Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 121 - - Who was she, really?

When Albert Wilson regained consciousness, three days had passed. This injury had been truly life-threatening for him. In his over twenty years of life, apart from nearly drowning in the sea when he was seven, this was the closest he had ever come to death's door.

If not for the intervention of the mysterious "Dark Night Sunflower," he would likely already be reunited with his parents in heaven. Thinking of this, an image of a delicate face partly obscured by a large medical mask flashed in his mind. He couldn't help but murmur softly,

"Cynthia—"

The person holding his hand tightly in excitement at his awakening trembled all over, then began sobbing quietly.

"Albert, it's me, Lucca..."

Albert Wilson slowly opened his eyes and saw Lucca's tear-streaked, delicate face before him—not the calm and composed visage he had been envisioning.

Struggling, he lifted his gaze to take in his surroundings and realized he was in his bedroom at home. He distinctly remembered being treated in a simple, modest clinic. Who had brought him back here?

Frowning slightly, he asked,

"How did I end up here?"

Tears streamed uncontrollably down Lucca's face. Her features showed clear signs of exhaustion from days of constant worry.

"I don't know. Jim told me you were injured, so I came to see you!"

"Call Jim in here!"

He commanded in a low voice. On the day of his injury, he had been too weak to think, but now that he was fully awake, his curiosity about the mysterious "Sunflower" only grew stronger.

Lucca hesitated for a moment, then picked up the food tray placed beside the bed.

"But Albert, you just woke up. Eat something first, and then we can talk!"

"Jim!"

Suddenly, he called out loudly toward the door, causing the wound on his back to tear and send a wave of searing pain through him.

A flicker of hurt flashed through Lucca's eyes, but she forcibly suppressed it. She had stayed by his bedside, tirelessly keeping vigil for three days and nights. Yet, the first thing he did after waking was call out another woman's name, paying her no attention at all.

Jim responded promptly, and trailing behind him was none other than Henry, the elusive private physician exclusively serving BlackRock. If not for the severity of Albert Wilson's injuries, which nearly sent him to the gates of death, it would have been impossible to summon Henry's esteemed services.

Albert glanced at the somewhat displeased Lucca and softened his tone.

"Lucca, could you step out for a moment? I have something to discuss with Jim and Uncle Henry."

Although Lucca felt a surge of resentment in her chest, she remained composed and obediently left the room, understanding her place.

Henry stepped forward to change Albert's dressings and assess the condition of his injuries. Albert gritted his teeth, grimacing in pain, as the older man worked on him without the slightest gentleness.

While applying fresh bandages, Henry remarked with a teasing tone, "You lucky rascal! I didn't think you'd survive wounds this bad. Seems someone pulled you back from the gates of hell!"

Henry paused his work, closely examining the deep gashes on Albert's back. After a moment, he let out a sound of admiration.

"This person's medical skills are remarkable. With injuries this severe, even I wouldn't have been confident about saving your life."

Albert felt an unusual warmth spread through his chest. Closing his eyes, his mind drifted back to that night, vividly recalling a pair of cool, delicate hands meticulously tending to his wounds.

Was he losing his mind? Why was that mysterious woman invading his thoughts again?

Henry, oblivious to Albert's inner turmoil, continued chattering, "Tsk, tsk. The stitching technique on these wounds is impressively meticulous. Clearly, they wanted to avoid leaving any scars on your body. I'd wager it was the work of a young woman."

Henry's words caused a ripple of unease to run through Albert. His body stiffened involuntarily, and his heart raced uncontrollably.

After finishing the bandaging, Henry suddenly leaned in with a conspiratorial look and said,

Henry, ever the gossip, immediately chimed in with a teasing grin, "Hey, JC, are you talking about your little wife? What's this about? Did she leave you to fend for yourself in your ime of need?"

Albert Wilson's expression darkened, and his eyes glinted dangerously, shutting Henry up instantly. Jim, trying to salvage the situation, hastily added, "We've reached out to her, but she hasn't shown up yet. Maybe she..." He trailed off, afraid of further irritating Albert.

"Damn it!" Albert cursed under his breath. The sudden burst of anger pulled at the deep wounds on his back, sending a fresh wave of pain through him. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to suppress his frustration.

"She's truly heartless!" Albert growled.

The bitterness in his voice was palpable. How could she not come? Even if they were only husband and wife in name, wasn't there at least some semblance of connection between them? And after everything they had shared—those moments of intimacy and joy—how could she ignore his plight so easily?

"Who exactly are we talking about here?" Henry asked, clearly intrigued despite Albert's simmering rage. "It's that little wife of yours, isn't it?"

Albert cast him a sharp glare, silencing any further prying. After a moment, he leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes as a flood of mixed emotions washed over him.

Henry keenly noticed Albert Wilson's unusual mood and, being ever-curious about the love lives of these "youngsters," eagerly moved closer to press him for details.

Henry, a seasoned drifter used to floating between places, hadn't expected to hear about Albert's sudden marriage upon his return. Among their group of four, Albert was the first to step into the so-called "halls of matrimony," and Henry's curiosity about his mysterious young wife was practically killing him.

But Albert, already brimming with frustration, directed all his simmering anger toward Henry, shooting him a menacing glare.

"Old man, vanish already!" he barked.

Henry smirked, unfazed, as he packed up his medical supplies.

"Tch, ungrateful brat. I see you're fine now, so I'll leave some medicine outside. Get that girl out there to change your bandages on time."

With a final wave of his hand, Henry left, leaving Albert Wilson to brood.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to Jim.

"How did I end up back here?"

Jim immediately straightened his posture, switching to a serious tone.

"That night, someone called me using your phone. They said you were badly injured and needed to be picked up. When I arrived, I found you already treated and wrapped up like a mummy, so I brought you back."

"Where exactly did you find me?"

Albert's voice was urgent, an undercurrent of hope betraying his usual calm demeanor. He wanted to hear the answer that would confirm his suspicions.

"Right where you were attacked... uh, lying on a stretcher in the street..."

Jim hesitated, adding silently to himself that it looked like a scene of abandonment—like a body left to rot.

"What?"

Albert's brows furrowed deeply. He, too, couldn't help but think of the words "dumped like trash." The thought stung, but it also confirmed one thing: whoever had saved him had no intention of revealing themselves or letting their identity be known.

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The mystery only deepened, and Albert Wilson's jaw tightened in frustration. Who was she, really?