Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 113 - - prepare for the worst

Yesterday, he had been busy until late at night. After she left, he arranged for experts overseas to assess Marc's condition. However, each specialist who reviewed Marc's case could only shake their heads regretfully. In the end, he was forced to accept the harsh reality.

Cynthia, anxious but unable to escape his hold, kept tossing and turning in bed. Albert Wilson, evidently irritated, soon got up and went to the bathroom to wash up. How could he sleep with her like this beside him?

Early in the morning, she was already testing his patience. If not for her current fragile state, he might have acted on the impulse to completely indulge himself with her.

The day before, he had also heard from Fredy that Cynthia had learned of his connection to Lucca. To be honest, he was shocked. For years, even someone as cunning as Karl had failed to uncover this secret, so how had she managed to figure it out?

He suddenly realized that beneath her seemingly cold and detached exterior lay a sharp and perceptive mind. Her observations and analyses of situations were incredibly detailed and logical.

When he dropped her off at the hospital, he didn't go in. Instead, he simply told her to call him if anything happened. Cynthia knew very well that by "anything," he meant the moment when Marc reached the end of his life. The thought weighed heavily on her heart, leaving her feeling desolate.

Inside the hospital room, Victoria and Gary were keeping Marc company. They hadn't dared inform the children at the orphanage yet, knowing it would surely cause chaos. If Marc were to pass amidst such turmoil, he wouldn't rest peacefully.

When Cynthia entered the room, Gary quickly stood up, grabbed the kettle, and excused himself, saying he needed to fetch water. Cynthia sat down where Gary had been and clasped Marc's emaciated hand tightly. Before she could even utter a word, her eyes began to redden.

Marc gently squeezed her hand in return and smiled kindly.

"Cynthia, how was your trip to France?"

Tears streamed down her face. To her, Marc was the most important person in her life now—the closest family she had. Though not her biological father, he had given her more love than any parent could. She choked out softly,

"It was... wonderful."

Yes, the trip to France had been wonderful. There were no endless arguments, no cold confrontations. They had left behind all the entanglements of interests and conflicts. It was just the two of them, relaxing and enjoying the simplicity of life—a time of pure affection and joy.

"That's good... That's good to hear."

Marc tightened his grip on her hand, his joy lighting up his dull eyes.

He had once been a handsome man, but the wear and tear of time and the twists of fate had smoothed away all his sharp edges. In the end, he had become an ordinary man among millions. The once-promising medical student, Marc, full of vigor and ambition, had been reduced to such a state.

Call it Foolishness or Loyalty

Call it foolishness or loyalty, but he had honored the dying wish of that woman—to raise her daughter and see her married. Regardless of how the marriage began, the fact that she could now personally tell him she was "happy" gave him peace of mind.

He knew Cynthia's stubborn nature well; if she had truly refused to go on that trip, the man wouldn't have been able to force her. But she went—albeit reluctantly. To him, this signified that she might have let go of some of her resentment toward that man.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, he couldn't help but remind her again:

"Cynthia, I'll say it again—since the two of you are together now, treasure it."

Cynthia's heart clenched as she interrupted him, her tone bitter:

"Marc, this isn't the time to talk about these things!"

How could she possibly treasure a loveless relationship—one entangled with a third party?

"I had hoped to see you have children of your own. That way, when I meet your mother in the next world, I could give her some peace. But now..."

Having spoken so much, Marc's breathing grew labored. The shortness of breath triggered pain in his abdomen, and before long, he was sweating profusely from the pain. Victoria, frightened, rushed out to get a doctor. Cynthia, heartbroken, stayed by his side, helping him steady his breathing as tears streamed down her face like broken pearls.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? Why didn't you see a doctor earlier..."

Marc cast her a weak glance and said softly,

"Cynthia, life and death are predestined, as are wealth and fortune. Besides, as a doctor yourself, I thought you would understand this better. Some illnesses are simply incurable. That's why I didn't bother going to the hospital. If every disease could be cured, this world wouldn't have so many regrets, would it?"

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The doctor came in to examine Marc briefly and then left with a grave expression. Cynthia wiped away her tears and followed him out.

"Miss, you should prepare for the worst."

Cynthia's body swayed at his words. The doctor, seeing her unsteady, reached out to support her, but she steadied herself before he could. Then, without a word, she turned and ran out.

Gary returned with the water and was startled to see Cynthia in such a frantic state. He immediately stepped in front of her, worry etched on his face.

"Senior Sister, where are you going?"

Her chest tightened with sorrow, and her gaze dimmed.

"I'm going home. Marc... he probably won't make it. I want to dance for him, one last time."

To perform his favorite dance, like the woman who had always lingered in his heart. At home, she had a white dress left behind by her mother, the one she used to wear while dancing in the cabaret. Her mother had stubbornly refused to wear the revealing outfits provided by the cabaret, insisting instead on wearing her beloved white dress.

By the time Cynthia rushed back to the hospital, Marc had just been given a painkiller and was lying there weakly with his eyes closed. Cynthia struggled to hold back the sting in her nose as she softly approached him and whispered in his ear,

"Marc, I'll dance for you."

Hearing her words, Marc strained to open his eyes. When he saw her dressed in the white gown, his dim, lifeless eyes suddenly lit up with surprise, even glistening with tears of joy. He couldn't speak anymore, but his gaze was enough to convey his happiness.

Cynthia quickly turned away to wipe her tears, which threatened to overflow. Then, she pulled out her phone and started playing music. The crisp, melodious sound filled the somber hospital room, like a gentle breeze brushing against one's cheek, momentarily easing all pain and worries.

She hadn't had time to dye her hair black for Marc. Back in the day, her mother had black hair and wore a white dress, looking serene, ethereal, and elegant. But now, her fiery red hair against the white dress gave her a stunning, otherworldly beauty.

Outside the room, Victoria and Gary stood frozen in awe. Gary, in particular, was entranced. His youthful face brimmed with astonishment and deep admiration for Lancaster. He had always known his senior sister was beautiful, but he had never imagined she could be this breathtaking.

Behind them, hurried footsteps approached. Gary was too lost in the beauty of Cynthia's dance to notice, but Victoria was more alert. She turned to see Albert Wilson striding toward them with Jim in tow, his expression impatient.

Victoria quickly stepped forward and held out a hand to stop them, whispering,

"Albert, please wait here for a moment."

"I'm in a hurry!"

Today, Albert Wilson was in a volatile mood. Irritated, he brushed Victoria's hand away and marched toward the hospital room with large, determined strides.

Albert had just received startling news: someone who had witnessed the setup that ruined his parents all those years ago had been found. That person was Marc—the same Marc who was now lying on his deathbed.

The revelation had shocked him, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He rushed over, desperate to get answers. To this day, he only knew two of the culprits involved in his parents' downfall: William S. Lancaster and Karl. The third person, however, remained a mystery, carefully hidden in the shadows. All anyone knew was that this third individual had ties to the underworld, but no one could identify them.

Marc was Albert's only chance to uncover the truth, and time was slipping away.

But as Albert hurried toward the hospital room, he came to an abrupt halt. The music flowing from within—the elegant melody—captured his attention. Then he saw her: Cynthia.

She stood in the center of the room, radiant and otherworldly. Her fiery red hair cascaded against the pristine white of her dress, a bold yet ethereal combination. Her movements were mesmerizing—at times playful and light, like a sparrow darting after the breeze; at others graceful and alluring, like a willow swaying in the wind. She half-covered her face with her flowing sleeves, her eyes glimmering with mystery, each glance capable of ensnaring souls.

Albert couldn't look away. The scene reminded him of the time he had once, on purpose, asked her to dance for him. Back then, she had barely begun before he had stopped her—just a few simple movements had already been enough to drive him mad with desire. Now, watching her complete an entire performance, he felt his breath catch, his heart racing in a way he couldn't control.

And if Albert was so affected, it was no wonder that Jim, Gary, and Victoria were utterly entranced.

But none of them felt as deeply as Marc. Lying in the hospital bed, his frail body trembled with emotion. His face flushed, his dim eyes glowing with a gentle warmth. He looked at Cynthia's graceful figure, and it was as if time had turned back twenty years.

He was once again a young man, sitting alone in a corner, brooding over the arranged marriage his family had imposed on him. He had been full of ambition and defiance, utterly rejecting the idea of a loveless union.

That night, amidst the chaos of the cabaret, the stage suddenly went silent, and then she appeared. A figure in pure white stepped out—not like the other dancers with their provocative and revealing costumes, but dressed in a simple, snow-white gown. Her eyes were bright, her smile enchanting, and her movements elegant.

It was said that a beauty could topple cities and kingdoms. Marc had neither a city nor a kingdom to lose, but he lost his heart completely. From that moment, he had spent his life loving her, never wavering.

Now, as Cynthia danced before him, Marc's memories surged back as vividly as if they had happened yesterday. His trembling, bony fingers stretched out toward her as if trying to grasp the fleeting shadow of the woman he had adored for decades.

In a voice so weak it was barely audible, he murmured,

"Finally... I can meet you again in the next world, Xiaoya. Please, don't forget your promise. You said... in the next life, you'd be with me."

Tears welled up in Cynthia's eyes, her movements faltering ever so slightly. But she kept dancing, her steps soft and full of bittersweet sorrow, as though she were bidding farewell to the man who had loved her mother with a devotion that lasted an entire lifetime.