Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 172 - - Nonsense!

Cynthia finally regained some strength. Grabbing her phone from the side, she dialed the man's number, her voice full of despair and sharp with anguish.

"Albert, where have you taken Bonnie? What have you done to her?"

"I don't know!"

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Albert shifted his gaze away from the LCD screen on the TV.

He had just found out from the news that Bonnie had gone missing. He knew that Robin had died and Carl Laurence had fled, but he didn't know that the three women from the Laurence family had ended up like this, especially Bonnie.

He had never intended to hurt Bonnie for her sake, but it was said that a mysterious man had appeared at Robin's funeral a few days ago and taken Bonnie away.

Cynthia trembled at his indifferent response.

"Albert, saying you don't know is too hard to believe. Didn't you want to destroy the Laurence family and kill everyone? Didn't you say that?"

Albert grew irritated. How could this woman not trust him?

"I'll take responsibility for what I've done, but I won't take blame for things I haven't done!"

But maybe she wasn't wrong for doubting him. After all, he had done so many things that had chilled her heart. Who else could she blame but him?

On the other end, she first let out a loud mocking laugh, followed by a few angry curses.

"Albert, you actually sold a girl to that kind of place. Are you even human?"

The fingers holding the phone suddenly clenched, as if he were going to crush the hard plastic. His dark eyes instantly filled with anger. He could hear her crying and cursing at him through the phone. She yelled at him furiously:

"I hate you! I hate you, Albert!"

Then she hung up the phone. In a fit of rage, Albert threw his phone onto the ground and yelled furiously at Jim, who had just entered his office.

"Go find out who the hell took Bonnie!"

Jim immediately froze and hurriedly retreated from his office.

As for Cynthia, since Bonnie's disappearance, she had been extremely worried every day. Like a headless chicken, she called everyone she knew, trying to get some news, but there was nothing. Her hatred for that man grew deeper and deeper.

Days passed in endless torment, and the man never appeared again. By all accounts, he should have returned to Miami to celebrate the New Year.

Due to her poor mental state and the cold weather, she was struck hard by the flu in the days leading up to the New Year. Her head felt heavy, she sneezed nonstop, and her throat was so swollen that she couldn't even speak. At her worst, she lay in bed with a high fever.

On New Year's Eve, when Quinn knocked on her small apartment door, he was startled to see her cheeks flushed, her consciousness hazy. Before he could react, her feverish, limp body collapsed into his arms.

"Damn it, how did you end up like this?"

He quickly picked her up and rushed toward the hospital. She weakly grabbed his arm and protested with little strength.

"Don't go to the hospital! Don't go to the hospital! It's so unlucky to go to the hospital on New Year's Eve!"

Quinn was immediately taken aback, a trace of annoyance flashing across his usually stern face.

"You're burning up this much, and you still won't go to the hospital?"

She struggled to speak, her throat so swollen and painful that it was hard to talk, even drinking water hurt.

"My mom said that going to the hospital, taking medicine, and getting injections during the New Year will make you spend the whole year in a medicine jar!"

Quinn simply threw two words at her.

"Nonsense!"

Then he picked her up and tossed her into the car, heading straight for the hospital.

So, she spent that New Year's Eve in the hospital, suffering from a high fever and getting IV drips, accompanied by a strange man. Since Quinn had transformed into the intimidating boss he was now, she felt like the distance between them had grown. No matter what, they couldn't return to the way they once interacted when he had been under her care, like the time when he had been her patient, Wilson.

Like now, for instance, he sat awkwardly by her hospital bed, clumsily offering her a peeled tangerine. A flicker of rejection crossed her eyes as she froze, not reaching for it.

Quinn felt awkward too. He was a proud man, and he had never cared for a woman like this before. This was the first time in his life he had been rejected. He gave a strained smile, trying to save face.

"Afraid I might drug you?"

"It's not... I didn't mean it like that..."

Cynthia noticed his slight awkwardness and, with her hand that wasn't hooked up to the IV, took the tangerine. She distanced herself and said coldly, "Thank you."

She truly didn't mean what he thought; it just felt strange to her that he, someone with no familial connection, was being so considerate and thoughtful like this. It made her uncomfortable.

He dismissed it casually, saying, "You saved my life, and today I saved yours. I guess we're even now."

"Heh, then we're even," she replied, giving a small smile. The conversation fell silent, and the air between them became tense. He sat there, staring at her with complex emotions flickering in his eyes. She awkwardly ate the tangerine and turned her gaze elsewhere.

"Why didn't you call me?"

Quinn glanced at her, took out his phone, and started scrolling through his contacts.

Cynthia suddenly remembered that she had deleted the phone number he gave her and felt a bit embarrassed. She quickly made up an excuse to cover for herself.

"Uh... I was afraid of disturbing you at work..."

Just as she finished speaking, her phone rang. She reached out to answer it, but the call was immediately ended. Confused, she looked up to see him raise his own phone.

"That's my number. Now you won't lose it."

She glanced at the unfamiliar number on her screen, smiling awkwardly.

"I won't lose it..."

Then she lowered her head, avoiding his deep gaze, and saved his name in her phone.

After finishing her IV drip, Cynthia tried to get off the bed. Her legs felt numb and sore from sitting too long, and she stumbled, almost falling. Quinn quickly reached out to steady her. Seeing that she was still unsteady, he simply lifted her in his arms and started walking toward the door.

Her face immediately turned red, and she weakly struggled in his arms.

She wasn't blushing from shyness, but from awkwardness and embarrassment. Being held so intimately by a man she barely knew made her feel uncomfortable, like there were needles pricking her skin.

He, however, seemed unfazed. He continued holding her and carried her to the car. Once they arrived at her small apartment, after getting out of the car, she felt too weak to stand and hurriedly ran up to her apartment, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Even if she were as dense as she sometimes seemed, she could sense that this man had feelings for her. But she simply couldn't respond. Her heart was already filled with a man named Albert—sweetness came from him, bitterness came from him, and so did the pain.

A few days after the New Year, the holiday ended, and everything went back to normal. Cynthia's life returned to the routine of running between the clinic and her small apartment. There was still no word from him, and she was beginning to feel desperate.

She tried to comfort herself, telling herself that it was for the best, that it was better this way.