Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 92 - - I like living here

Cynthia's actions were quickly noticed by him, as he keenly observed her. He walked over and sat at the edge of her bed, reaching for the book she had been reading, flipping through a few pages casually.

"You know medicine?"

He was now sitting very close to her, and when he spoke, his warm breath brushed against her face. She instinctively shrank back, feeling a bit awkward, then forced a laugh to brush it off.

"Hehe, not really. I just got sick and thought I'd study up a bit!"

She never expected him to suddenly barge in, which is why she'd been reading those books so carelessly. But thinking about how he had secretly had a copy of her key made made her grit her teeth in frustration. She wanted nothing more than to kick him out right then and there.

"Really?"

He looked at her with a hint of skepticism, but seeing that she didn't seem like she was lying, he set the book down. However, his gaze didn't leave her face.

"Feeling better?"

His voice was calm, but there was something about the way he asked that felt off to her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Was it because he was being too gentle?

She awkwardly looked up at him, a little shy.

"I'm much better now, the pain in my stomach is gone. Thank you so much for today. Oh, and thanks for the medicine too. I don't know how much it cost, though..."

Before she could finish her sentence, he had already guessed what she was going to say. His tone turned serious, and he gave her a cold reply:

"Do you think you have the ability to pay me back for that money?"

"Uh..."

She suddenly felt a bit embarrassed. Monica had told her that it cost him nearly ten thousand yuan, which was indeed a small fortune for her. But... she had just gotten a million from Karl, so she could give him ten thousand for now...

As soon as she mentioned money, he seemed to recall something and narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.

"You got a check from William S. Lancaster?"

She was momentarily stunned before awkwardly responding.

"Uh... yes..."

He knew so quickly? It seemed like Lucca and William S. Lancaster were really in a hurry to get her out of the picture.

"I've already paid him back for that money. If you need any money in the future, just let me know."

He said it with a completely natural expression and, after finishing, stood up to leave. But she froze.

"Huh? But I've already used that money..."

That money had already been used by Marc to arrange for the company to replace the heating equipment at the orphanage. He had paid Karl back for her. Now, how was she supposed to repay him? And what about the ten thousand yuan just now?

"Consider it a donation to the orphanage!"

He clearly knew what she was thinking. He glanced back at her furrowed brows and said that calmly.

"Oh, well, in that case, I'll thank you on behalf of the children at the orphanage."

That was all she could say, not knowing what else to add.

Wait! Wait a minute!

Did he just say he paid Karl back?

Which meant her trip abroad was for nothing? It didn't bother her much, but how could that Lucca possibly forgive him?

She could sense that Karl wanted her to stay away from Vincent, but the real reason was that Lucca wanted her out of his life and had used Karl to force her to leave.

She was still standing there in a daze when she heard his voice coming from the living room, tinged with faint annoyance.

"Have you been keeping my clothes stuffed in the suitcase like this?"

In the small living room, Albert Wilson opened his large suitcase and angrily rummaged through the clothes, gritting his teeth as he asked. The expensive suits, because they had been packed tightly for so long, were now completely wrinkled, and it wouldn't be easy to iron them out.

He wasn't upset about the cost of buying clothes, but rather that this woman was so clueless. Didn't she know that these clothes should be hung up? Or was it that she didn't care about anything to do with him?

"I thought you'd come and take them..."

Cynthia mumbled quietly inside. She had initially thought he would take the clothes, but since he hadn't made a move, she'd forgotten about it.

Albert Wilson was so frustrated that he almost wanted to shout at her. Knowing she was sick, he didn't want to yell, but her actions were simply too much.

"When have I ever come to take them? Every time, you just packed them up and threw them out!"

But she even retorted.

"But my wardrobe is so small, I don't have space to hang your clothes..."

"Then buy a bigger wardrobe!"

"But where would I put it?"

"Then get a bigger house!"

"Why would I move? I like living here..."

"..."

After a round of sharp exchanges, Albert Wilson was nearly ready to explode. He grabbed his bathrobe from the pile of mostly ruined clothes, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

The loud bang made Cynthia jump, her whole body trembling. She felt wronged. She was just his nominal wife; it wasn't like she had to worry about his food, clothing, or living arrangements, right?

Listening to the sound of water running from the bathroom, she felt both angry and annoyed. Was he planning to sleep here tonight? But in her current state, she was too weak to fight back. What should she do?

After thinking for a while, she came up with only one solution: to pretend to be asleep. So, when Albert Wilson walked into the bedroom, wearing his bathrobe and drying his hair, this was the scene he found.

The soft bedside lamp cast a faint yellow glow, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere in the small bedroom. Cynthia's small body curled up tightly under the blanket, leaving most of the bed open for him.

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However, she had wrapped herself up so tightly in the blanket—was she planning to freeze him out?

And the long, wine-red hair spilling out from the blanket exuded an alluring aura that made him feel a dry mouth. He cleared his throat, grabbed the blow dryer, and left the bedroom.

At first, Cynthia was pretending to be asleep, but after he finished drying his hair and came back, she had truly fallen asleep. Her body was already weak, and soon after lying quietly, she drifted off into a peaceful slumber. With her guard down, she was completely relaxed.

Albert Wilson carefully pulled the blanket over a little, then lay down beside her. Finding a comfortable position, he wrapped his arms around her and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Cynthia woke up to a pungent smell of oil smoke. At first, she was confused, thinking she was still dreaming. Where was that smoke coming from?

When she saw the messy bed beside her, she suddenly remembered—last night that man had slept here too. The smoky smell made her cough slightly. Please don't tell her it was him causing this chaos.

With a headache, she got up, put on some clothes, and carefully stepped out of the bedroom. Sure enough, she smelled the strong smoke coming from the kitchen. Shocked, she rushed in to find a man fumbling around the stove, trying to handle a bunch of unknown things in the pot.

She froze, unable to comprehend the situation. What was going on here? She stared at the smoky kitchen, close to tears. The man in the kitchen, seeing her come in, had an awkward look on his handsome face.

Just as he was about to tell her to leave, a splash of oil popped out of the pan, some droplets landing on his hand. He immediately jumped back, his face contorting in pain. His grimace was so out of place with his handsome appearance.

Cynthia couldn't watch any longer. Calmly, she stepped forward and turned off the gas. Now, it was clear—this man was trying to cook!

"Ahem, well..." Albert Wilson, who had never been so embarrassed in his life, glanced at the pot and then at her calm face. He awkwardly explained,

"I saw you weren't feeling well, so I thought I'd make you some breakfast, but... it turned out like this..."