Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 147 - - You’re just in love with her

At this time, in Geraint's bar.

A group of people were drinking, getting tipsy and having a great time. In a corner that the lights on the big screen couldn't reach, Albert Wilson leaned back, drinking unknown strong liquor one glass after another.

For some reason, the drink that usually suited his taste felt three parts bitter and seven parts harsh today. His phone kept ringing in his pocket. He checked it and saw that it was Fredy calling, so he irritably hung up.

Why was it still Fredy? Why hadn't she called? She had only called once and sent one text, but that was it? Was this her way of trying to make up? Isn't making up supposed to involve persistence and relentless pursuit?

Jim carefully approached with a drink in hand and nudged his shoulder.

"What's wrong, boss? You don't seem to be in a good mood today?"

"Pfft—"

Albert Wilson sneered, taking another gulp of his drink. What was there to be in a bad mood about? He was always in a good mood, so good that his teeth could catch some sunlight.

Jim ignored his stubborn attitude and continued to ask.

"Did Cynthia upset you?"

As soon as these words were spoken, Jim immediately received a cold, piercing gaze from his boss. His boss, in retaliation, immediately hit on Jim's sore spot. Narrowing his eyes, he fixed his gaze on Jim and asked,

"Jim, I'm wondering if you're interested in my beautiful secretary?"

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

"Cough, cough—" Jim almost choked on his words, coughing while awkwardly trying to deny it, "Boss, don't joke like that. How could I possibly be interested in a woman who's so arrogant, with a sharp tongue and a wicked heart?"

He nearly choked on his words and had to laugh it off, trying to deny it.

That woman had caused him enough pain to last a lifetime. He hadn't forgotten, for example, the night before, when he was tasked with sending her home after she got ridiculously drunk. She clung to him, refusing to get off, so he had no choice but to take her to his house. Who would have thought that as soon as they entered, she started laughing and crying, hugging and clinging to him, driving him to the brink of madness. But he couldn't touch her; he wasn't desperate enough to do anything with a woman who was that drunk.

In the end, he shoved her into the guest room and called one of his regular female companions over. As they were... well, enjoying themselves in his master bedroom, a loud bang suddenly came from the guest room. The woman had barged in with her hair disheveled!

He was in the middle of... a vigorous moment when she suddenly burst in, causing him to jerk and nearly break something. He winced in pain, glaring at her while quickly pulling the blanket over himself and his companion.

The woman, however, suddenly giggled, squatting in the corner and smiling as she said, "Hehe, you guys continue, I'll just watch!"

His female companion was so shocked that she gasped, pale-faced, as she scrambled out from under the blanket, hastily dressing and fleeing. She probably thought the woman in the corner was a pervert.

Jim, on the other hand, was even more enraged by her words, to the point where he nearly passed out. Even though he was a man, he had no desire to be watched while in the middle of something, especially not by a woman!

He grabbed his bathrobe, covering himself, and kicked over the trash can beside him. He walked toward the door, planning to go to the bathroom and calm himself down. But just as he reached the door, he heard the faint sound of steady breathing from the corner. He looked down and, to his fury, she had actually fallen asleep!

Albert Wilson squinted, watching Jim's frustrated and angry expression. He leaned in with a mysterious look and said,

"I think I finally understand why you care so much when she calls you JC, and why you get so easily riled up by her."

Jim was confused, but Albert Wilson smiled knowingly, as if speaking from experience.

"You're just in love with her," he said.

With that, Albert Wilson put down his glass and walked away with long strides, leaving Jim standing there, furrowing his brow as he pondered the meaning behind his words.

The clock struck ten, and just as Cynthia was about to leave the restaurant, she suddenly heard Fredy's excited voice from outside.

"Master, you're finally back!"

She frowned and glanced at the clock, which was precisely at ten o'clock. He really knew how to choose the perfect time to return. She had said that after ten, if she had to beg for reconciliation, it would be impossible. But now, it hadn't quite passed...

Hesitating, she walked out of the restaurant and saw him stumbling in through the door. His coat was haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and his shirt was a wrinkled mess. His expression was a mixture of dishevelment and melancholy.

Fredy cautiously followed behind him, trying to support him, but he shoved Fredy aside. At that, Cynthia abandoned any thoughts about the time and rushed to him.

"You're back?"

He seemed to have drunk a lot, with a strong scent of alcohol and smoke on him. The more she encountered him, the more irritated she became with his smoking and drinking habits. What did they think they were doing, trying to look cool or pathetic with such behavior?

As soon as her hand touched his arm, his face darkened. He roughly shoved her away, the force so strong that she stumbled back several steps and almost fell. She stood there, stunned, her face filled with hurt. Fredy froze in place as well.

He took a few steps forward, but seemingly sensing something was wrong with her, he turned around, grabbed her, and dragged her upstairs. His grip was so strong that her wrist bones ached from the pressure.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, he kicked the door shut and roughly pressed her against it. He stood so close to her that she could feel his solid, muscular body against hers. He stared at her face, his dark eyes flickering with suspicion.

"Have you decided to be honest with me?"

She hadn't expected him to still be obsessed with this issue, and she certainly hadn't expected him to ask so directly. For a moment, she was stunned, not knowing how to answer him.

His face darkened again, and he released his firm grip on her arm, saying coldly, "If you don't want to confess, then don't stand here trying to act all coy."

He then swayed slightly, showing no trace of hesitation as he walked toward the bathroom, leaving her standing there, bewildered, leaning against the door.

She had thought he would just be throwing a tantrum, like usual. Whenever she angered him in the past, within a few days, he would be fine again. But now, who could tell her why this man's stubbornness and tantrums were so maddening?

After a while, he came out of the bathroom. The effects of the alcohol seemed to have worn off a little, but his face was still cold. He didn't look at her, didn't speak to her, and instead dried his hair and climbed into bed, treating her like she was invisible.

She sighed, picked up her clothes, and walked into the bathroom. How she longed for the carefree freedom of being alone, when she didn't have to worry about reading his moods. Now, she had to watch his every move. It wasn't about missing being single; it was about missing the carefree life before he had entered her heart.

When she came out, he seemed to have already fallen asleep, lying with his back to her, facing the other side of the bed. She walked over, lifted the blanket, and lay down. He didn't react at all, lying completely still.

She stared into the darkness for a while, then turned over, reaching her hand to wrap around his slim waist. She called his name softly, "Albert Wilson..."

His back stiffened, but he didn't move. She knew he wasn't asleep. In the darkness, she couldn't help but smile slyly. Didn't people always say that married couples argue in the morning but make up by the end of the day? Was this what they meant?

Thinking this, she pressed her soft body closer to him. Feeling him tense up again, she spoke gently, "Albert..."

Ah, she couldn't even remember the last time she had called him that. She always felt calling him by his full name made her seem too vulnerable, as if he were her everything, and she couldn't help but rely on him.