Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 119 - - she was different

When he finished the porridge, she carried the bowl back to the kitchen. After tidying up, she returned to find that he still hadn't left. Lowering her head to avoid acknowledging his presence, she walked straight toward her bedroom as if he didn't exist.

"Cynthia—"

His voice stopped her abruptly. She froze in place, and before she could react, his tall frame enveloped her from behind. His strong arms wrapped tightly around her, his body exuding an intense warmth that surrounded her like a tide.

He rested his chin on her slender shoulder, his voice low and tinged with rare vulnerability.

"Don't push me away, please?"

There was an unfamiliar note of pleading in his tone, along with a trace of fragility.

After learning today that his plan had failed, he felt a profound sense of frustration and dejection. He needed a place to rest, somewhere to find a moment's peace. He couldn't bear the thought of returning to his empty mansion, nor did he want to go to Lucca. In the end, hers was the only place that gave him any sense of solace.

His words were sincere, but she merely let out a faint laugh. Her gaze dropped to the large hands circling her waist, and she replied calmly,

"Sorry, but my humble abode is too small to accommodate someone as grand as you."

Not only was her home small, but so was her heart—too small to tolerate the presence of a third person in a relationship. True, once upon a time, her heart had housed Vincent. But after so many years, she could now honestly say she harbored no lingering feelings for him. Could Albert say the same about Lucca?

She knew the answer—he couldn't.

After speaking, she gently broke free from his embrace and walked into her bedroom without looking back. His arms were warm, but if they weren't meant solely for her, she would rather not have them at all.

As her warmth abruptly left his arms, a hollow emptiness settled deep in Albert Wilson's chest. He understood her feelings—how could he not?

But after the failure of his first plan against the Laurence family, everything had become far more complicated. With Robin Laurence's shrewdness, future opportunities would only be harder to come by.

He realized he needed to hasten his revenge. Perhaps only after these grievances were resolved could he take the time to truly consider his relationship with her.

He admitted it—she was different.

He also admitted to himself that no woman before her had ever made him feel this way—not even Lucca. She had a knack for driving him to the edge of his patience, yet he couldn't help but want to be near her. She constantly intrigued him, filling his mind with questions, and her absence left him tossing and turning on sleepless nights.

His feelings for Lucca, by contrast, were far simpler—he didn't dislike her. She had saved his life, and her unwavering devotion had naturally drawn him into a relationship with her. But if he were honest, their relationship was more of a partnership than a love affair. If they became husband and wife, theirs would be the textbook definition of *mutual respect without intimacy*.

But her... She made life vivid. With her, the days seemed brighter, richer, more exhilarating.

Why hadn't he met her sooner? Why had she walked into his life precisely when he most needed someone to use as a pawn?

That night, he didn't leave. He lingered in the living room until her bedroom light went out, and then, as quietly as he could, he slipped into her bed. He wrapped his arms around her cool body from behind, pulling her close. She stirred and struggled briefly but gave up when her resistance proved futile. Satisfied, he held her close, a secret smile tugging at his lips, and soon drifted off to sleep.

It was late autumn, that chilly season when the heating hadn't yet been turned on. Cynthia always felt the cold deeply, but that night, held tightly in his arms, she was enveloped in an extraordinary warmth—like having a furnace burning by her side all night long.

The next morning, when Albert Wilson woke up, she was no longer beside him. He reached out to find the bed cold and empty, and his heart sank with disappointment. Damn woman—she always had a way of vanishing without a sound.

Dragging himself out of bed, he went to wash up. A faint aroma of porridge wafted in from the small kitchen, and he followed it like a trail, pushing open the kitchen door. His breath caught, and for a moment, his eyes grew misty.

The tiny kitchen was spotless, and the countertop was arrayed with an assortment of breakfast dishes—both Chinese and Western.

The Western options included milk, sandwiches, and what looked like homemade French toast. He stepped closer and inspected the toast, noticing the golden crust of egg coating. Picking up a slice, he took a bite; it was perfectly crisp on the outside and soft within.

The Chinese offerings included boiled eggs, steamed buns, porridge kept warm in a rice cooker, and a selection of small pickled side dishes. Judging by the look of the buns, she must have gone out to buy them early in the morning.

She had done all this in a single morning! Standing amidst the spread, he felt a swell of complicated emotions.

Over time, he'd come to notice that beneath her seemingly aloof exterior lay an extraordinary attentiveness—but only toward people or things she cared about.

Was this careful preparation a sign that she cared about him? The thought filled him with a quiet joy, making the day seem bright and sunny despite the overcast skies outside.

On the coffee table in the living room, he found a note in her elegant handwriting:

"I've gone to school for class. Your stomach is still fragile, so avoid alcohol, cut back on smoking, and stay away from spicy, raw, or cold foods. Take your medicine with you, and don't forget to take it on time."

The script was graceful—neither ostentatious nor shy. Each line was concise yet filled with care, sending threads of warmth curling into his heart.

Holding the note between his fingers, a broad smile gradually spread across his face.

After that, Cynthia didn't see him again for a long time. But suddenly, he started calling her every day—sometimes early in the morning before she'd even woken up, sometimes while she was in class, and sometimes in the middle of the night when she was half-asleep.

He seemed very busy, his voice always carrying a heavy fatigue. Sometimes, he left her feeling utterly exasperated, but hearing the exhaustion in his tone, she could only suppress her annoyance.

When he called, there wasn't much of a reason—just to ask what she'd been up to. Most of the time, after exchanging a few words, the conversation would lapse into awkward silence.

She, on her end, was either still groggy or deeply asleep, and being forcibly woken up naturally left her feeling less than enthusiastic. He, as a grown man, probably wasn't great at making conversation either. So, more often than not, they'd end up in an awkward silence before hanging up.

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One evening, Bonnie dragged Cynthia to an elective class. Bonnie claimed there was a young, handsome professor from the finance department who had just joined. Supposedly, he was also the son of a board member, and the usually proud Bonnie was so smitten that she'd pulled every string she could to get into his class.

The professor was indeed young and handsome, exuding an air of brilliance. Sitting in the corner of the large lecture hall, Cynthia suddenly found herself thinking of him—his face when he was angry, when he was joyful, when he was being childish, and when he was full of passion...

Bonnie was still beside her, gushing with excitement, but Cynthia suddenly felt that no one could compare to him—not even Vince. Vincent had a certain refined elegance, but he had an aura of wild charm, an understated nobility and an overbearing confidence in every gesture.

With these thoughts spinning in her head, the two sessions passed quickly. Outside the classroom, Bonnie was practically glowing with excitement, her eyes narrowed in a delighted grin.

"So, what do you think? Handsome, right? Charming, isn't he? Doesn't he have that special air about him?" Bonnie asked eagerly.

Cynthia rolled her eyes at her.

"Aren't you always talking about how much you likecarl? How could you be so smitten by another handsome guy already?"

Bonnie was outstanding in every way, but she had no resistance to good-looking men. As she often put it, "Everyone appreciates beauty, right? I'm just admiring something beautiful. Of course, if that beautiful thing could be mine, that'd be even better."

"Hey, hey, Cynthia,carl is my brother! Sure, he's handsome, but it'd be improper to have thoughts about him—he's family!" Bonnie retorted, flustered, poking Cynthia repeatedly.