Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.

"Let's meet up and talk!"

Cynthia originally wanted to coldly refuse, but her fingers suddenly paused while typing the message. She deleted the reply she had already written and quickly sent a few words instead:

"Sure, where do you want to meet, Vincent?"

Vincent, even if I acted impulsively, I won't let you see me regret. I'll show you my happiness...

She smirked coldly as she climbed out of bed to get ready. For the first time, she applied light makeup and put on a flowing long dress. The person in the mirror had a small, delicate face, but her bright eyes and radiant smile made her strikingly beautiful.

Bonnie had just returned from class and, upon entering the room, was stunned by Cynthia's appearance. Her jaw dropped in surprise.

"Cynthia, are you... going on a blind date?"

Cynthia rolled her eyes at Bonnie, grabbed her bag, and walked out of the dorm. Bonnie's exaggerated exclamations echoed behind her:

"If you go out looking like this, you'll cause a riot!"

It was peak time when students were getting out of class. In the midst of the crowded flow of students, such a graceful and attractive woman naturally drew attention. Many of the boys were dumbstruck, losing their composure.

Coincidence.

After she passed by, whistles and cheers erupted, and some began excitedly trying to figure out who this long-haired beauty was, but no one had a clue.

Normally, she dressed very plainly, often hiding her delicate features behind large, black-framed glasses. She also skipped class regularly, making her nearly invisible here.

She had seen through everything about her family long ago and always maintained a detached perspective. Unlike the other three daughters of the Lancaster family, she wasn't as famous—partly due to their exclusion, but mostly because she had no desire to become a pawn in the family's games. She worked hard to remain unnoticed.

Vincent had chosen an incredibly luxurious café for their meeting. Only the wealthy and influential frequented this place. The café's privacy and security were top-notch, ensuring that no paparazzi could track the slightest detail of their visit.

Vincent had already arrived, sitting in a seat near the bar. As usual, he was dressed in deep purple, perfectly embodying the image of an aristocratic young master. However, his appearance irritated her; she didn't know if he wore that particular outfit intentionally or not, but it seemed like he was deliberately flaunting it before her.

"Vincent!"

Hiding the pain in her eyes, she greeted him sweetly with a smile and gracefully sat down. She was pleased to notice a flicker of astonishment in Vincent's eyes.

"Cynthia, you… you're here…"

Vincent struggled to tear his gaze away from hers, murmuring softly.

Her childlike bright smile, her radiant and captivating face, and the carefully applied makeup—everything about her today sharply stung his eyes.

Her demeanor today was entirely different from the times she had faced him with sarcasm and mockery. Could it be that marrying that man really made her this happy?

It felt as though a thousand ants were gnawing at his heart. The more he loved her, the more pain he felt now. Watching the woman he loved deeply now smile so beautifully for another man—should he mourn for his own sadness?

He opened his mouth but suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Cynthia noticed his hesitation, her lips curling coldly. She opened her bag, took out a cigarette, and lit it skillfully.

"You smoke?"

Vincent was clearly shocked by her actions, his handsome face full of surprise.

"Working in that kind of place every day—it's hard to get by if you don't smoke."

She played with the cigarette in her hand as if it were nothing, then took a deep drag and exhaled a smoke ring upwards.

But just as she was about to blow out the smoke, she caught sight of someone coming out of a private room on the second floor. The surprise caused her to gasp, and the smoke she inhaled was suddenly sucked back, choking her badly. She quickly lowered her head and began coughing violently.

How could it be him? Could this really be what people call a fateful encounter? She had just stood him up earlier in the day, and now she was running into him again tonight. Was fate really playing such a trick on her?

"Cynthia, are you okay?"

Seeing her cough so hard, Vincent panicked and immediately grabbed her hand, trying to take the cigarette away. Stubbornly, she refused to let go, and the two of them tussled over it.

She keenly felt a sharp gaze sweeping over her from above. A sudden sense of panic hit her just as Vincent snatched the cigarette from her hand.

"A girl shouldn't be smoking!"

Vincent frowned as he spoke, extinguishing the cigarette with one hand, while his other hand still held onto hers.

She didn't care that Vincent was holding her hand; she was too busy coughing, tears streaming down her face from the sudden choking.

As she coughed, a thought suddenly crossed her mind—why was she so flustered? He wasn't anyone important to her! Even if he were, she hadn't done anything wrong, so why was she losing her composure?

With that realization, she calmed down significantly. Squinting her eyes, she slowly looked up toward the second floor.

A slender woman was leaning against the railing, her back facing Cynthia, so she couldn't see her face. All she saw was the woman's smooth, straight hair, giving off a fragile and gentle impression.

The woman's shoulders were shaking violently, clearly from crying—and not just any cry, but one filled with heart-wrenching sorrow. And he stood in front of the woman, hands in his pockets, gently comforting her with soft words.

He was still wearing the same silver-gray suit from earlier in the afternoon. This man seemed to have a particular liking for silver-gray—his car was silver-gray, his clothes were silver-gray, giving off an impression of sharpness, precision, and a chilling coldness.

From her vantage point, she could clearly see his well-defined, sharply curved jawline. She didn't understand how someone could be so tender and considerate with the woman in front of him, yet when he looked at her, he was so aloof and distant that it made her heart freeze.

His gaze briefly flickered over the woman's shoulder and landed downstairs on her. She met his eyes calmly, and even from such a distance, she could sense a flash of displeasure in his eyes.

She casually looked away, only to notice that Vincent was still holding her hand, muttering something irrelevant.

"Cynthia, I never thought of giving up on you. Even though I did let you go, you should know it wasn't by choice. Back then, when my father had his accident, there was no other way…"

She coldly pulled her hand away from his.

"Vincent, what's the point of telling me all this now? Are you asking me to keep waiting for you? How many years do you expect me to wait? Five years? Ten years?"

Vincent's expression darkened as he sat in silence. She stood up gracefully, her tone resolute.

"Giving up is giving up. Any excuse you make now is meaningless! Vincent, I will never forgive you for abandoning me back then!"

Vincent abruptly looked up at her, his sharp prosecutor's eyes filled with deep pain. She glanced at the second floor and noticed that the woman from earlier was no longer there; only he remained, watching everything coldly from above.

Seeing his aura of arrogance and superiority made her already irritated mood even worse. She desperately needed some way to release her frustration.

With a bright smile, she leaned down mischievously and whispered in Vincent's ear. Though her face wore a radiant grin, her words were ice-cold.

"And besides, Vincent, let's not meet again. If my second sister finds out, who knows how she'll torment me next?"

Then, without a backward glance, she walked out of the café, as proud and regal as a queen.