Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 85 - -rival

The woman seemed concerned that Cynthia might not believe her, so as she spoke, she gracefully gestured to the ID badge pinned to the lapel of her suit.

Cynthia tilted her head and glanced at the badge. Sure enough, the name "Lucca" was printed in bold red letters, accompanied by a clear, neat photo of the woman herself. However, the moment Cynthia heard she was associated with Karl, her expression shifted subtly.

"And what business do you have with me?" she asked, her tone a touch cooler now.

Lucca smiled politely, her demeanor calm and composed. "Oh, it's nothing serious. Mr. Dylan simply wishes to invite Miss Lancaster over for a little chat."

Cynthia's lips curled into a cold, mocking smirk. A "chat" with Karl? She could guess where this was headed. Most likely, he was planning to use a mix of coercion and persuasion to force her to stay away from Vincent, just as he and his family had tried to tear them apart years ago.

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These people only ever relied on two things: money to throw around and threats to intimidate. What else could they possibly have in their arsenal?

But times had changed. Back then, she'd been proud, tearing up the check he'd offered her and walking away with her head held high. Now, if he wanted to give her money, she'd gladly take every penny without hesitation. After all, it wasn't like his fortune was earned honorably. She could put it to good use improving the orphanage facilities.

With that thought, Cynthia put on a polite smile and said, "Please wait a moment while I grab a coat."

Lucca returned the gesture with a courteous nod.

When Cynthia reappeared with her coat, she followed Lucca, watching the woman's elegant figure move ahead of her. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she stumbled slightly. Reaching out to steady herself against the wall, she barely avoided falling.

That silhouette... she knew it all too well!

As Cynthia followed Lucca down the stairs, she couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. The silhouette before her—a slender, graceful figure—seemed hauntingly familiar.

She recalled that very figure leaning against the second-floor railing at the café where she first encountered Albert Wilson. It was the same one he had chased after on their wedding day and the same one he had supported during a hospital visit for an examination.

So delicate, so elegant. Even just the sight of her back inspired a protective tenderness that seemed to rise instinctively in anyone who saw her. Now, all those fragmented images from Cynthia's memory slowly converged into the woman currently descending the stairs in front of her.

Lucca? Karl's secretary? Since when? Cynthia had never heard of any rumors involving the two of them.

She might not have paid much attention to the gossip surrounding Karl, but she had a vague recollection of the many actresses and socialites tied to his name. It was hard to ignore when their faces were plastered all over the news and the internet. She'd seen enough of them to remember some details.

But Lucca? Never. Not a single photo, not a single story. To the outside world, they were nothing more than strangers. Yet, who would have guessed that this was the person Karl protected so meticulously?

Cynthia let out a soft, bitter laugh. So this is the woman he holds dear, she thought. Protected so thoroughly that not even the most persistent paparazzi could sniff out the connection. Sheltered from prying eyes, she was free to live a quiet, peaceful life without the constant attention or the envy of other women.

All the dazzling scandals and publicized romances—those were just smokescreens, distractions to keep the world's focus away from her. For the sake of this woman's tranquility, Karl had orchestrated it all.

Realizing this, Cynthia suddenly felt the weight of her own position. The supposed "rightful" wife—yet one whose existence seemed almost pitiable in comparison.

Because, in truth, she was the most pitiful collateral damage. All the resentment, jealousy, and hatred from other women toward Lancaster were directed squarely at her. After all, she was the one who held the coveted title of Mrs. Wilson—a position countless women had dreamed of for so long.

The four leaders of BlackRock were renowned across Europe and even globally—handsome, dashing, and accomplished. Forget about marrying them; even being one of the many women in their orbit was something countless women would willingly accept.

And to become their wife, to have their surname precede your name, to stand beside them and share unimaginable wealth and unrivaled power—that was the ultimate dream.

The woman ahead had descended a few steps, but when she noticed Cynthia standing frozen in place, she turned back and asked with concern,

"Miss Lancaster, are you alright? You don't look well."

Standing on the higher steps, Cynthia looked down at her. She had to admit, the woman was beautiful. Her delicate, fair, oval face, and those mesmerizing eyes that sparkled like water, were captivating. Though her outfit was simple and understated, the fine material and tailored fit hinted at an air of elegance and refinement.

Cynthia thought, She can't possibly be unaware of my existence. Didn't she leave crying on the day of the wedding? Yet now, she can act as if nothing ever happened. Truly, this woman is a master of disguise.

With that thought, Cynthia pulled her coat tightly around herself, closed the door, and followed the woman down the stairs. She replied casually,

"It's nothing. I've just been under the weather lately and feeling a bit off."

Perhaps Lucca wasn't aware that Cynthia had already discerned her identity just from her silhouette. Perhaps even he hadn't thought of it. Perhaps no one who knew of their relationship had imagined it. Or perhaps...this was simply a woman's intuition.

Karl's driver was behind the wheel, with Lucca seated in the front passenger seat, while Cynthia sat in the back. From her vantage point, she could see Lucca's delicate and graceful profile—it was undeniably beautiful.

Cynthia suddenly thought, A woman like this, standing beside someone as handsome as him, would truly be...a match made in heaven.

As the car drove off, Lucca glanced at the surrounding area, then turned around with a smile and asked,

"Miss Lancaster, why don't you live in the vice president's estate? Why stay in a place like this all by yourself? This area is so chaotic, and it's not safe for a young woman to be here."

Her words were sincere and heartfelt, but Cynthia couldn't help but shiver. A chilling wave swept over her, far colder than the brisk early spring air outside. At that moment, she could even hear the chattering of her teeth.

The man was hers, yet Lucca could speak so casually, as if it meant nothing. What kind of heart lay beneath that exquisite exterior?

Had Cynthia not uncovered her identity moments earlier, she might have been moved by Lucca's apparent goodwill.

However, no matter how good the acting, it is still just that—acting. The truest feelings at the core can never be fully concealed. For instance, although her eyes were filled with smiles at this moment, Cynthia still noticed the fleeting trace of resentment that passed through them.

For some reason, she suddenly felt that this fleeting resentment was exactly like the one that had lingered around her during William S. Lancaster's birthday banquet. Her heart sank.

If it was indeed her who had orchestrated this, then she was far too... cruel.

This terrifying realization completely soured Cynthia's impression of the woman. Initially, she had thought her beautiful, kind, and most importantly, she believed that any woman who could occupy such a place in a man like him's heart must be flawless. But now...

Now, all Cynthia felt was sorrow. Vince's life—no, it should be said, her life—had almost been taken by the very woman standing before her, whose graceful smile hid such malice.