Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 157 - - even pain felt like joy

Seeing her asleep, Albert finally stood up and walked out of the hospital room. He took out his phone to call Jim, asking him to bring his computer and other things to the hospital.

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However, just as he had stepped out of the room and walked a few paces, Vincent arrived after hearing the news. Without warning, he landed a heavy punch to Albert's face. Albert, caught off guard, staggered back a few steps and leaned against the wall. Glancing up at Vincent, whose eyes were bloodshot from anger, he couldn't help but yell in frustration,

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Albert, did you marry her to get revenge on the Lancaster family?"

Vincent yelled in hysteria, clearly having heard about the past grievances from Karl.

Albert didn't care about their old disputes, but Vincent's words stung because what mattered most to him was that his little princess had unknowingly become a pawn in this man's vengeance against the Lancaster family. Heartbroken, Vincent had come here in a frenzy.

Albert straightened up, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and sneered coldly,

"Prosecutor, I'm sure you don't need to worry about what happens between me and her."

Vincent trembled with anger, pointing at him and saying decisively,

"Albert, you scum of the earth, I'm taking her away today! I won't watch you keep hurting her!"

The coldness in Albert's eyes intensified.

"Prosecutor, we'll see if you have the ability to do that!"

With those words, he quickly tossed his coat aside, stretched his limbs, and got into a ready stance. He had disliked Vincent for a long time. Now that the man had come looking for trouble, Albert was more than happy to use the opportunity to let off some steam.

Vincent, of course, was not one to back down. He too threw off his coat. As a prosecutor, he was skilled in martial arts and combat techniques, but compared to Albert, who was used to dealing with knives and guns, he was at a disadvantage.

Despite knowing he was no match for the man, he threw himself into the fight, determined to protect his princess. In the otherwise quiet hallway, the sound of their intense combat echoed. Fortunately, Albert had booked the entire floor, so no one else would witness this violent scene, which would surely shock anyone who saw it.

In the end, of course, Vincent was defeated. However, Albert didn't come out unscathed. His face and body bore the marks of the fight.

Vincent, of course, could never take her away. As long as Albert didn't let go, no one could take her from his side. However, he never expected that one day, it wouldn't be a person who would take her away, but fate itself.

When Cynthia woke up again, the sky was already growing dim. She opened her eyes to see his tall figure sitting in the chair beside her bed, a laptop resting on his lap, his long fingers flying across the keyboard.

He bit his lip, his expression focused and serious. The high bridge of his nose carried an air of confidence and defiance. Behind him, the fading sunset light streamed through the glass, casting soft beams that made him appear more gentle.

She didn't say anything, just silently watching him, listening to the rhythmic sound of his fingers tapping on the keys. To her ears, it was like a beautiful and enchanting melody. At that moment, she wished nothing more than for time to stand still.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before he lifted his head from the computer, stretching his stiff neck. He suddenly met her gaze—those glassy, dark eyes filled with deep affection.

His heart skipped a beat, and he set the computer aside, leaning in to kiss her gently.

"Awake? Are you hungry? I've already asked Fredy to prepare dinner; they'll bring it up soon."

Cynthia wasn't usually one to express her emotions, so she probably didn't think he would notice. She shyly looked away, mumbling in response,

"Mm..."

He smiled helplessly. His little woman was always so shy and adorable. He took out his phone to call Fredy, but just as he was about to dial, his phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, his brows furrowed in surprise. He stood up and walked out of the room.

After he left, Cynthia attempted to turn over, but just as she was about to move, she suddenly saw a tall, black silhouette flash by the door. She was startled and almost screamed.

Once she saw the strong, determined face of the person, she sighed in relief and exclaimed in surprise,

"Quinn?"

The person didn't speak but instead fixed his gaze firmly on her as he walked toward the bed. His entire body exuded an imposing chill, so different from the desperate figure she had once saved.

She wasn't sure what he was going to do, just lying there watching him. She thought that since she was his lifesaver, he shouldn't have any malicious intent toward her.

He stopped by her bed and suddenly reached out, his hand brushing against her still-pale cheek. His fingers carried the cool air from outside, and when they touched her warm skin, she visibly shuddered, her eyes full of rejection.

Her rejection made his outstretched fingers falter for a moment in mid-air before he quickly pulled them back and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. Quinn's gaze flickered for a long time, and in the end, he hoarsely spoke,

"How did you end up like this..."

She could save everyone's life, but she couldn't save herself. He had just returned from a business trip, tired and dusty, when he heard about her injury.

At that moment, all he felt was pain, and all he could think of was her small yet determined figure. Without waiting for Wilson to rest, he rushed straight over.

Cynthia, momentarily unsettled by the complex emotions in his eyes, awkwardly laughed and tried to ease the tension,

"I look a bit disheveled, huh? But it's okay—"

"Almost lost your life, and you still call it 'okay'?"

Before she could finish her self-deprecating words, he suddenly shouted, interrupting her. She was a little startled, not understanding the reason behind his sudden outburst.

This man's temper had grown increasingly volatile. During the time she had taken care of him, he would never have dared to yell at her like that. Thinking back to the days they had spent together, she couldn't help but smile lightly and unconsciously,

"Although I was injured, fortunately, I'm still alive. Isn't that good?"

Quinn was at a loss for words, blocked by her seemingly optimistic response. He stood by the bed, lowering his gaze to study her — her forced, cheerful smile, her slightly pale face. After a long pause, he finally coldly asked,

"Is it that whenever you're with him, even pain feels like joy?"

Faced with his sharp question, Cynthia remained silent, simply gazing at him for a long time, choosing silence over a response. Eventually, he suddenly snorted coldly and turned, striding out of the room.

She was left utterly confused by his swift departure but could only watch him leave. She couldn't deny, however, that the words he had just said had struck her heart deeply. When she was with him, it was true— even pain felt like joy .