Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 128 - -Love or not

He rushed to his feet, pulling her up and asking,

"What are you doing?"

She caught sight of his bare body and, gritting her teeth, turned her head and shrugged off his hand.

"Going home!"

"You're not going anywhere!"

He grabbed her again, shouting fiercely.

Just the thought of that man still being in her small apartment made him furious, and his tone became more commanding.

"You're moving back in with me, right now!"

He had asked her to move back with him back in Provence, but after everything that happened, it had been postponed until now.

Cynthia trembled with anger at his arrogance and domineering attitude.

"Albert Wilson, do you think the world revolves around you? Just because you say something, does that mean everyone has to obey you?"

She fired off a barrage of words like a machine gun, and he was getting fired up too.

"For you, I am your sky. If I tell you to move back, then you move back!"

She shot him a cold glare, and he gritted his teeth, warning her.

"You're not moving, huh? Fine! I have my ways of making you move!"

As they were both in a heated standoff, his phone rang. He walked over, answered the call irritably, and immediately his expression changed. The anger from before was replaced with a hint of trembling fear.

"What? Suicide? I'm coming right now!"

He hung up the phone, quickly put on his clothes, and rushed out the door, not even sparing her a glance. His face was pale to the point of being unsettling. She rarely saw him like this, so she didn't push the issue about moving back in with him.

Once he was gone, she finally had her freedom. She didn't want to stay in the huge house for another second. After a quick shower, she hurried back to her small apartment.

If it had been someone else saying this to her, she would have probably just smiled it off. But not him. When he casually mentioned it, she took it seriously and it made her genuinely upset.

The marks he left on her body last night still lingered. As she sat on the bus, leaning against the window, watching the scenes of the streets pass by, she couldn't help but let the tears fall.

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When she opened the door to her small apartment, the pungent smell of smoke hit her immediately. Surprised, she rushed to the bedroom, only to find Quinn awake, leaning against the headboard, chain-smoking. His face, usually so resolute, had an undeniable trace of weariness.

There were cigarettes left behind by Albert Wilson when he had stayed here before. She had no idea how this man had managed to find them. Angrily, she stepped forward, snatched the cigarette from his hand, and crushed it out in the ashtray with a fierce motion.

"Hey, Quinn, you're a patient! How can you smoke?"

As she extended her delicate wrist, a bruise became visible – a reminder of the way that man had grabbed her the night before. Quinn's gaze flickered briefly before he reached out, taking her wrist gently and rubbing the bruise.

At that moment, he had never despised his own weakness more. He had once been someone above it all, but now, he had fallen so far, unable to even protect the woman he liked.

As for her, he couldn't say that he loved her, after all, they had only been together for a few days. All he could say was that he was fond of her now. He felt for her strength and admired her courage.

Cynthia was startled by his touch and the sudden coldness surrounding him. She quickly pulled her hand back and rushed to the window to open it, trying to act nonchalant as she said,

"Please, don't smoke in my place. If you don't care about your life, I do!"

After she finished speaking and received no response, she turned to look at him. Their eyes met, and her unease grew stronger.

He wasn't like this before. His gaze had been pure, without any trace of impurity. But now, his eyes held a different emotion, and it made her think that maybe, just maybe, she should really move back to that mansion.

Before her thoughts could fully form in her mind, there was a knock at the door. She peered through the peephole and saw several muscular men standing outside. Her heart leapt into her throat as she thought these men must be here for Quinn.

Terrified, she huddled in place, her body trembling uncontrollably, and she hesitated to open the door. Quinn, sensing the change in the atmosphere, painfully walked out of the room, gripping his gun.

The two of them exchanged a tense look. Quinn leaned toward the peephole to get a better look at the men outside. Then he shook his head at her, signaling that they weren't here for her. She was momentarily confused.

So, she forced herself to ask, "May I ask who you are looking for?"

A voice from outside responded, respectful and strong, "Miss Lancaster, we are from the deputy general's office. We were sent to help you move."

"What?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, but her anger flared, and she clenched her fists tightly. This man was truly overbearing!

"Miss Lancaster, are you ready? When can we begin moving?"

The man continued to ask respectfully, but she angrily turned away and sank into the sofa. Honestly, she wanted to shout at him: "Move your sister!"

But the situation was beyond her control now. They had already sent people to her door—how could she not move? If she said no, that man would probably send someone to tear down her house.

However, she also felt that living with Quinn like this wasn't quite right, especially after the intense stare he had given her earlier. So, after a moment of frustration, she finally got up, planning to pack her things.

Quinn leaned against the doorframe, watching her. After a long pause, he suddenly asked in a low voice:

"Cynthia, do you... love that man?"

Her hand, which was in the middle of packing clothes, froze. A sharp pain shot through her chest, and she instinctively avoided Quinn's intense gaze.

"Love or not, we're going to divorce sooner or later anyway..." she muttered lazily.

She wasn't the type of person to share her innermost secrets with anyone, let alone with this foreign man who felt like a stranger.

"Love, then hold on to it. If not, let go!" Quinn threw those words at her, then turned and walked into the bedroom. It was rare for him to say something so long.

Cynthia's heart sank further as she watched him walk away, his movements slow but somehow graceful. She suddenly wanted to ask him, "What if you love someone deeply, but can't hold on to them?"

But she swallowed the words back. Why would she talk about love and hate with a stranger? At that moment, she didn't realize that one day, the question she longed to ask would play out in his life in the most vivid way.

The things she needed to pack were just a few clothes and her daily toiletries—nothing else. He had everything there. She didn't know what kind of thoughts made him want her to move back in with him. She only knew that she couldn't afford to anger him again.

But if she loved someone, shouldn't she want to spend every day with them? Why did she feel no excitement at the thought? Instead, she felt a deep sense of fear.

Was it because she already knew the ending? That's why she was afraid? Afraid of falling deeper, afraid of being unable to pull herself out, afraid of not having the courage to face the heartbreak after separation!

After packing her things, she went to the bedroom to say goodbye to Quinn. He was sitting on the bed, looking down at the learning books she had bought for him. In that moment, he seemed calmer, the sharp edge gone, and he appeared gentle and harmless.