Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 95 - - Curry rice

In the hospital room, the two inside were deeply lost in each other's gazes, while the two outside stood silently, staring at the scene. The man's side profile was cold and unyielding, while the woman's expression was one of quiet sorrow.

After a long pause, Albert Wilson turned to look at Grace Lancaster and asked, his voice low, "How come Lancaster has decided to let them meet?"

Grace Lancaster lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, her tone carrying a tinge of melancholy, but there was also a certain pride in her words.

"I've already decided to give up. What's the point of stopping them anymore?"

The man she had loved with all her heart was willing to sacrifice his life for another woman. If she continued to hold on, what was the meaning? Grace Lancaster was not so humble as to stoop that low.

She finished her words and looked up at Albert Wilson.

"So, Vice President Wilson, what about you? What would make you tolerate her being so affectionate with her first love? Aren't you afraid they'll rekindle their old feelings?"

Albert Wilson turned his head to glance at the two inside. His thin lips curled into a confident smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"My woman... what I want is her complete devotion, not just obedience to my commands."

Grace Lancaster gave a self-deprecating smile, then glanced at the man in the room who, after a week, finally showed a smile. Without another word, she turned and left.

Albert Wilson followed her out, walking to the end of the hallway and reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it slowly, exhaling a plume of smoke. Truth be told, he hadn't expected Vincent to take that bullet for her. The intensity of his feelings reminded him of when Lucca had protected him, a love so strong it was almost frightening.

He had always believed that no one truly couldn't live without the other, that no one would sacrifice their life for someone else. In his place, he certainly would not have stepped forward to take the bullet.

Albert Wilson, you have such a cold outlook simply because you've never truly loved. Perhaps one day, if you fall deeply in love with someone, you might become even more passionate than they are.

As Cynthia stepped out of the hospital room, she looked up and saw him at the end of the hallway—standing as tall and upright as always. When he heard the door close, he slowly turned to face her.

She had expected him to be angry, assuming that seeing her so close with Vincent would upset him. However, his expression remained calm, with no sign of disturbance. His eyes, dark and deep like an unfathomable pool, gave nothing away.

Her eyes, swollen from crying, made her feel self-conscious. She lowered her gaze, her hands nervously in her pockets as she walked toward him. He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leading her toward the elevator.

She didn't resist, allowing him to guide her in silence. At that moment, she realized how unsettling this man was. In his quiet way, he had made her feel indebted to him, all while seemingly allowing her to choose her own path.

In the car on the way back, after deep contemplation, she finally spoke softly.

"Albert Wilson... Thank you."

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He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes sparkling with an amused smile on his handsome face. "How should I be thanked?"

She blinked, her eyes still swollen, unsure of how to respond.

She had said "thank you" out of politeness, but hadn't expected him to take it seriously and ask so directly. She hesitated, thinking for a while, and then finally said, "Well... let me take you out for a meal."

To her surprise, he threw the decision back at her. "What should we eat?"

She bit her lip in frustration. "Anything you want."

Deep inside, she hoped he wouldn't choose something too extravagant or expensive—after all, with his status, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to afford it, and she might even reconsider the offer altogether.

Suddenly, he let out a soft laugh, his deep, pleasant voice echoing in the quiet car. Cynthia couldn't help but be drawn into his amusement, her eyes fixed on his lively face.

The car came to a stop at a red light. Noticing her gaze, he leaned slightly toward her, his eyes scanning her up and down with a mischievous glint. Then, with a teasing breath against her ear, he whispered,

"Does it include... eating you?"

She nearly choked on her own saliva, her fair skin flushing bright red. She quickly raised her hand to push his smiling face away.

"Albert Wilson, you're impossible!"

As the light turned green, Albert Wilson straightened up, no longer teasing. His voice became serious, even a little intense.

"Then make me some curry rice."

"Curry rice again?" she asked, puzzled, furrowing her brow.

Just a few days ago, she had nearly burned down her kitchen making him curry, and she even brought it to him for lunch. Now, just a few days later, he wanted more?

Honestly, she wasn't even that fond of curry. What was so special about it? It was just some sauce and spices over rice—once it hit her mouth, it didn't even have much flavor.

"Do you know how to make Thai curry? It's still curry, but this time, let's try Thai curry," he asked, still focused on the road, his tone light yet suggestive.

For some reason, Cynthia couldn't shake the feeling that there was a hint of sadness in his tone when he spoke. So, despite her reservations, she didn't refuse him.

"Alright, but we'll need to go to the supermarket for the ingredients," she said, "though I have to warn you, if you're looking for authentic Thai curry, you're better off going to a restaurant. Anything I make won't compare."

"It's fine," he replied nonchalantly.

He had already tasted all kinds of Thai food at the hotel, but today, he wanted to experience what her version of Thai curry would taste like, made by her hands.

Cynthia didn't say much more. She parked the car far from the supermarket, got out in a rush, and quickly picked up what they needed. She returned in no time, clearly determined to make the curry herself.

Once back, she busied herself in the kitchen, while Albert leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The weight of his gaze made her feel a little awkward. Several times, she almost cut her fingers.

Noticing her discomfort, Albert decided to break the silence, his voice calm as he redirected her attention.

"I grew up in the Golden Triangle area. Specifically, I was raised in Thailand. That's why I like Thai food... and Thai curry."

His biological parents had once been involved in the drug trade in the Golden Triangle. They owned vast poppy fields and a poppy estate of their own. His life, before he turned seven, had been one of danger, with his family constantly under threat. Eventually, his parents were betrayed by three close associates. In their desperation, they tried to escape by fleeing to the sea, where they drowned together.

Cynthia, however, didn't quite react the way he expected. She gave a nonchalant "Oh!" and returned to her cooking. Albert felt a surge of irritation as he clenched his jaw.

Realizing his displeasure, Cynthia glanced at him, asking the question he'd likely been waiting for.

"But... didn't you grow up in the States?"

"Before I was seven, I lived in the Golden Triangle. After that, I moved to the U.S., and was adopted by an old man."

He watched as she expertly added ingredients to the pot, her focus entirely on the task at hand. For some reason, he found the act of watching her cook oddly pleasing.

"Mm-hmm," she replied, her attention still on her work.

Cynthia was at a loss for words, so she simply responded with another "Oh." Of course, this only earned her an irritated glance from Albert. She couldn't help but silently stick her tongue out at him.

To be honest, she wasn't at all interested in his past, nor did she care about the damned Thai food or curry. She couldn't understand why he suddenly decided to chat about it, dragging her into an endless conversation.

Albert Wilson, seeing her indifferent attitude, couldn't hide his frustration. With a sharp turn, he slammed the door shut and plopped down on the sofa in the small living room. Bored, he flipped on the TV, trying to distract himself.

Meanwhile, Cynthia finished preparing the curry. A steaming red plate of Thai curry was set before him, and he devoured it eagerly. Cynthia sat next to him, her brows furrowed as she watched him eat. The spices were so intense, and the dish was drowning in fiery red chilies.

Her frown deepened as she watched. How could he stand this? The overwhelming heat of it all made her stomach churn. But she sighed inwardly. Different strokes for different folks, she thought. He liked it fiery and intense, while she preferred something lighter. At least they didn't have to live together forever—otherwise, their conflicting tastes would have been a constant source of tension.

By the time Albert had eaten half of the curry, his phone rang, pulling him away. Cynthia, left alone, hesitated before cautiously picking up her own spoon. She took a small bite, and within moments, tears sprang to her eyes from the overwhelming spice. Without a second thought, she dumped the rest of the curry into the trash, not wanting to suffer any longer.

The days passed, and about half a month later, Vincent was well enough to be discharged from the hospital. The very next day, Grace Lancaster announced the end of her two-year marriage to Vincent.