Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 17 - - we’ll get divorced

Chapter 17 - Chapter 17- we’ll get divorced

His profile appeared serene and profound, his refined features exuding an aristocratic elegance. Perhaps it was the lighting or his softened tone, but in that moment, Cynthia found him oddly… captivating.

Then, she saw something even more surprising: a gentle smile spread across his face.

"I'm out handling something right now…" he murmured into the phone. Cynthia caught a hint of a woman's voice on the other end. Whatever the woman said made him sigh with indulgent affection.

"Be good. I'll come see you tonight. Wait for me."

Watching him whispering sweetly, Cynthia felt a quiet ache in her chest.

Why did it seem that every man she encountered had someone else in his heart? Whether they loved or despised that woman, whether there was warmth or coldness in their feelings, they always belonged, in some way, to those women.

Vincent's heart was hers, but his life was entwined with Grace Lancaster. And now this man beside her—he might become hers in name, yet his heart clearly belonged to the woman on the other end of that call. In a world filled with happy people, why was she never among them?

The car pulled up in front of a lavish, grand hotel. She felt a wave of dizziness as she looked up at the bold, proud letters above: *Shengshi Hotel*.

Following him inside, they were guided through a private passage reserved exclusively for BlackRock's four top leaders. They arrived at a quiet suite upstairs. She sat down in silence, her face tense, still simmering with anger from his earlier advances.

Meanwhile, he sat across from her, sipping tea elegantly as if nothing had happened.

"What's wrong? Angry?" he asked, seemingly amused.

She remained silent. In her mind, she believed that if someone had found a great love, they should be loyal, without yearning for someone "better." If he already had a woman he loved, then why did he keep bothering her?

She didn't insist on spending her life with just one person, but she firmly believed that as long as one loved someone else, they had no business seeking out others.

He glanced at her, unbuttoning one more button on his shirt, a reminder of how close he'd come to losing control in that kiss just minutes ago.

"Didn't you have some terms you wanted to discuss that day?" he asked. "If not, then I'll be on my way."

He moved as if to stand and leave.

"Mr. Wilson!"

She called out to him softly, her voice carrying a calmness that was as chilly as her heart had become after overhearing his phone call. He paused, then sat back down, though his tone carried a hint of irritation.

"For two people about to become husband and wife, addressing me as 'Mr. Wilson' seems rather formal, don't you think?"

Her expression stiffened. She pressed her lips together, casting him a brief glance before finally replying, her voice measured.

"I just want to ask you one question. After today, I won't ask again."

He gestured for her to go on. Her brilliant eyes were tranquil as she spoke.

"Why are you marrying me?"

He hadn't expected her to be so direct. A flicker of surprise flashed in his dark eyes before his expression returned to its usual calm. He narrowed his gaze at her, his tone light and almost indifferent.

"I suppose… my reasons are quite similar to why you agreed to marry me."

He didn't elaborate, but she understood. She'd impulsively used this marriage to retaliate against another man, and he had his own agenda. To put it plainly, it was nothing more than mutual exploitation.

But given her background, she didn't see how she held any real value to him. What was there to gain?

Still, since he'd been so blunt, she was finally able to discuss terms with him in a clear-headed, detached manner. Recalling his earlier advances, she felt her irritation flare up again.

"Mr. Wilson, the first term I'd like to discuss is this: from now on, neither of us is to touch the other without permission."

Despite his previous insistence on not calling him by that formal title, she did so deliberately. What else could she call him? She recalled that passionate night when he'd compelled her to call him "Albert" in the heat of the moment, but in a setting as detached as this, she found the idea absurd. It would feel as though they were truly intimate—a notion that seemed almost mocking.

True to form, displeasure clouded his handsome face, though he refrained from snapping at her.

"And if certain public settings require us to appear… cooperative?" he countered.

"That… would be acceptable," she replied, gritting her teeth slightly.

She noticed the sly smile playing on Albert Wilson's lips as he shrugged, gesturing for her to go on. Cynthia picked up her glass, took a big gulp, and suppressed the flash of unease within her.

"If you plan to take action against the Lancaster family," she continued, "I would like you to give me one thing after their downfall—the jade bracelet in William S. Lancaster's collection. It's… my mother's keepsake."

"No problem," he responded swiftly, crossing his long legs with an unreadable depth in his gaze.

"And," she added, "I hope you can provide me with a place to live…"

After marriage, she certainly wouldn't be staying with him. With two more years of school left, she needed somewhere to settle down.

"Fine," he agreed just as readily, though a trace of irony flickered in his dark eyes. She noticed but didn't comment.

To him, it was obvious: for all her airs, she was still just as materialistic as anyone else, seizing this opportunity to milk him for luxury cars, a fancy home, and fine clothes.

But, Albert Wilson was in for a surprise. Instead of rattling off a list of material demands, her next question almost made him fall out of his chair.

"Lastly, I'd like to ask: how long is our marriage supposed to last?"

She looked up at him, her face calm and serene, asking about the term of their marriage as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Since it was just a transaction for mutual benefit, there had to be an end date, right?

Albert found himself questioning just what her heart was made of. How could she ask him so calmly about the duration of their marriage? Would it hurt her to show a hint of vulnerability?

"If I say…"

He suddenly leaned forward, his cold, deep features closing in on her. His lips parted slightly as he murmured,

"The term is a lifetime. How about that?"

"Ha—"

She let out a soft laugh, bright and captivating. Facing his proximity, she didn't shy away, her clear eyes meeting his gaze unwaveringly.

"Mr. Wilson, if it's a lifetime… do you think your lady would agree? I don't want to carry that kind of reputation for the rest of my life!"

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

She had no interest in stealing another woman's man, nor in being a mistress for life. She wanted to either find someone to love openly and marry, or if that wasn't possible, she'd rather remain alone for eternity.

Albert Wilson narrowed his eyes and leaned back. She truly felt nothing for him; it was clear from her transparent gaze. All he saw was distance and indifference, even a hint of wariness, despite their passionate night together.

Isn't this what he wanted? Yet, why did the thought of her speaking so lightly about him and another woman stir a sense of irritation in his heart?

Raking a hand through his hair, he impatiently said,

"The day the Lancaster empire falls is the day we'll get divorced!"

"Fine!"

She readily agreed without any objection.

Cynthia, who was focused solely on Wilson, didn't notice that when she first proposed her conditions, he hadn't explicitly agreed; he merely shrugged. It was only later that he readily accepted her subsequent requests.

One day, she would realize that she could never outsmart this cunning and astute fox. Because she hadn't received his affirmative answer, it was destined that he would take everything from her.

Now it was mid-April, yet he had set their wedding date for a month later. She turned her gaze away and spoke with difficulty,

"Is it possible… to have the wedding sooner?"

His sharp eyes gradually filled with thinly veiled anger, but he still managed to restrain it,

"Miss Lancaster, getting married is a significant event. You must give me some time to prepare properly—"

"No need!"

As soon as he finished speaking, she quickly interrupted him. Realizing she had lost control of her emotions, she softened her tone,

"I don't need a grand wedding; something low-key would be fine…"

After all, what did it matter? No matter how lavish the ceremony, it wasn't the person she truly wished to marry.

A hint of anger flickered in Albert Wilson's heart. He knew her eagerness to marry him wasn't driven by a desire for his wealth or status like those vain women who chased after the Lancaster name, but rather because of another man.

She was desperate to see that man hurt, which was why she had offered herself so willingly that night and why she was now pleading so earnestly to marry him.