace of him.

He really... didn't come back.

She sat down on the large bed in their bedroom, stunned, her heart icy cold. Was this how things would remain—locked in a stalemate? He had his hatred etched deep into his bones, and she had her own principles.

It wasn't that she opposed his revenge. But why did he have to drag innocent people into it? Why wouldn't he stop until everyone was dead?

Yes, maybe she hadn't experienced what he had and couldn't understand his pain. But he wasn't her either—how could he understand the care and warmth she felt for those who had shown her kindness?

After silently lamenting in her heart, she finally asked Fredy for his number and called him from the landline. But the moment the call connected and he heard her voice, he hung up. Holding the phone, she froze in place, utterly stunned.

Fredy hurriedly tried to comfort her, saying,

"Madam, don't take it to heart. The young master is just upset these days. Once he cools down in a few days, everything will be fine! Every couple has their little disagreements..."

She hung up the phone without saying a word, and without even eating breakfast, packed her things and went to the small clinic. Yet, deep down, she knew that this time wasn't like the trivial arguments of the past. In those moments, she would comfort him, he would tease her, and everything would return to normal.

But what she hadn't expected was that for many days after that, he never returned. As the weather grew colder, the mansion became like a vast ice house, even with the heating turned up high.

She had called him many times, but he never picked up. Fredy didn't speak of it, but she knew Fredy had secretly tried calling him countless times as well, yet he still didn't show up.

All the words of apology she had left unsaid piled up in her chest as the days dragged on, and the warmth in her heart gradually faded with each passing day of waiting.

Then one day, the first snow fell in the city. When she woke up that morning, she noticed a phone on the bedside table, identical to the one he had before. It was the same subtle yet sharp gray color, adorned with the intricate dragon pattern, but it was brand new.

He had returned!

She reached out and gently traced the raised pattern, suddenly feeling a sharp pang in her nose. Overcome with joy, she jumped up without even putting on her coat, clutching the phone tightly and rushing out. However, she searched the entire mansion and couldn't find him. Standing outside in the snow, wearing only thin clothes, she felt a deep sadness.

Fredy hurriedly pulled her into a room where the heater was running full blast and sighed.

"Young master came back early this morning. He stayed for a while... and then left again..."

Cynthia felt that the only thing she could do at that moment was smile bitterly, to mask the sorrow and melancholy deep within her, along with the sharp pain gnawing at her.

She had been busy at the clinic all day, and when she returned in the evening, the only ones waiting for her were Fredy and the housekeepers.

That night, lying in bed, she hesitated for a long time before finally dialing his number.

As the beeping sound echoed on the other end of the line, her heart tightened with every ring. She didn't know if he would hang up again, and she didn't know what she would say if he actually picked up the phone.

Just as she was anxiously lost in thought, a click sounded from the other side, signaling that the call had been answered. Her heart skipped a beat, and she opened her mouth, about to speak. However, before she could say anything, a series of ambiguous, heavy breaths came through the phone.

Along with them came the faint sound of a man's labored breathing and a woman's sultry, seductive moan.

"Albert... is it good?"