Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 82 - - the game isn’t over yet

When they arrived, the weather was already gloomy, with what seemed to be snowflakes drifting down. At this moment, the snowflakes seemed to be falling more heavily, as if they were silently mourning the tragedy unfolding.

Cynthia sat there in a daze, her bare ankles scratched by the friction of her high heels, peeling skin off. She was only wearing a thin dress, and in this snow-filled weather, the cold marble beneath her felt like ice, but she seemed oblivious to any chill.

Maureen Lancaster came out behind her, holding her coat and shoes. The others had gone to the hospital, leaving her and Wendy to handle the aftermath. She gently draped the coat over Cynthia's shoulders and helped her up to put on her shoes.

"Cynthia, good people will be rewarded, Vince will be fine. Heaven will protect him," Maureen Lancaster tried to comfort her, but she had no other words.

As soon as she finished speaking, she saw Cynthia slump down again, burying her head deeply in her knees, hugging herself as she silently sobbed.

"Vince, Vince! Please, you have to survive! You must survive!" Cynthia clutched herself tightly, her sharp nails digging into her skin as if this pain would connect her to Vincent, making her share in his heart-wrenching agony.

Behind her, there was the steady, powerful sound of footsteps. Maureen Lancaster turned to glance at the man who had walked out with a frosty expression on his face, then looked back at Cynthia still crying. She shook her head and turned to go inside.

Albert Wilson stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at her with a blank expression. His whole body emanated an icy coldness that seemed to surpass even the chill of the early spring weather.

It was unclear how much time had passed, long enough for Albert Wilson to feel his feet growing numb from the cold, yet that woman still remained there, motionless.

He took a few steps forward and roughly pulled the frail, disheveled woman up from the ground. When he saw her tear-streaked face, he couldn't suppress his anger and shouted,

"Isn't it humiliating enough for you?"

The person had already been sent to the hospital, yet she was still here crying endlessly. What was crying going to solve? Could crying undo everything that had just happened? Or could crying bring Vincent back to life?

Cynthia was already in a heavy mood, and his rough handling caused her pain. What hurt even more, though, was his mocking words. Without thinking, her mind went blank, and she spat out the words that had been weighing on her heart.

"What's wrong, Vice President Wilson? Am I embarrassing you? If I'm such an embarrassment, then why did you marry me in the first place? If I'm such an embarrassment, then hurry up and divorce me, and go find someone who won't embarrass you!"

As she spoke, her tears flowed again.

"Oh, right, isn't there the woman you're so fond of? She must be obedient, always listening to you, never arguing or causing trouble, never embarrassing you. You can just marry her!"

His expression darkened suddenly as he raised his hand and tightly grasped her chin.

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"What did you say? Say that again?"

If he hadn't heard wrong, did she just say... divorce?

The sharp pain in her chin immediately forced all the tears from Cynthia's eyes, yet amidst her tears, she managed to raise a smile.

"I said, Albert Wilson, I want a divorce! Divorce—"

The last two words, "divorce," she screamed out hysterically. Her throat, already hoarse from the intense shouting, produced a voice that was raspy and coarse, more grating than a broken gong.

For some reason, Albert Wilson felt that hearing the word "divorce" from her lips at this moment was so piercing. He wanted nothing more than to snap her neck.

"Just because that man once died for you, you want to leave me, you want to divorce me?"

The biting cold and intense pain seemed to have no effect on her anymore. Her face was covered in winding tears, but the corners of her mouth curled into a faint smile.

"It's not because he died for me, and it's not because I want to go with him. It's because our marriage was a mistake from the very beginning. We should never have gotten married in the first place!"

Yes, if it weren't for him, perhaps today's tragedy wouldn't have happened. She didn't think she had ever offended anyone with firearms. Even if Doreen Lancaster and Grace Lancaster wanted to deal with her, they would likely have only sent some thugs to scare her. They wouldn't have intended to kill her.

And the hatred she felt as soon as she stepped into the banquet hall clearly came from the woman herself. The woman who would harbor such hostility toward her could only be his wife, no one else.

Albert Wilson's rage turned to laughter, and the corners of his beautiful lips curled into a cold arc.

"Sorry, Miss Lancaster, the game isn't over yet. I haven't finished using you, so... we can't divorce!"

Cynthia's pupils suddenly constricted, and her frail body swayed a few times. If it weren't for her chin being trapped in his hand, she thought she would have collapsed to the ground in a heap.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, standing motionless as if she were trying to peer into his soul through his eyes. But at this moment, in his dark pupils, there was nothing but coldness, an emptiness that held nothing more.

After a long pause, she stared at him and, in despair, uttered,

"Albert Wilson, you're a demon!"

He said he hadn't finished using her yet.

He truly was a demon.

He knew her heart was already shattered from Vincent's injury, yet he heartlessly kept rubbing salt into the wound.

She wanted to scream at him, to strike him, but unfortunately, she had already exhausted all her strength, both physically and mentally. Before her hand could even touch him, her vision darkened, and she fainted.

Albert Wilson reached out and caught her frail body. He glanced down indifferently at the person in his arms. Her face was already smeared with makeup, making it impossible to discern her true features, but there was a hint of stubbornness at the corners of her eyes and brows. Without saying anything, he picked her up, carried her to the car, and left.

Cynthia woke to waves of sharp pain in her throat. She struggled to open her eyes and saw Bonnie's shadow hazily appearing before her. Desperately, she tried to speak but found her voice completely gone.

Seeing that she was awake, Bonnie hurriedly grabbed a cup of water from the side and gently poured it into her throat. With the water, Cynthia felt the swelling and dryness in her throat ease a little.

"Ah—Laurence—"

She opened her mouth, but the sound that came out shocked even her.

"Ah, with your throat like that, you shouldn't talk yet!"

Bonnie quickly gave her another large sip of water and gently pushed her back down when Cynthia tried to sit up.

Seeing the confusion in Cynthia's eyes, Bonnie sighed.

"The doctor said you screamed like a madwoman for a long time. Plus, you caught a cold, and now your throat's badly inflamed. It's best if you don't speak at all, if possible."

Hearing this, Cynthia became anxious. She struggled to sit up from the bed, her throat aching painfully, and urgently asked,

"Vince... Vince, how is he?"