Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 54 - - Good luck

The next day, Albert had Jim deliver a check. At that moment, she was anxiously pacing in her small apartment, unsure whether to stand or sit because she didn't know how to ask him for the money. When she woke up in the morning, he was already gone, leaving nothing behind.

When she received Jim's call, she was so overjoyed that she opened the door and rushed to go out, but her steps halted as she reached the door and saw the men's slippers on the shoe rack. She hesitated for a moment, then turned back and grabbed a bag to pack up his belongings once again.

After this, they should never have any contact again, right?

Kicked out

She took her things downstairs, and Jim was already waiting. When he saw her, he handed her the check. She took the check and, without hesitation, handed him the bag she was holding.

"Please return these things to Mr. Wilson."

Her tone was cold yet polite. Jim took the bag and glanced inside. It contained some men's toiletries and a few pieces of clothing. He tried to suppress the smile that was growing on his face, and then, trying to maintain his composure, he bade her farewell and hurried to the car. If he stayed any longer, he was afraid he'd burst out laughing.

Their boss, was he kicked out? He didn't even know that someone had already been kicked out once before, but that time had been done more discreetly, and no one knew. If Jim had known, he probably would have laughed right then and there.

"Mr. Jim, please wait a moment!"

Just as he was about to open the car door, her urgent voice came from behind. He turned around, trying to keep his expression calm. She walked over with the check, her brows furrowed slightly as she asked,

"Mr. Jim, why is this check for one million?"

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

He didn't know much about the relationship between her and his boss. This morning, as soon as he arrived at the company, his boss had asked him to deliver the check to her.

Cynthia was at a loss, not knowing how to bring it up.

"Well... we agreed on seven hundred thousand..." she said hesitantly.

Upon hearing this, Jim's face darkened. He had thought she was complaining that he gave her too little. Well, after all, his boss could be extremely stingy when he wanted to be! But it turned out to be three hundred thousand more. Why was she hesitating? The money was already in her hands, and now she was reluctant to accept it?

This made Jim look at the girl in front of him with a bit more respect. He smiled and said,

"Just take it if it's more. No reason to turn it down."

His eyes, however, were secretly assessing her. Part of the reason he said this was to test her.

She furrowed her brows even deeper, her expression showing some displeasure.

"That's not right," she said.

After a brief moment of consideration, she spoke again.

"How about this, Mr. Jim? You come with me to the bank, tell me your company's account number, and I'll transfer the three hundred thousand to your company."

"No way?"

Jim was a little troubled.

"Miss Lancaster, I can't decide this on my own. Let me make a call and ask the vice president first."

Seeing his difficult expression, Cynthia reluctantly nodded and agreed. She had only agreed to the seven hundred thousand, and she would only accept that amount. She wouldn't take a penny more. There was no particular reason for her stubbornness; she just didn't want to be tangled up with him any further. That was all.

Meanwhile, Jim carefully picked up the phone and spoke cautiously, conveying her request to Albert Wilson. It was rare for their boss to be generous with a woman, but here he was, unceremoniously rejected. No woman had ever dared to refuse him so bluntly.

On the other end, there was a brief silence before Albert Wilson coldly ordered, "Have her take the call."

Jim, anxious and nervous, handed the phone to Cynthia, casting her a look as if to say, "Good luck."

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Cynthia took the phone, and Albert's indifferent voice came through the receiver.

"That three hundred thousand? Consider it a tip, since... you've been so satisfying these past few days."

Sometimes, the most painful wounds aren't physical, but in the form of a careless, inconsequential comment from someone else—enough to pierce you to the core.

Her eyes stung, and her heart felt bitter, yet she quietly ended the call. In the end, despite all the sweet words and affection, he simply saw her as someone who sold her body.

She curled her lips into a self-deprecating smile as she held the check, then turned and walked upstairs without looking back. Jim stood there, watching her stubborn figure with deep thoughts. After a while, he finally turned his gaze to the bag in his hand, eager to rush to the car and head back to the company.

Perhaps this little Cynthia truly was their boss's curse.

BGIG CEO Office

Albert Wilson had just finished a meeting and returned to the top floor when he saw Jim walking out of the office, holding a bag. A sharp pain suddenly struck his forehead, and a bad premonition arose in his heart.

Sure enough, Jim cautiously handed him the bag by a corner, trembling.

"Boss, this is from Miss Lancaster. She asked me to bring it to you."

Albert Wilson glared at him, reaching out to take the bag. As soon as he grabbed it, Jim swiftly retreated into his own office. Monica, unaware of the situation, curiously leaned forward to see what was inside.

The moment she got close, she saw her handsome, charismatic boss's face turn beet red. He slammed the bag on the floor, and a roar that could shatter the BGIG building followed.

"Dammit—!"

Monica immediately covered her chest with one hand, stepping back with the other while her long skirt swirled around her. Her eyes fell on the scattered items inside the bag. From a distance, it seemed to contain Chanel body wash, shampoo, shaving cream, several shirts, and even black men's underwear...

She blinked and finally understood why her boss was so furious. Apparently, their boss had been staying at little Cynthia's place these past few days, and now he was being kicked out!

Realizing this, she couldn't hold back her burst of laughter, which echoed throughout the office, but it was abruptly cut off by the terrifying glare of her boss.

Albert Wilson shot Monica a deadly glare before storming into his office, slamming the door so hard it shook the building. Damn it! That woman was so heartless—she'd just taken his money and couldn't wait to cut ties with him!

Fine! Cynthia, you really know how to do it! You have guts!

After Albert Wilson left, Monica shook her head, laughing to herself. She then stepped forward and began picking up the mess. Well, what else could she do? She was his capable and ever-reliable secretary, after all.

Cynthia tidied up before heading to the hospital. The two children were finally able to undergo surgery. Marc, having received the news, rushed over from the orphanage. He stood in the empty hallway outside the operating room, and Cynthia's body felt as cold as a block of ice, despite being in the hottest season of summer.

"Cynthia, what's wrong? You look so pale. Are you sick?" Marc asked, noticing her pale complexion. He reached up to check her forehead, but her temperature was normal.

She shook her head, forcing a smile that was meant to reassure him.

"I'm fine, Marc. I'm just really worried about how the surgery will go. I'm a little scared!"

Marc glanced toward the operating room before hesitating and asking, "Cynthia... where did you get all that money?"

"Borrowed it from a friend..." she responded with a smile, brushing it off. If Marc knew how she had raised the money, he would surely feel even more sorry for her.

However, Marc had been through a lot in his life and saw right through her feigned calmness.

"Did you borrow it from that Vice President Wilson?" he asked, knowing she wasn't being completely honest.

Her smile stiffened slightly. She grabbed Marc's arm, trying to playfully distract him.

"Marc, don't worry about that. Just know that I'm fine, okay?"

Marc looked at her with concern, placing a hand on hers and speaking with a serious tone.

"Cynthia, although I don't know why that Wilson guy married you, the fact that you two became a couple is already some kind of fate. You should spend more time communicating with him. You're such a wonderful girl, and maybe the vice president will fall in love with you!"

Marc's words made the bitterness in Cynthia's heart grow even stronger. Communicating with him? They had been communicating every day for the past few days, and yet, the more they communicated, the worse their relationship became. Now, she was afraid to see him again. Every encounter ended poorly, leaving her emotionally drained.

She, an ordinary woman, couldn't handle such intense methods of "communicating feelings." So, it was better if they didn't meet at all.