Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.

Cynthia Lancaster never imagined their reunion would be like this: Albert Wilson, unconscious and clinging to life, while she fought to save him.

Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the IV, her mind flashing back to all the times she had wished him harm. She'd cursed him, even fantasized about a world without him. But now, staring at his fragile form, those feelings crumbled. There was no satisfaction, no victory. Only a hollow ache.

Today marked the end of his treatment. One final session, and his life would no longer hang by a thread. For Cynthia, it meant freedom—a chance to leave this chapter behind and return to Australia with her daughter, Olive. The thought should've brought her peace, but instead, it felt like a storm brewing on the horizon.

In the bedroom, Olive lay sprawled on the bed, her tiny form dwarfed by its size. Cynthia placed her hat and oversized sunglasses aside, revealing a face both serene and striking. Her flawless skin defied the years, and no one would guess she was a mother to a four-year-old.

"Olive, be good," Cynthia said softly, kneeling beside her daughter. "Once I finish treating your uncle, we'll leave. For good."

Olive's dark eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Mommy, why is Uncle sleeping so much? Is he a prince waiting for a kiss?"

Cynthia's lips twitched into a faint smile. "No, sweetheart. He's just... tired. Now, sit here and wait for me, alright?"

Olive nodded solemnly, clutching her stuffed rabbit. "Okay, Mommy. I'll wait."

But as Cynthia turned to prepare the medication, Olive's curiosity got the better of her. By the time Cynthia returned, Olive had climbed onto the bed, her tiny hand reaching out toward Albert's face.

"Olive!" Cynthia's sharp tone froze the girl in place. "Get down from there!"

Olive pouted, her large eyes brimming with tears. "Mommy, you always tell me to be a lady. Why are you yelling at me?"

Cynthia sighed, kneeling beside the bed. "You're right. Mommy shouldn't have shouted. Now, please, come down."

"But the bed's so big! I'll stay on the side. I won't squish Uncle," Olive protested, stubborn as ever.

Cynthia gave up with a weary smile. "Fine. Just stay still and don't touch anything, okay?"

Olive beamed triumphantly, propping her chin on her hands as she observed Albert with rapt fascination. "Mommy, I think this uncle is more handsome than Hardy."

Cynthia snorted, carefully unwrapping the bandages on Albert's back. "And why's that?"

"Because his nose looks like Olive's!" she declared, poking Albert's nose with her small finger.

Cynthia froze. Her eyes darted to Olive, then back to Albert. The resemblance was undeniable, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"Olive," Cynthia said, her voice strained, "are you saying you think you're pretty?"

"Aren't I, Mommy?" Olive's lower lip trembled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Cynthia sighed, brushing a hand through her daughter's curls. "Of course you are. The prettiest girl in the world."

Satisfied, Olive returned to her vigil. But the silence didn't last.

"Mommy, Uncle opened his eyes!" Olive cried, her voice shrill with excitement.

Cynthia's head snapped up, her heart leaping into her throat. Sure enough, Albert's eyes fluttered open, unfocused but unmistakably aware. For a moment, their gazes locked. His lips moved, forming a single, hoarse word:

"Cynthia..."

Time seemed to stop. Panic surged through her as she realized he wasn't supposed to wake up yet. Not now. Not like this.

"Mommy, why is Uncle calling you?" Olive's innocent question broke the spell.

Cynthia acted on instinct. She scooped Olive off the bed and set her down on the floor. Grabbing the emergency syringe, she injected Albert with the sedative, her hands steady despite the chaos in her mind. His body relaxed, and his eyes closed once more.

Cynthia exhaled shakily, her heart hammering in her chest. She hastily rebandaged his wounds, then picked up Olive and fled the room, the image of Albert's piercing gaze burned into her memory.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. But now, the past she'd fought so hard to bury was clawing its way back. And this time, there was no running from it.

n the corridor outside, Cynthia's steps faltered. She leaned against the wall, clutching Olive close. The little girl rested her head on her mother's shoulder, her tiny arms wrapping around Cynthia's neck.

"Mommy, is Uncle okay?" Olive whispered, her voice laced with concern.

Cynthia swallowed hard, her throat dry. "He'll be fine, sweetheart. He just needs rest."

"He called you 'Cynthia.'" Olive's curious tone was soft but persistent. "Why did he say that?"

Cynthia's chest tightened. How could she explain a history too complicated for a child's innocent mind? "That's just... an old name someone used to call me. Nothing important."

Olive accepted the answer with a small nod, but her wide eyes remained thoughtful.

Cynthia straightened, her resolve hardening. There was no room for hesitation now. She needed to finish what she'd started—close this chapter for good. Turning, she walked briskly down the hall, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Behind her, in the stillness of the room they'd just left, Albert's fingers twitched. Somewhere deep in his drug-induced haze, her voice lingered, pulling him toward the surface like a beacon.