Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 124 - -cringe

Cynthia was completely defeated by his shamelessness. She really wished she had a dose of anesthetic in her hand right now so she could inject him with a full syringe and keep him asleep until his wounds healed.

Seeing how upset she was, Albert Wilson quickly switched tactics and adopted a pitiful tone.

"Cynthia, I've been unconscious for three days. My body is sticky with sweat and blood—it's so uncomfortable I feel like I'm dying," he said lazily.

If this act still couldn't keep her by his side, then he might as well just die like this. This was the only time in his life he had acted so childish for a woman, trying to coax and deceive her...

Call him childish, despicable, shameless—whatever. At the weakest and most helpless moment of his life, all he wanted was for this woman to stay with him.

He didn't want to think about those heavy burdens of hatred, or about irrelevant people and matters. Even if they said nothing or did nothing, it didn't matter, as long as he could see her.

Cynthia's heart wavered slightly as she looked at his rare pitiful expression. She remembered what Marc had told her more than once: If two people have come together, they should cherish it.

Should she cherish this unclear, uncertain relationship in front of her?

"Cynthia?"

Seeing her lost in her thoughts, Albert Wilson called her again, unwilling to give up. Only then did she come back to her senses and turn toward the bathroom.

It wasn't that she didn't know she was his wife. It wasn't that she didn't know the duties of being a wife. She was just stubbornly unwilling to touch these feelings, afraid that if she got too close... one day, she wouldn't be able to pull herself out.

She knew she was in a bit of an ostrich mindset now—fully aware of her feelings for him yet afraid to face them. A heart that's been hurt once will always carry a shadow.

She used to stubbornly believe that she would never fall in love with anyone after Vincent. Her heart was as solid as stone, but his persistent strength broke through—both domineering and gentle. Again and again, with the push of fate's hand, her heart was gradually pried open.

Wet towel in hand, she walked out of the bathroom and approached him. She began wiping his body, starting from his back. Throughout the process, she tried her best to remain calm and composed, her mind focused on nothing but the task.

She wiped from his scar-covered back to his lean waist, and finally to his long legs.

She couldn't deny that his body was incredibly well-toned. Through the thin towel, she could faintly feel the solid muscles beneath his skin—strong and full of power.

As those cool, delicate hands gently moved across his back, Albert Wilson, lying on the bed, was suddenly seized by a wave of shivers, his entire body involuntarily tensing up. He started to regret making this suggestion in the first place.

Noticing something was off, Cynthia immediately poked his waist.

"Hey, Albert Wilson, relax! If you tense up like that, you'll pull on your wounds!"

Albert buried his head into the pillow, taking several deep breaths before rasping,

"Alright, stop. You don't need to wipe anymore!"

If she continued, he feared things would spiral out of control. He hadn't expected to feel anything from her touch in his severely injured state, but for a man, wanting something he couldn't act upon was pure torment.

Cynthia, who had been sitting on the bed dutifully attending to him, jumped up the moment she heard him.

"That— that was your call! Don't say I'm neglecting you!" she blurted, hurriedly snatching the towel and dashing back into the bathroom, as if afraid he might change his mind any second.

Thank goodness he stopped her just now. If he'd let her continue, and she had to turn him over to wipe his front, how awkward would that have been?

Still, the scene of wiping his back just now was enough to leave her blushing, her heart racing. Her hands had brushed over his skin inch by inch, and—ugh—why did just thinking about it leave her feeling so parched?

She lingered in the bathroom for ages, rinsing the towel over and over, her nerves in turmoil. When she finally emerged, she found him already fast asleep, lying there peacefully. It made sense—after being unconscious for days and enduring such emotional intensity earlier, he would be completely exhausted.

Suddenly, a wave of tenderness washed over her. Back when she was with Vincent, she had never felt this way. Vincent had always been the one to take care of her. She had never imagined that a woman could feel so much heartache for a man.

She stepped forward and gently pulled the blanket up to cover his half-bare back before quietly leaving the room. She couldn't deny that he looked incredibly handsome when he was asleep—peaceful, pure, like a child unburdened by any cares.

Fredy warmly invited her to stay for a meal, but she smiled and refused. Before leaving, though, she instructed Fredy to prepare some nutritious, blood-replenishing food for him.

On the way home, she couldn't help but think that she still couldn't move back into his place. First, because she would lose all her freedom. Second, because she didn't want to fall too deeply into this relationship.

She already knew that one day, she and Albert would become strangers again. If she moved back and spent her days and nights with him, leaving him when the time came would be unbearably hard. She'd had enough of that gut-wrenching pain.

Later, when he called her angrily to demand why she had left, she had no choice but to say that she was nearing graduation and had a lot of schoolwork to deal with. He didn't seem unreasonable and, without further complaint, hung up the phone.

Over the following days, Cynthia would report to his house early every morning and slip away when he fell asleep in the afternoon. In reality, he didn't need anyone to take care of him. The housekeeper, Wilson—more meticulous and fussy than any woman—managed everything perfectly. Every time Cynthia stood there awkwardly, she felt like a third wheel. But Albert insisted she stay.

That weekend, the weather was exceptionally bright, and her mood matched it. She woke up early and prepared a delicious curry to bring to him as a treat.

As she got off the bus and walked toward his large mansion, she saw a taxi parked at his door from a distance. A graceful figure stepped out of the car, and Cynthia's light footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

It was only then that she remembered—Lucca hadn't shown up these past few days because she had been at work. Today was the weekend, so naturally, she would come.

After days of peaceful and pleasant moments with him, she had nearly forgotten that there was still Lucca between them. She had almost let herself believe that she was his only one. Now, it seemed she had been too naive.

Watching that graceful figure disappear into the mansion, Cynthia lowered her head and glanced at the curry she had brought, her lips curling into a self-mocking smile. Without hesitation, she turned and walked back toward the bus stop.

She had only taken a few steps when a flashy pink sports car roared past, kicking up a cloud of dust around her. Frustrated, she jumped back, covering her mouth, inwardly cursing whoever owned such an ostentatious car.

To her surprise, the car screeched to a halt a short distance ahead, then slowly reversed to her side. Inside, a man lounged casually in the driver's seat, his face tilted upward, large brown-tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he unabashedly scrutinized her.

Cynthia felt goosebumps rise under his gaze. Just as she was about to scold him for being a lunatic, the man removed his sunglasses. A dazzlingly handsome face appeared before her, his peach blossom eyes brimming with mischievous charm.

"Morning, Cynthia!"

She frowned, staring at him for a moment before recognition finally dawned—it was Klutz, that fox-like friend of Albert's. No wonder he exuded such flamboyance. She had only met his group of friends once, during their wedding, when she had been heavily made up. She hadn't expected this "fox" to recognize her now.

Reluctantly, she forced herself to respond,

"Hello."

"Cynthia, where are you off to?"

Klutz narrowed his eyes teasingly, though his gaze discreetly flicked toward the lunchbox she was holding.

When he had sped past earlier, he had thought this graceful and striking girl looked familiar, though he couldn't immediately place where he'd seen her. Now that he had stopped to get a better look and realized she was standing near his buddy Albert's mansion, everything clicked into place.

So this was Cynthia, the woman who had shown up at the wedding with heavy makeup. To his surprise, without all that makeup, she was a natural beauty—fresh-faced and delicate. No wonder Albert had been so quick to cast Doreen Lancaster aside back then.

Looking at that bright and beautiful face, even Klutz, who had spent plenty of time surrounded by women, felt his heart give a little tremor. Oh my, a beauty right in front of me.

Cynthia felt incredibly uncomfortable under his gaze but couldn't exactly explain why she had come all the way to Albert's door, only to turn and leave at the last moment. So she scrambled for an excuse.

"I just got a call from a classmate saying there's an urgent matter at school, so I'm heading there..."

Cynthia wasn't good at lying to begin with, and Klutz, sly as ever, saw through her lie immediately. However, he didn't expose her. Instead, his smile grew even brighter.

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"Cynthia, then what's with the lunchbox in your hand? Don't tell me it's a love-filled lunch for my buddy Albert?

Klutz said this with such an innocent and youthful tone that Cynthia nearly choked. Love lunch? Could he be any more cringe?