Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.

Albert didn't say a word. He simply took off his jacket, bent down, and tied it around her waist, cleverly covering the awkward spot behind her. His thoughtfulness made her mind go blank for a moment, and she stood there, dazed, allowing him to guide her.

"All set!"

It wasn't until his cool voice rang in her ear that she snapped back to reality, grabbing the things in her hand and running toward the mall with her head down.

As he watched her figure disappear into the crowd, Albert Wilson leaned lazily against the car and lit a cigarette. Through the swirling smoke, his sharp, leopard-like eyes narrowed slightly as he fell into thought.

He had gone to the Lancaster family today, fully intending to marry Doreen Lancaster as planned. Yet, unexpectedly, this quirky girl appeared out of nowhere, and somehow, he found himself choosing her instead!

In the short time they had been together, she had shown so many different sides of her personality. At first, she was calm and indifferent, then sharp and defiant in the car, and just now, shy and bashful. She truly lived up to the word "quirky."

As he finished the cigarette, he reassured himself that he had chosen her because, unlike Doreen Lancaster, who clung to him with infatuation, this girl showed no interest in him. He could focus entirely on his own plans without any distraction from the Wilson family. Besides, her indifference meant that even if they parted ways later, he could walk away unscathed.

He glanced at his watch—twenty minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of her! His sharply defined, handsome face slowly filled with anger.

Damn woman, she dared to stand him up!

Realizing this, he kicked his car in frustration, then got inside. The silver-gray car roared off, carrying his cold fury into the distance.

In the mall's restroom, Cynthia took out the pants he had bought for her. The price tag made her frown—this man was definitely not your average spender. If all the clothes he bought were priced like this, it would be quite the hefty expense.

Once she put them on, the size fit her surprisingly well. A sarcastic smirk crept across her lips. That guy's demeanor screamed that he was used to being around women; how else could he be so precise in knowing a woman's size?

After tidying herself up, she stood there, hesitating. She really didn't want to go back out and face him. Besides the embarrassment from earlier, what she dreaded most was the suffocating sense of unease that came with being around him—the kind that chilled her to the bone. She felt as though everything she tried to hide would be exposed under his piercing gaze.

In the end, she chose to leave through the back door. She knew it wasn't very polite to leave so abruptly, and she wanted to call him. But considering they had only just met today, she didn't even have his number.

She took a cab back to her dorm, which was completely empty. At this time of the afternoon, around three or four, everyone was in class. Yet here she was, once again skipping her afternoon lectures.

Thinking back on what had happened that afternoon, she pulled out her phone and made a call. Her delicate features were filled with worry, a stark contrast to the usual cold indifference she kept between herself and others.

"Marc, how is that person doing?"

Only when something piqued her interest would Cynthia reveal her true self. As for people or things she had no interest in, she wouldn't even spare them a glance.

"There's nothing much to worry about anymore, Cynthia. You've mastered everything I've taught you. Just find another opportunity to practice, and soon you'll be able to handle things on your own!"

The voice on the other end sighed.

"If that's the case, maybe it's time to quit those messy side jobs of yours. After all, you're a young woman—"

Marc seemed ready to say more, but she quickly cut him off, feeling a headache coming on.

"Alright, alright, Marc, I got it. You've said this a million times..."

She hung up the phone, exhausted, and climbed onto her bed, burying her head in the pillow. In the silence, her mind began replaying everything that had happened today. The thought of the impulsive decision she had made made her heart ache to the point of tearing apart.

She admitted she had acted rashly when she made that decision—kissing that man named Albert Wilson—and seeing Vincent's pain had brought her immense satisfaction at the time. But now, all she felt was regret. Had she really just thrown her entire life away?

Thinking of Albert Wilson's cold and calculating demeanor brought her a bit of comfort. This marriage should be nothing more than a game, right? When the game was over, would she be able to walk away unscathed? Would she still be the same person—the ordinary, stubborn, and proud woman she once was?

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, tears silently streamed down her face, soaking into the pillow beneath her and vanishing instantly. Even though she had tried to comfort herself, her heart remained restless and uneasy. In this painful turmoil, she eventually drifted into a deep sleep. She was truly exhausted—her body was tired, but her heart was even more so...

Half-asleep, her phone rang. She picked it up, and in an instant, her drowsiness vanished. That unnamed but painfully familiar number stabbed at her eyes.

The call was from Vincent. Without thinking, she hung up immediately. But he wouldn't give up, calling again and again. Finally, with a mocking smile, she pressed the answer button, her voice cold and distant.

"Hello, Vincent. Is there something you need?"

Since he married Grace Lancaster two years ago, this was the first time they had spoken on the phone. She had deleted his number, burned the gifts he had given her, and treated him as a stranger ever since. Not a word had been exchanged between them.

She was always someone who acted decisively, never dragging things out. It didn't matter if the moment before she had loved him passionately or even entertained the thought of running away with him. The second he was no longer hers, she wouldn't hold onto any attachment.

It wasn't that she was heartless. It was simply because she knew all too well that if she continued to cling on, the only one who would be hurt in the end would be herself. She had no one to love her or care for her. She had to care for herself.

"Cynthia…"

Vincent's voice was filled with pain.

She cut him off indifferently.

"Sorry, Vincent. That name is reserved for people close to me, or for my future husband. As for you…" He could hear the soft snort she let out.

"Please call me Miss Lancaster!"

"Cynthia…"

It seemed difficult for Vincent to force those two words out. Then, he quickly added, his tone urgent:

"I don't want you to ruin your whole life just to spite me. Albert Wilson is not the right man for you. He's far too cunning, and you're far too innocent…"

She chuckled lightly.

"Oh? Vincent, then what kind of man do you think is right for me?"

"A man like Vincent, cold, heartless, and unfaithful—does that sound like the perfect match for someone as 'innocent' as me?"

"Cynthia! Can't you stop being so harsh?"

Vincent's frustration was evident as his voice grew heavier.

"Sorry, I can't."

Her indifferent words were followed by the sharp click of the phone hanging up. When Vincent called again, she simply didn't answer.

After several more attempts, which she ignored, a text from Vincent appeared:

"Cynthia, let's meet and talk."