Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 93 - -pretending

Since he had gone to bed so early and slept so deeply the night before, Albert woke up early the next morning. Opening the fridge, he saw there was beef and curry powder. On a sudden whim, he decided to make curry rice, thinking she probably didn't have the energy to cook.

He had loved curry rice since he was a child, and back then, he was pretty good at making it. After Lucca learned how to make it, she never let him cook again, so his cooking skills had gradually faded.

Well... to be honest, he didn't have much cooking skill—he only knew how to make curry rice. Other than that, he was completely useless in the kitchen.

At first, he thought he could make curry rice just from memory, but he almost ended up burning the kitchen down. Sigh... Albert Wilson's reputation was ruined first thing in the morning.

Cynthia, hearing his explanation, was momentarily stunned. He wanted to cook for her? Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help but feel touched by his words.

However... when she glanced at the smoke-filled kitchen, almost burned down, she thought that if her gratitude came at the cost of losing her tiny kitchen, she'd rather not accept it.

With that thought in mind, she calmly opened the window and kitchen door, letting the air circulate, hoping to get rid of the pungent smell as quickly as possible.

Then, she gently pushed the embarrassed man outside to sit and wait, while she entered the kitchen, tied on her apron, and started cleaning up the mess. She even took out the beef, potatoes, and curry powder to make another batch, all while dragging her sickly body to do it.

Albert Wilson sat on the sofa in the living room, watching her skillfully chop the beef and peel the potatoes. His handsome face kept changing between green and white. Finally, he gave up and rushed into the bathroom to wash off the smell of smoke.

By the time he came out, two large plates of fragrant curry rice were already set on the small coffee table. The plump rice and the glossy beef and potato sauce made his mouth water.

She had already set out a spoon and was quietly waiting. He glanced at her awkwardly. There was no sign of mockery on her simple, serene face, so he finally went over, picked up the spoon, and started eating.

The meal was unusually quiet. Both of them ate without saying anything—he was too embarrassed to speak after his earlier mishap, and Cynthia adhered to the tradition of eating in silence.

Her portion was small, only half of his, but by the time he finished, she was still eating, savoring each bite slowly.

He didn't understand what was going on with himself today. Last night, Lucca had made the same curry rice, and he hadn't had any appetite for it. But today, here he was, wolfing down a large plate of it.

After finishing his meal, he went back to the bedroom to change clothes. When he came out, he saw her holding a white lunchbox filled with curry rice. Seeing his confusion, she gave a light laugh and said,

"I noticed you really liked this, and there's still some left. If you don't mind, you can take it to the office for lunch."

Cynthia decided to do this for two reasons: first, she saw how much he enjoyed the curry, and second, even though he hadn't succeeded in cooking, the fact that he had made the effort was still something to be appreciated.

However, she watched as he stood there, frowning at the lunchbox without saying anything. She thought he didn't want it but didn't know how to refuse. She hurriedly added,

"If you have other plans for lunch or are meeting someone, you don't have to take it..."

He raised his eyes to look at her, and for a moment, there was an awkward emotion flashing in the depths of his gaze. Then, he reached out, took the lunchbox, and left without saying anything further.

Our Monica managed to take a break from her busy schedule to dial her boss's internal line.

"Boss, which lunchbox would you like me to order for you today?"

After a while, her boss's somewhat indecisive voice came through,

"No need!"

She continued to do her duty by asking,

"Then which restaurant are you planning to eat at? I can make a reservation for you in advance."

Another long pause, and again, her boss's hesitant voice replied,

"No need!"

At this point, even our Secretary Long was confused,

"Boss, then... what's going on? Are you not planning to have lunch today?"

"Oh, not eating lunch is not good, has your stomach been acting up again recently..."

Our beautiful Secretary Long started to kindly advise her boss to change his overwork habits. But after speaking for a while, her boss quietly replied with four words:

"I brought lunch!"

Who made the lunch?

At that moment, Monica, who had just been speaking dryly, took a sip of water. Upon hearing her boss's words, she immediately sprayed the water out. Just then, Jim walked into her office holding a document.

And so, the water ended up spectacularly spraying across the freshly printed document and Jim's perfectly pressed white shirt.

Jim's face immediately darkened, and he twitched his mouth several times before managing to hold back the impulse to throw the soaked document at her, but his forehead was already bulging with veins.

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"Monica, are you doing this on purpose?"

Ever since the last time she got drunk and he mocked her for her self-destructive personality, saying that no man would want her, she became even more relentless in her attempts to get back at him. She no longer called him JC and now only addressed him as "Assistant Long" in a cold, distant tone. Any little issue, no matter how trivial, would lead to her picking a fight with him.

Now, every time he saw her, he would feel a twinge of anxiety, fearing she was about to pull some new trick on him. She really was ruthless, always going all out to make his life difficult. Especially when she called him "Assistant Long" with that emotionless, stern expression, it made him feel like his skin was crawling.

He couldn't help but feel awkward about it all. He actually missed the days when she used to tease him and call him JC. Wait a minute, did he have a tendency to enjoy being mistreated? He'd always insisted that she address him as "Assistant Long," but now that she actually did, he felt uncomfortable.

Monica, noticing she had sprayed him, hurriedly ended the call and grabbed some tissues from the desk. Flustered, she rushed over to help him wipe it off.

"Ah, Assistant Long, I'm really sorry, so sorry!" she apologized.

Her delicate hands, holding the tissue, moved from his chest all the way down to his waist as she wiped the damp shirt. Through the thin layer of fabric, Jim suddenly felt a dry mouth, and some subtle physiological reaction stirred within him.

Meanwhile, the woman in front of him didn't seem to notice anything. She was simply anxious to get his clothes dry. As Monica wiped, she felt nervous inside. Though she often teased him, spraying him with water like this was indeed quite rude.

Not to mention, when she felt his muscles tense under her touch, she realized he was really angry this time. Thinking of this, she slightly increased the pressure as she wiped, bending a little to focus on the water droplets near his waist.

When Jim lowered his head, he could see down the wide neckline of her shirt, catching a glimpse of her white, shapely chest and black lingerie. His blood surged, and he suddenly shoved her away, scowling as he shouted,

"Get away! Stop pretending!"