Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 47 - - Apologies, sir!

Albert's unfiltered words snapped Cynthia's attention back from Vincent, bringing a faint blush to her otherwise pale face. This man's act was almost too realistic.

She lowered her gaze, masking her emotions, though a trace of bitterness remained in her heart. She couldn't quite describe what she felt—just an ache for him.

She knew Vincent wouldn't willingly have touched Grace Lancaster. After all, with everything that had happened, he must feel miserable too.

It had been two years since that snowy night when he abandoned her. After she had awakened from her coma, Vincent's older brother had visited her, carefully explaining the circumstances of Vincent's captivity and urging her not to hate him.

But back then, she was too stubborn, unable to let go of the burden in her heart. Now, two years later, having gone through all these changes, she no longer expected to reunite with him. If she were still single, perhaps she'd have the courage to follow him once again.

Yet, things never went the way one wished. She and he were always out of sync—meeting the right person in the best years of their lives, yet never able to stay together. Sometimes, fate forces you to believe in its power, whether you want to or not.

Perhaps she and Vincent were that most tragic pair in destiny's hand, bound by fate yet denied true union.

Maybe letting him open up to Grace Lancaster was his only chance at freedom. Grace truly cared for him. As strong-willed as she was, she'd willingly set aside all her pride and become soft and gentle just for him, yet he had never once truly looked at her.

As the room fell into silence, a man beside Cynthia broke it with a lively tone, smiling broadly.

"The news of Lancaster's pregnancy is huge! Why isn't anyone eating?"

With ease, he took over the atmosphere, skillfully inviting everyone back to the table.

"You all take your time; I'll be leaving now."

Vincent, without a trace of courtesy, rose abruptly and, without waiting for anyone's reaction, turned and left without another word. Grace Lancaster, on the other hand, stayed seated, calmly taking bite after bite.

They had originally gathered to discuss Vincent and Grace Lancaster's divorce, but with a single sentence from Grace, their plans had been thrown off course. It seemed this matter would need a long-term approach. With various thoughts running through everyone's minds, Cynthia could barely eat, managing only a couple of bites before losing her appetite.

She could tell the man beside her was unhappy, but she had no energy to care. She couldn't let herself lose all right to feel joy, anger, or sadness just because she was by his side. Besides, he wasn't exactly anyone special to her.

After everyone had dispersed, William S. Lancaster called Grace Lancaster into the study. He hesitated for a long while before speaking.

"Grace, if you're not happy, then end it. The child... our Lancaster family can certainly support him."

He had come tonight intending to persuade her to give up. She'd insisted on marrying Vincent when the Danny family had fallen on hard times, but everyone who knew the details understood what kind of life she'd been living since.

Now that the Lancaster family had climbed higher through their connection to Albert Wilson, they didn't particularly care whether they maintained friendly relations with the Danny family. Besides, Vincent had initiated the divorce himself this time; the Lancasters wouldn't be seen as lacking dignity no matter how it turned out.

A single tear slid down Grace Lancaster's impassive face. She raised a hand to wipe it away.

"If she hadn't married, I'd let him go this time. But now she's married, and he's lost any remaining hope. And you know Albert Wilson isn't one to mess with. So... I won't give up."

With that, she turned and left without a backward glance. Sometimes, love or the lack of it is just a single decision away. If Grace weren't so stubborn, perhaps everyone could have had a happy ending.

Vincent would live out a beautiful life with his little princess, and she could marry into a family that matched hers. Albert Wilson would become Doreen Lancaster's ideal match...

The silver-gray car seemed to carry its owner's anger as it sped down the broad highway. Inside, both passengers remained silent. Cynthia glanced at the man's foul mood, opened her mouth to say something, then swallowed her words.

She wanted to ask him not to come over tonight; she really wasn't in the mood for intimacy. But she knew if she said that, the man might very well throw her out of the car, so she decided to stay silent.

Yet as they drove, she realized they weren't heading toward her apartment. Instead, they seemed to be heading to his mansion. She blinked and looked again, then finally gathered the courage to speak.

"Albert, this doesn't seem like the way to my place..."

"My home isn't your home? Cynthia, have you forgotten your place?"

Her words were barely out before he unleashed a scolding, and she immediately fell silent, not daring to speak further. Although she felt annoyed that he was driving her to his mansion, she wisely chose not to provoke this angry lion any further.

When the car stopped in front of his mansion, he snatched the keys out of the ignition and got out without a backward glance, heading inside. She unwillingly followed, dragging her feet. It struck her as amusing—how could someone with such a short fuse be the BGIG chief?

Was he always this quick to anger? The rumors claimed he was calm, wise, and shrewd, a man of great strategy and insight. Or was it just that seeing her put him in such a bad mood? If so, maybe they really should never meet again; he was driving her mad.

"Master, you're back!"

Fredy greeted Albert Wilson, who stormed into the house with a scowl. Glancing behind him, Fredy caught sight of a slim figure trailing along slowly in the distance. His tone changed instantly to one of delighted eagerness, his voice rising in pitch as he rushed over to her.

"Madam, you're here too!"

After that scandal with Doreen Lancaster, the old master had returned to the States in a fury, leaving Fredy convinced that his master and the madam were over. But from the looks of it, were they just having a little spat? A quarrel was a good thing—wasn't bickering part of real marriage?

As he thought this to himself, Fredy enthusiastically welcomed Cynthia. Seeing Fredy's over-the-top display, Albert's mouth twitched, though he continued up the stairs. This damned woman—was she so indifferent to him just because that other man was feeling down?

Cynthia, on the other hand, was startled by Fredy's warm welcome. Once inside, she glanced up at the glowing, opulent second floor and suddenly felt a chill, goosebumps rising on her arms. She decided to sit in the spacious first-floor living room and began chatting with Fredy instead, feeling somewhat relieved to stay downstairs.

She wasn't much of a talker; usually, for every ten sentences Fredy said, she'd respond with one. But since she was actually sitting down to chat with him, Fredy felt almost honored. He'd always thought she was a bit aloof, so he only spoke even more.

As they chatted, Cynthia's previously gloomy mood began to lift. Talking to Fredy felt as natural and comforting as talking to a mother. He moved from kitchen gossip to flowers and plants, then onto global affairs and politics, punctuated by his exaggerated gestures. Before long, she couldn't help but laugh.

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on freёwebnoѵel.com.

"Planning to chat all night?"

Just as they were hitting their stride, a cold voice came from above them, like a sudden downpour of ice water. Fredy reflexively leaped up from the sofa, turned towards the second floor, and gave a quick bow.

"Apologies, sir!"

Cynthia looked up, meeting his gaze. Albert Wilson stood there, his hands in the pockets of his robe, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression. He seemed freshly showered; his damp hair lay softly across his forehead and temples, different from his meticulously groomed daytime look. Right now, he looked casual, almost like a rebellious young man.

Albert looked down at the quiet woman below, who was still smiling faintly from Fredy's jokes, her surprised expression giving her a certain charm. He narrowed his eyes, observing her intently, as though trying to peer into her very soul.

What kind of person was she, really? He had no idea what she wanted, what she spent her days doing, or even what her future might look like. Though she was his wife, she seemed to live at an unreachable distance. For the first time, he felt the confusion of not being able to see through a woman.

Time seemed to freeze as they looked at each other across the opulent, glittering space. For a fleeting moment, an unspoken warmth passed between them, only to vanish just as quickly.

"Madam, it's getting late; you should rest now."

Fredy cleared his throat, breaking their gaze, though part of him hated to interrupt. The tender look between them was sweet, but they couldn't just stare at each other all night.

Cynthia snapped back to reality, feeling slightly embarrassed and silently cursing herself for getting lost in the moment. Albert Wilson averted his gaze and turned back to his room. After saying goodnight to Fredy, she slowly made her way upstairs, reluctant to end the evening but not quite sure why.