Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 84 - - Don’t die!

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Cynthia stood there, squinting her eyes at the car for a long time, but she didn't take a single step forward. She didn't know how to face this man anymore.

Before she passed out, his cruel words whispered in her ear had plunged her into despair. And just now, his indifference, his choice to stand by and do nothing, pushed her heart further into the abyss. She no longer held any expectations for this man.

She admitted that the peaceful days they shared during the New Year had given her a fleeting illusion of wanting to rely on him, but now it was clear—that was nothing but an illusion.

It wasn't until the car window, dark and bottomless like an abyss, slowly rolled down, revealing his detached face, that she was forced to move her feet toward the car.

As soon as she got into the passenger seat, the sharp smell of smoke assaulted her senses, making her cough uncontrollably as she covered her nose. Her throat was already sensitive, and the relentless coughing brought tears to her eyes.

He rolled down all the windows, letting the biting cold wind roar through the car, dispersing the acrid smell of smoke. Only then did her coughing finally subside, though tears still lingered at the corners of her eyes, refusing to stop.

Neither of them spoke. One of his arms rested on the window frame while the other hand gripped the steering wheel. The dim light traced elegant lines across his striking profile, while Cynthia leaned back in the seat, her exhaustion evident.

After a long silence, her voice finally broke through the tension. It was soft and hoarse, layered with pain that seemed to seep into every word.

"Albert Wilson, am I really that unbearable? Am I so hateful? Am I destined to never deserve happiness in this life?"

Albert's lips tightened as he looked at her, slumped lifelessly in the seat. The woman he'd seen over the past few days had been a shadow of herself, her face stained with tears, completely devoid of the strength and stubbornness she once carried. How much did that man mean to her, to reduce her to this state?

He opened his mouth, wanting to comfort her, but bitterness held him back. She was crying over another man, wallowing in despair over someone else. Why should he be the one to console her?

To be honest, his feelings toward her had grown cold. Once, he had thought about conquering her, making her not only physically drawn to him but also deeply infatuated with him. But now, it seemed he had overestimated himself.

So, there really was a woman in this world that Albert Wilson couldn't win over.

He chuckled bitterly, curling his lips in self-mockery as he started the car and drove away.

The fragile connection they had managed to build over the New Year was completely obliterated by this ordeal. His cruel remark about not having finished using her had crushed her heart, while her hysterical outburst over Vincent had left him disheartened.

By the time they reached her small apartment, she had already fallen asleep, leaning against the seat. He reached out, intending to wake her, but when he noticed her tightly furrowed brows, he froze, his hand pulling back instinctively.

"Vince—"

Suddenly, she let out a sharp cry, her expression changing dramatically. Her face turned deathly pale, as if she had been dragged back into the nightmare of the tragedy from a few days ago.

Her eyes remained shut, her hands flailing wildly, while large beads of cold sweat formed on her forehead.

"Vince, don't die! Don't die!"

"Cynthia? Cynthia—"

He grabbed her hands and called her name urgently, trying to pull her out of the nightmare.

Perhaps the warmth of his hands brought her a sense of security. She clung tightly to his hand, pressing it against her chest, and whimpered softly,

"Sob... Vince, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I hurt you..."

He let her hold his hand, silently watching as her tense expression gradually eased, her breathing steadying into a more peaceful rhythm.

If there's someone in your life willing to give up their life for you, no matter how cold your heart is, wouldn't it be moved?

In truth, he was no different. Wasn't it because that woman had once shielded him from a fatal bullet in the dark corners of the Golden Triangle that he had remained steadfastly by her side all this time?

As he thought about it, the frustration in his heart from seeing her obsess over that man these past few days began to dissipate. If she had remained completely indifferent to everything, that would have been truly terrifying. That would mean this woman really didn't have a heart.

He moved slightly, intending to withdraw his hand, but the motion startled her awake. Realizing she was still clutching his hand tightly against her chest, she reacted as if it were a burning coal, hastily shoving it back at him.

"S-sorry..."

Her pale face flushed a deep crimson from embarrassment, a delicate blush spreading across her cheeks like a layer of rosy watercolor. From his angle, it made her look vibrant, her appearance suddenly more lively and spirited.

Without thinking, he blurted out, "Let's visit Vincent together tomorrow morning."

The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to bite his own tongue. Albert Wilson, what the hell is wrong with you? You know Grace Lancaster would never allow her to be alone with Vincent. Are you planning to stand there and watch them pour their hearts out to each other?

He immediately regretted it, but she was thrilled. Her watery, wide eyes blinked at him in disbelief, her hands covering her mouth as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"Really? Really? You'd help me plead with Grace Lancaster?"

In truth, there was no need for him to plead. Grace Lancaster only gave him special permission to visit Vincent. Even Karl and William S. Lancaster weren't allowed to see him, yet he had been given access today.

Feeling irritated, he straightened in his seat and threw out a cold remark.

"Just pretend I didn't say anything."

"No! I won't!"

As if afraid he might change his mind, her small hand darted forward, clutching his arm tightly. He shot her an impatient glare, but the intense gratitude on her face made it hard for him to stay angry.

"Albert Wilson, thank you!"

Her sincere appreciation only deepened his irritation. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but soften at the sight of her earnest expression.

"Did you hear what I said? Get out of the car!"

Albert snapped impatiently, urging her to get out. He was utterly frustrated—if this continued any longer, he might really take back what he had just said.

Cynthia was clearly startled by his hot-and-cold attitude. Reluctantly, she let go of his arm and muttered softly, "Oh... okay."

She opened the car door and stepped out. As soon as she shut the door, the car sped off like an arrow, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Standing there, she watched the fading silhouette of the vehicle, letting out a long, deep breath. For the first time in days, a smile appeared on her face.

If it would take Vincent half a month to a month to recover and be discharged, she couldn't wait that long. Some words, if not spoken when the need to say them arises, might forever rot away in her heart.

What surprised her most was that, after pleading with everyone she could think of, it was him—the last person she expected—who finally stepped up to help her.

In high spirits, she returned home and immediately called Bonnie to share the news about tomorrow. Just as she hung up, the doorbell rang. Curious, she walked to the door, and standing outside was a woman of striking beauty.

The woman had an exceptionally gentle and elegant appearance, dressed in a simple and professional black-and-white outfit that exuded sophistication.

Cynthia opened the door and asked, puzzled, "Hello, may I ask who you're looking for?"

The woman's porcelain-like complexion and deep, ocean-blue eyes were mesmerizing.

"Miss Lancaster, hello. I'm Karl's secretary, Lucca. Here is my ID."

She handed over a work badge, her tone polite yet confident.