My CEO Ex: Let Me Go.-Chapter 50

I slowly walked out of the hospital, aimlessly wandering down the street.

I had no idea where I was going.

The sun was shining brightly, yet I felt cold—a cold that seemed to seep from the very core of my being.

I pulled out my phone and opened Twitter on a secondary account, scrolling through the events of the day.

I knew exactly what the comments would be like, yet I couldn’t help myself. I clicked, almost as if I were punishing myself. I scrolled slowly, absorbing every insult.

I checked the comments on various major video platforms and news articles, piecing together the entire story.

Finally, I opened the controversial OTP hashtags, scrolling from top to bottom.

After Alexander’s affair had been exposed, the hashtags had quieted for a while, but some people still insisted on posting.

Even I had to admit, the images, videos, and fan art of Alexander and Isabella looked like a perfect match—a beautiful, destined couple.

One was a rich heir, the other a stunning celebrity; they seemed like they were meant to be together.

In their story, there was no place for me. I was just an extraneous character, inserted where I shouldn’t have been, thanks to fate’s cruel twist.

I closed my eyes and, using my secondary account, edited a tweet: Vivienne Sinclair is not a homewrecker; Isabella Blackwood is the real homewrecker.

As soon as I posted it, it vanished from my profile in a matter of seconds.

It had been blocked.

I confirmed it.

This was Alexander’s way of protecting Isabella—he wouldn’t allow any rumors that could harm her to spread.

I tugged at my lips and edited another tweet: Vivienne Sinclair is a homewrecker.

This time, the tweet went through successfully.

I refreshed my profile, checking again and again. This tweet stayed up—it didn’t disappear.

In fact, some people even liked the tweet and replied: “Exactly, the mistress deserves to be punished. I curse Vivienne Sinclair to never have children.”

I held my breath and turned off my phone.

Just then, a group of people suddenly surrounded me.

I looked up, confused, and was forced to stop walking.

Among the crowd were men and women dressed like paparazzi, microphones shoved in my face, cameras flashing as they snapped photos.

"Excuse me, are you Miss Vivienne Sinclair? Is it true that Alexander and Isabella Blackwood are now in a romantic relationship?"

"Did you interfere in Alexander and Isabella’s relationship? What do you think about the rumors calling you a homewrecker?"

"What happened that night between you and Alexander?"

"What do you think about Isabella’s team accusing you of being domineering at work and altering makeup?"

I hadn’t even processed what was happening when the barrage of questions began to overwhelm me.

The microphones pressed against me were suffocating, and I could barely catch my breath.

I finally regained my composure and took a step back.

The crowd immediately closed in, continuing to ask questions relentlessly, their voices overlapping.

Flashes of light blinded me.

The reporters were ecstatic. They had gathered near the hospital, expecting to catch a glimpse of Isabella.

But instead of getting a shot of Isabella, they had caught Vivienne—the one connected to her.

My head buzzed with noise, but I patiently answered, “Sorry, I can’t disclose that. Please don’t delay me.”

The reporters, having waited so long for a story, refused to let me go. They crowded around me, pushing their microphones toward me, not letting me leave without a response.

“What’s so difficult to disclose?”

“Are you not responding because you’re guilty?”

“I heard that Alexander and Isabella were also at the hospital. Why were you there at the same time?”

“Are Alexander and Isabella living together now?”

“Nothing to say. Please let me go,” I said coldly.

“Does your silence mean the reports are true?”

“What do you think about Alexander and Isabella’s relationship?”

The reporters’ relentless questioning was giving me a headache. I felt faint, unable to breathe.

I kept my face cold, trying not to say much, but every time I tried to leave, I couldn’t escape.

My patience finally wore thin. “I’ll say it again—please let me go. If not, I’ll call the police and report you for harassment.”

Reluctantly, the reporters dispersed.

The area around the hospital was still crowded with people, moving to and fro.

After the reporters left, passersby around me stopped to stare and gossip.

I felt frustrated, my thoughts swirling. I walked a bit further, and just as I reached the bus stop, a bus arrived. I didn’t even check which line it was—I simply got on.

Saint James Hospital was a popular stop, and many passengers got off, leaving the bus mostly empty. I made my way to the back and found a seat by the window, staring out at the passing scenery, lost in thought.

Virellia City, the largest metropolis in Halcyon State, had developed rapidly in recent years.

The area around the hospital was always bustling, with restaurants and hotels everywhere.

Pedestrians hurried along their way.

A few stops later, the number of pedestrians started to dwindle, and the streets became lined with impressive greenery and towering buildings.

As the bus continued its route, more passengers got off until it was just me and an elderly woman left.

The bus was eerily quiet, with only the mechanical voice announcing stops.

Suddenly, the ringing of a phone broke the silence. The elderly woman glanced back at me.

It took me a moment to realize it was my phone. I pulled it out of my bag and saw that the caller ID clearly read: Alexander.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a few seconds before I swiped it left to decline the call.

Within seconds, the phone rang again. Alexander’s call was coming through once more.

I declined it again, closed all the apps in the background, and held the power button to shut the phone off, slipping it back into my bag.

The entire sequence played out smoothly and deliberately.

Out of sight, out of mind.

A few more stops passed, and then the elderly woman got off.

The bus reached its final destination, and the driver unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of his seat to shout toward the back where I was sitting. "Ma’am, we’ve reached the last stop. You need to get off." 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Ma’am?" When I didn’t respond, the bus driver called again.

"Oh, okay."

I snapped out of my daze, stood up, and exited through the back door.

A few other buses were parked at the station, one of which had its doors open, with passengers lining up to board.

I joined the queue, got on, and once again chose a seat at the back.

I hadn’t moved much since getting on earlier, traveling from the starting point to the final stop. During the ride, the bus had gotten crowded for a while, with passengers constantly switching seats.

After completing the round trip, it was around noon.

I took another bus and got off halfway at a station. After walking a few hundred meters, I found myself on a busy commercial street.

It was lunchtime, and the street was teeming with people.

The crowd was mostly young, with couples holding hands, best friends with their arms linked, and groups of guys with their arms around each other’s shoulders.

I wandered through the commercial street, eventually buying a hamburger from one of the stands.

I reached into my bag for my wallet. Inside, I found a few bills, all in the highest denomination.

I took one out and handed it to the cashier.

The young man hesitated when he saw the $100 bill. "Excuse me, miss, do you have any smaller bills? Or maybe you’d like to pay with PayPal? I’m running low on cash."

He took off his gloves and walked over to the cash register, only to find it nearly empty.

Most people here paid with PayPal, so there wasn’t much cash in the register.

"Just a moment," I said.

I pulled my phone from my bag and held down the power button to turn it on.

Once the startup animation finished, a flood of messages poured in.

There were voicemails, work emails, and messages from Alexander.