Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 23 - -“I do!”

That night, the city was blanketed in its heaviest snowfall. She stood at Pier No. 8, her heart full of youthful hope and anxiety, waiting for him in the biting cold wind. What awaited her, however, was a loud slap from William S. Lancaster, the mocking face of Doreen Lancaster, and her own sudden fainting.

Having frozen through the night in the snow, she ended up with a high fever that lasted three days. When she finally woke up, he had already become her Vincent. It turned out that on the day after their planned elopement, he held a grand wedding with Grace Lancaster.

In an instant, they transformed from intimate lovers to a brother-in-law and sister-in-law relationship. She became the laughingstock of the entire family, the saddest tragedy of them all.

Now, on the eve of her impending marriage, he spoke such words to her, and she suddenly recalled a phrase she had read long ago: "As the years go by, when I look back, everything has changed beyond recognition."

She lay in bed, unable to move for a long time. Then her phone on her chest began to vibrate—Vincent was calling. He must have been waiting for her reply for so long that he decided to call.

Wiping away her tears, she sat up in bed and answered the call. As soon as she picked up, Vincent's anxious voice came through,

"Cynthia, did you see my message?"

"Yeah!"

She leaned against the headboard, responding softly. Vincent hurriedly asked,

"What about your decision?"

"Vince!"

She suddenly called out to him. That long-lost title made Vincent feel a pang in his heart. Then he heard her hesitant voice,

"I'm already his... Are you okay with that?"

Vincent fell silent for a moment before gently saying,

"Cynthia, I don't mind! No matter what happened between you and him, you will always be the flawless Cynthia in my heart!—"

"But I mind!"

Before he could finish, she coldly interrupted him.

"I mind that you're tainted! Because you touched that woman!"

Her calm accusation sent Vincent into a complete breakdown. In the two years since he married Grace Lancaster, he had only touched her once. That time, he was drunk—not so much because he drank too much himself but because Grace Lancaster had forced alcohol down his throat. In a haze, he mistook Grace for her, and thus committed an unforgivable mistake.

If there was anyone to blame, it was that night when Grace Lancaster wore a violet dress, and he was overwhelmed with longing for her. In his confusion, it ultimately led to a grave error. And she knew about it; Grace must have discreetly revealed it to her.

While he was still reeling from the pain, her indifferent voice continued to ring out,

"So, Vince, I guess there's no way you can erase that mark from yourself, right? So I'm sorry, but I won't go with you!"

After she finished speaking, she resolutely hung up the phone and then turned it off. Even if she didn't want to marry that man, she and Vincent could never go back to how things were before. They had missed their chance—ultimately, they had missed it.

The wedding the next day was devoid of bridesmaids, flower girls, or any family and friends to surround her. She walked alone, proud and dignified, her long wedding dress swaying as she climbed into the luxurious car that had come to pick her up, her straight back exuding the pride of a queen.

Bonnie and Victoria couldn't come; she didn't want her ordinary identity, which she relied on to survive, to be exposed. What should have been the most important event in a woman's life was instead filled with isolation and desolation.

As soon as she stepped out of the Lancaster estate, dazzling flashes from cameras overwhelmed her, and the excited shouts of reporters filled the air. She felt a bit stiff but quickly quickened her pace, lowering her head towards the wedding car, realizing she really wasn't suited for such a public occasion.

Fortunately, the headdress of her wedding dress was adorned with a layer of pure white veil, resembling a halo above her head. Though not too thick, it cleverly concealed her features, lending her an air of mystery, reminiscent of a woman partially hiding behind a pipa, provoking reporters to stretch their necks in vain, hoping to catch a glimpse of her true face.

Sitting in the extended Rolls-Royce wedding car, she turned her head to gaze at the blue sky outside. The sun in May was warmer than the chilly days of March and April, yet not as scorching as summer; its mild light warmed her, stirring a sense of comfort in her otherwise lonely heart.

As the car drove through the bustling streets, onlookers paused to watch. They were on their way to the church. She held no religious beliefs and idolized no celebrities; she only believed in herself.

She couldn't understand why he chose to hold the wedding in a church; perhaps it was tied to his religious faith. However, she felt that hosting such a hollow ceremony in such a solemn place seemed almost disrespectful to Jehovah.

Inside the majestic church, a man in a sleek black suit stood poised at the altar, low-key yet elegant, wise and composed, with a confident, proud smile gracing his lips.

As the melodious wedding march began, Cynthia appeared at the other end of the church, linking arms with William S. Lancaster. In her hand, she held fragrant white calla lilies; her figure was graceful, and the veil on her face added an air of mystery and allure.

She walked towards him at a steady pace. A gentle breeze lifted her veil, prompting gasps of surprise from the audience, their expressions shifting unpredictably.

Albert Wilson stood at a distance, observing the scene below. His glassy eyes narrowed slightly as he sensed the astonishment of the crowd, yet he couldn't discern what was truly happening. All he could see was her slender form, radiating a calm, serene aura.

In that moment, an unusual thought surged within him: perhaps only this brave and strong woman was worthy of standing beside him on this lofty altar, vowing before God and facing the storms of life together.

Lost in thought, she had already approached him. He discreetly pulled his mind back, bending elegantly to extend his hand towards her. Cynthia lowered her gaze to that broad, strong palm, its lines clear and defined, just like him—cold and sharp—sending her thoughts spiraling into confusion.

To be honest, at that moment, a sense of resistance stirred within her heart, and suddenly, panic set in; she wanted to escape. She lifted her gaze in confusion and met his handsome face, adorned with a smile that felt like the warm sunlight outside, casting light on her anxious heart.

In that instant, as their eyes locked, she clearly saw the warning in his eyes. He was signaling to her that it was too late to turn back; this situation had gone beyond her control. This hand—whether she wanted to or not, she had to take it.

He held her hand, and with the strength of his steady grip, they stood side by side on the altar. Her thoughts were still immersed in the lingering, tender lines of the poem she had just heard, a wave of longing for protection sweeping over her like a flood.

In a daze, she heard the priest's deep, rhythmic voice echoing in the quiet church, reciting the so-called vows. Then she heard his gentle voice beside her, steady and unhurried: "I do!"

In that instant of blankness in her mind, she lowered her head and softly uttered three words: "I do!"

Then she saw him holding up a dazzling diamond ring, taking her delicate hand to slide it onto her finger. Her slender fingers instinctively curled in resistance, rejecting the ring.

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The ancient Egyptians believed that the blood vessels of the ring finger directly connected to the heart, making vows made on that finger deeply ingrained in one's heart for a lifetime.

At that moment, she thought they were not suited for such a sacred and solemn act, so she resisted.

He clearly hadn't expected her rejection; a flicker of annoyance crossed his handsome face. With a slight pressure of his strong hand, her fingers were straightened, and the ring smoothly slid onto her finger. The audience erupted into enthusiastic and prolonged applause, starkly contrasting with the sorrow in her heart.

She had always thought she was indifferent to this wedding, but she had overlooked the little details—those things meant to be shared with a loved one now being done with a stranger. Each one pierced her heart, leaving it bloodied and raw.

Later, when the pastor declared that the groom could kiss the bride, he smiled and gently lifted her veil, and she caught a glimpse of the disdain flashing in his eyes.

Yes, that human mask couldn't withstand the corrosive nature of any makeup, which was why she couldn't wear it today. Instead, she had to apply an unusually heavy layer of makeup herself: thick black eyeliner and exaggerated smoky eyes, transforming herself into a woman who had just walked out of a nightclub.

Her originally delicate and pretty features were now unrecognizable. Surely, if she removed this heavy makeup, no one would recognize her; the astonishment of those people earlier must have been due to the façade she wore beneath the veil.