Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 145 - - she had changed

He could tolerate her meeting with Vincent behind his back, and he could tolerate the way they had been exchanging glances and lying to him. But for his own wife to have someone else tell him how to deal with Wilson?

Under these circumstances, no matter how composed he was, he couldn't stand it. Vincent was outright provoking him! Was he trying to flaunt how well he knew her?

So, his gaze turned sharp and merciless, and he shot Vincent a fierce look. Then he stood up abruptly, grabbed her, and dragged her out. He couldn't eat another bite—this meal might just kill him with rage!

His rough grip made Cynthia stumble as she tried to keep up. As they reached the door, a cold breeze hit them. Cynthia hugged herself and glanced at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Albert Wilson, my coat..."

He shot her a glance at her thin frame, then turned back to grab her coat. Cynthia leaned against the intricately carved wooden door of the restaurant, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

She knew Vincent's words had just angered him, which was why she didn't resist when he dragged her away. She didn't want things to escalate—if they fought, it would only make matters worse.

Vincent's words were probably not meant to hurt him. He wasn't the kind of person who would intentionally cause harm. Perhaps it was just a habit of caring for her, after all, they had been together for so many years, and he knew every little preference of hers.

Moreover, he had been deeply impressed when she had once burned her lips from drinking soup that was too hot, the skin peeling off. At that time, he had affectionately teased her, saying she was such a young lady, even the skin on her lips was so delicate.

Looking back now, however, things had changed. She could tell that Vincent still couldn't let go of her, but so many years had passed. They had been apart for two years, and she had been married for two years. Four years was enough to make some things and some people completely unrecognizable.

In reality, it wasn't that Vincent couldn't let go—it was that she had changed.

Albert Wilson strode over to the table where the three of them had been sitting earlier. He saw Vincent still in the same posture, staring blankly at the table full of dishes, his clear features filled with desolation and pain.

With a cold sneer, Albert walked over, grabbed her coat, and casually draped it over his arm. Then, he leaned arrogantly against the table, looking down at Vincent. His presence was so overpowering that Vincent had no choice but to lift his head to meet his gaze.

A seemingly polite smile tugged at Albert's lips, but his eyes were filled with a strong warning.

"Prosecutor, I've allowed her to stay in contact with you before because of your relationship with her, but now that you have no ties to the Lancaster family, I expect you to treat her as a stranger from now on."

His words were cold and ruthless, delivered without a hint of compassion, domineering and forceful. His tone concealed an unyielding possessiveness toward her. After speaking, he turned and left without looking back, leaving Vincent alone, his heart aching as he clenched his fist tightly.

Treat her as a stranger? After all those years of guarding and loving her, could one sentence from Albert make him forget everything and treat her like a stranger? Was he not being too arrogant?

He gripped his fists, panting heavily, every joint in his hand turning pale from the force. After a long moment, he released his hands and slumped back in the chair, defeated.

Yes! Maybe a man like Albert Wilson—arrogant, free-spirited, domineering, and powerful—was the only one worthy of standing by her side. He had the ability to protect their relationship and the wealth to give her a carefree life.

A man like him was like a sturdy tree, and any bird resting on that tree would be lucky and happy.

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Unlike him, born into an aristocratic family, seemingly enjoying endless glory, yet unable to take control of his own marriage and happiness. In the end, all the heartache, the unwillingness, the sorrow, and the blessings, all turned into a long, drawn-out sigh...

Behind her, the steady sound of footsteps approached. Cynthia knew he was back. She took the coat from his hands and put it on, then silently followed him out of the restaurant. Knowing he was angry, she didn't know what to say, so she remained silent.

As soon as they stepped outside, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and began smoking one after another. One hand in his coat pocket, the other holding the cigarette, he walked ahead briskly. The strong smell of smoke wafted through the air, and she was immediately choked, turning her head to cough.

He reached the car, carelessly throwing the half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushing it with his foot before turning to look at her. Her wine-red hair stood out even more against the snowy surroundings, glowing brightly.

Cynthia took a deep breath, slowly walked to the front of the car, and stood before him. He then asked in a low voice,

"Is there something between you and Vincent that you're hiding?"

She stood there, frozen for a moment, before lifting her fair face to meet his sharp gaze and murmured,

"No..."

But the hesitation that flashed in her eyes for a brief moment could not escape the sharpness of his eagle-like gaze. Albert Wilson felt as if his chest was about to burst with anger.

"Don't think I didn't see the way you two were exchanging glances earlier! If there's no secret, then why couldn't you say certain things in front of me?"

She remained silent. Albert Wilson's voice started to rise uncontrollably, accompanied by a mocking laugh. He said,

"Didn't you say you love me? Cynthia, is this how you love? Hiding things from the person you love and still calling it love?"

His displeased questioning, the anger between his brows, each word was like a dagger stabbing into her heart. But even though it hurt so painfully, she could only lift the corners of her mouth in a faint bitter smile. She shook her head, turning her face away, unwilling to continue the conversation.

Albert Wilson, you're not me. How can you know how many twists and turns I've gone through? How can you know how much joy and sorrow I carry in my heart?

If I could see a bright and shining future with you, if our marriage was a match made in heaven, destined to last until old age, I would definitely lay open my whole heart for you to see. I would depend on you wholeheartedly!

But we're not like that. Our marriage began with an exchange of interests, and in the middle, we went through two years of loveless entanglement. In the future, we will face your revenge schemes. I can't guarantee that, after everything we've been through, we'll still have the courage to be together.

So, Albert Wilson, please forgive me for keeping this one secret in my heart. This secret might be the way I survive after leaving you, and I don't want anyone to know.

She could sense his anger, but his expression was no longer as terrifying as before. Instead, it was remarkably calm, though his tone was cold, and there was even a hint of unnoticeable hurt in his eyes.

"Fine! Cynthia, so silence means you're admitting it, right? If that's the case, then stay here and continue sharing secrets with your first love!"

After finishing his words, he pushed her aside, climbed into the car, and drove off in a hurry.