Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 202 - -sigh

Could the boss really fire her? It wasn't that he was worried about her struggling to find another job. What truly concerned him was the thought of her moving to another company and attracting even more men vying for her attention. With her flamboyant and almost arrogant demeanor, it was easy to imagine countless men eager to try and conquer her.

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"OK, take responsibility for your own mistakes. Good. I'll hang up now!"

Albert barely managed to suppress his laughter as he spoke, quickly ending the call. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for Jim to say. After all, where else was he supposed to find such a competent secretary on such short notice?

Anyway, her assistant was already accustomed to being bossed around by her. Most of her workload had already been taken over by him, so handling it now should feel natural. As the boss, why shouldn't Albert take advantage of that?

He stood up, stretched lazily, and closed his eyes to bask in the sunlight streaming into his office. The weather was gradually warming up, and he hoped their relationship could thaw and grow warmer too—just like the changing seasons.

The most pressing thing he needed to do was find an opportunity to clear up the misunderstandings from four years ago.

Cynthia had slept through the morning, finally making up for the sleep she had missed the night before. When she woke up, she faintly heard voices outside. It puzzled her—she remembered being the only person in the apartment.

No, wait. She wasn't alone. There was still that drunk man from last night. The thought jolted her memory. She suddenly realized she was in the master bedroom.

She distinctly remembered him going into the master bedroom himself last night. But then, what about her...?

It all came back to her—she had gone in to change his towel. But she had been too tired and had fallen asleep right there. That meant... he must have carried her to the bed?

The thought left her feeling uneasy. She got out of bed and walked toward the voices.

Following the sound, she reached the small guest bedroom across the hall. When she opened the door, she saw him holding Olive in his arms. Olive was holding a picture book, and the two of them were happily flipping through it, identifying the images together.

As soon as she pushed the door open, Olive immediately jumped off his lap, bouncing happily on the small bed. With outstretched arms, she called out excitedly,

"Mommy, you're awake! Hug me!"

He also looked up at her, his eyes soft with a warm smile. But as he smiled, his gaze slowly drifted downward and froze at her chest. Cynthia glanced down and realized, to her horror, that she was wearing her pajamas—without a bra underneath. The fabric outlined the curves of her chest unmistakably.

Her face flushed crimson in an instant. Embarrassed and furious, she shot him a glare, mentally cursing him as shameless. Without saying a word, she strode forward, scooped Olive into her arms, and hurriedly retreated to the master bedroom. Behind her, she could hear his low, restrained chuckle.

In the master bedroom, she plopped Olive onto the bed before turning around to find something to wear. How could she have forgotten how lecherous he could be? From now on, she resolved to keep herself thoroughly covered whenever he was around.

She rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out the least flattering turtleneck sweater she could find. She didn't care whether it looked good or not; she pulled it over her head in a hurry.

Meanwhile, Olive was sitting nearby, giggling mischievously. She reached out a tiny hand, her eyes full of mischief.

"Mommy, let me touch—"

Annoyed, Cynthia swatted Olive's hand away.

"Go away! How old are you now? Aren't you ashamed?"

"Not ashamed! Not ashamed!"

Olive managed to sneak in a quick poke before collapsing onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Cynthia couldn't help but laugh as well, her annoyance melting away. After putting on the sweater, she joined Olive on the bed, and the two started playfully roughhousing.

"Once you're done, come out and eat."

The deep voice from outside interrupted their fun. Before Cynthia could respond, Olive scrambled up from the bed and called out in her sweet, childish voice,

"Okay, coming!"

Cynthia, feeling her own hunger, picked up Olive and walked out. Albert was already seated at the dining table, and the spread before him was a hearty assortment of takeout food.

As soon as Albert looked up, he couldn't help but notice how thoroughly Cynthia was wrapped up in her turtleneck, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Still, he cleared his throat and tried to sound casual as he teased her,

"The weather outside is really nice today. Dressing like that, you might get too warm."

Cynthia rolled her eyes at him but didn't respond. She grabbed her chopsticks and prepared to dig into the meal. Olive, sitting beside her, nodded enthusiastically,

"Yeah, yeah, Mommy, Daddy's right! It's really hot outside!"

Cynthia's chopsticks clattered to the table as she stared at Olive in shock, speechless.

"Olive, you..."

Dad? Olive had called him Dad? And so naturally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world?

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

Olive looked at Cynthia with wide, innocent eyes, clearly puzzled by her distracted expression.

Sitting across from her, Albert noticed her strong reaction. His eyes, which had been full of joy just moments before, now clouded with a hint of hurt. He stood up and took a new pair of chopsticks, handing them to her gently, before speaking in a low, resigned voice,

"Well... if you're not comfortable with it, I won't let her call me that..."

"You guys eat, I'm not hungry..."

Cynthia shook herself out of her thoughts, avoiding eye contact as she spoke, and put down her chopsticks. She hurriedly got up, intending to leave. She wasn't even sure why, but she felt a tightness in her chest, an uncomfortable ache.

To be honest, she couldn't quite accept the reality of the situation. Olive's ease and acceptance of him contrasted sharply with Cynthia's own resistance, and it left her feeling conflicted.

He reached across the table, his hand gently grabbing hers with care, his voice thick with concern,

"You've missed two meals. Please, just eat."

Then, she heard a barely audible sigh escape him,

"I'll go..."