Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 178 - - You’ve always known.

The next morning, Cynthia received a call from Grace, informing her that William S Lancaster was nearing his end and urging her to visit him at the hospital. To them, it was expected that she, as his daughter, would go to see her father one last time. However, the truth was, she was going to reveal the truth to William S Lancaster and let him die in pain.

Sometimes, she thought about it and realized how cruel she had become. But compared to him, wasn't she merciful? After all, she was targeting only William S Lancaster, whereas he had dragged innocent people into this mess.

As she stepped outside, she ran into Jim. From the conflicted look on his face, it seemed he had been pacing outside for quite some time. She glanced at the document in his hands and immediately understood his intentions.

With a faint smile, she reached out and took the document from Jim.

"I have something to attend to, but please tell him that I'll sign it as soon as I get back."

"Cynthia..." Jim called out to her with a face full of sorrow.

She gave a self-deprecating smile and raised the document in her hand.

"Don't call me that anymore. If you don't mind, just call me Cynthia."

She said this and turned to head back inside to put the document down. Just then, Jim suddenly grabbed her, pleading with her.

"Cynthia, please don't sign it! The boss has his reasons. He loves you, don't you feel that?"

"Love me? Ha..."

Cynthia looked down at the document, her smile becoming even more desolate.

Jim continued urgently,

"Only you can make him smile, only you can make him feel pain. In the end, you're the only one who can make him truly alive. We, the outsiders, can all see it. Please, Cynthia, Monica and I are both begging you. For our sake, please don't sign it."

"Jim, the one who's supposed to spend his life with me is him, not you!"

Cynthia's eyes burned with the sting of unshed tears. She took a deep breath, looking at Jim with a calmness that hid the storm raging inside her.

"Our path has already led us to this point, there's no turning back," she said softly, her voice steady but laced with pain, "And besides, he's about to become a father now."

With those words, she decisively closed the door, leaving her tears behind on the other side.

Outside, Jim slammed his fist into the door in frustration, his heart heavy with pain as he turned and left.

On the way to the hospital, Cynthia sat in the back row of the bus, by the window, gazing out at the deep blue sky. She stared blankly at it, her mind wandering, until her eyes began to well up with tears. She had known this was how it would end, so why did it still hurt so much?

A few people nearby cast curious glances at her. She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to put on a smile, but the effort only seemed to make the looks even more uncomfortable. Perhaps they thought she was losing her mind, torn between tears and laughter.

Her phone rang, and she saw an unfamiliar number on the screen. Furrowing her brows, she answered the call, and on the other end came a familiar voice. Though it sounded tired, it was laced with joy. The voice called her name, but it broke with emotion:

"Cynthia—"

"Bonnie!"

Cynthia froze for a moment, then exclaimed in shock and joy, tears immediately pouring from her eyes. Ignoring the strange looks from people around her, she shouted into the phone,

"Bonnie, where are you? Are you alright? Is everything okay?"

The flood of questions made Bonnie on the other end cry as well.

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"I'm fine, Cynthia, don't worry!"

Cynthia wanted to ask more, but just as she was about to speak, a deep male voice interrupted from Bonnie's side.

"Enough! You've checked in, now hang up!"

Then there was a loud click as the call abruptly ended.

"Bonnie! Bonnie!" Cynthia called desperately into the phone, but there was no reply. Tears streamed down her face, though this time, they were tears of joy. She couldn't believe it—Bonnie was alive, she was okay.

Cynthia's joy over Bonnie's safety quickly turned bittersweet. The male voice, though indifferent, didn't seem to carry any malice, and the fact that Bonnie was still alive made her heart swell with relief. But as she sat there, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, she couldn't ignore the subtle discomfort brewing within her.

People around her began to whisper, their voices low but tinged with curiosity. She paid them no mind, her focus still on the phone in her hand. Every now and then, she'd laugh, then cry, all while staring at the screen. Her emotions felt tangled, as if they couldn't be neatly separated. It was all too much to process.

And then, as her eyes lingered on the phone, something shifted. She realized the phone wasn't just a link to Bonnie—it was a reminder of everything else. The intricate dragon design etched into the phone's surface caught her attention, each delicate curve of the pattern etched deeply in her mind, like an indelible mark. The pattern—once something she might have admired for its beauty—now felt like an oppressive weight. It was a connection to a past that was too painful to hold onto any longer.

With trembling fingers, Cynthia traced the dragon's design, as if the tactile motion could ground her in a reality that felt increasingly distant. The tears that slipped down her face only seemed to make it more real—the sadness, the loss, the things she couldn't change. She closed her eyes, letting the emotions wash over her, as if each tear was a step toward letting go of the pain.

In the hospital room of William S. Lancaster, tensions were palpable. The room was filled with family, including Grace, Doreen, Wendy, and even Vincent—each person united by the fact that Lancaster had been a pivotal figure in their lives. Vincent, despite his distant ties to the Lancaster family, was there out of respect for his family connections with the Lancasters.

Cynthia, however, had long since wiped the tears from her face. She walked into the room with a calm, almost detached air, her presence cutting through the tension like a gust of wind. Her demeanor remained composed, though an almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she surveyed the room.

Grace was the first to speak, her voice tinged with anger as she challenged Cynthia's behavior. "Cynthia, how cold-blooded can you be? Isn't it true that Wilson dotes on you, spoils you? How can you stand by and watch as the Lancaster family crumbles under his hand? Why don't you step in and plead for him?"

But Cynthia's silence was deafening. Grace, Doreen, and the others still held on to the illusion that Cynthia was the beloved partner of Albert, the one he cherished and doted on. They were unaware that Cynthia had just received the divorce papers that very day, a cruel sign that things had already spiraled beyond saving.

Her eyes grew colder as she locked gazes with Grace, and she spoke with an icy calmness. "Why should I help you?"

Doreen, furious, marched toward her and grabbed her by the collar. "Even if we've treated you poorly, what about your father? He's your biological father! He raised you, cared for you for so many years. Don't you think it's time you show some compassion?"

Cynthia's lips curled into a bitter smile as she looked down at Doreen's hand on her collar. "Who says he's my biological father?"

The room fell silent. The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. No one could immediately process the gravity of what she had just said. William S. Lancaster, barely able to move, struggled against his weakened state, his breath growing heavy as his wide eyes fixed on Cynthia. His voice cracked with disbelief. "What... what did you say?"

Cynthia met his gaze with contempt. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You've always known."

In that moment, everything shifted. Cynthia's revelation was a blow to the fragile illusion of family that Lancaster had tried to maintain. She had just torn through the facade, exposing the wounds that lay beneath the surface, and with her words, she condemned the very foundation of their relationship.