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Chapter 49 - 49- Are you crying?
At the moment he buried himself deeply, Cynthia heard Albert sigh softly near her ear, a sound laced with tenderness. Then came the relentless rhythm of his movements, making her dizzy, drawing her irresistibly into his pace.
When he finally reached his peak, he didn't pull away as usual. Instead, he released himself inside her, filling her entirely. Outraged, she grabbed his sweat-drenched back, her voice sharp.
"Albert Wilson, why did you do it inside! I could get pregnant!"
She wasn't naïve. After their first time together, she'd meticulously researched every method of contraception. He had always taken precautions before—either pulling out or using protection. But this time, he'd ignored all of that. Didn't he understand the toll that emergency measures could take on a woman's body?
His expression was one of contentment as he looked at her with half-closed eyes.
"If you get pregnant, then we'll have the baby. It's not as if I, Albert Wilson, can't afford a child. Besides, you're my wife now; it's perfectly legitimate. What's wrong with having a child?"
He said it so nonchalantly, while she, trembling with anger, pushed him off and sat up, finally bursting out.
"Albert Wilson, you are so selfish!"
He rolled onto his side, propping his handsome face up with one hand, looking at her calmly, though his dark eyes held an unreadable depth.
"How am I selfish?"
"You know very well our marriage is just a game, that one day it will end in divorce. Why would you bring a child into that? Are you really being responsible to a child, to a family?"
Her voice shook with fury, her lips trembling as she spoke.
Cynthia felt deeply hurt by his careless words. Yes, Vice President Wilson had enough money to provide for a child; to him, it was probably a trivial expense. But had he even considered what the child would feel?
After a divorce, no matter who the child stayed with, it would still be a single-parent home. Regardless of how lavishly he could provide for them, there would always be a missing piece. Thinking of her own lonely childhood, growing up without the love and presence of parents, her heart ached for any child they might bring into such a fractured future.
Her usually calm face flushed with anger, her emotions raw and intense in a way she'd never allowed herself to feel before. She looked like a wronged girl, vulnerable and hurt, which made him inexplicably say,
"Then let's not get divorced—let's stay together."
Her eyes flashed with shock, then anger, and finally settled into an expression of scornful indifference.
"Just carry on like this? Hah, Mr. Wilson, did you ask that woman in your heart before saying that?"
How could he be so cold, so detached? She knew that his heart belonged to someone else, yet here he was, declaring undying loyalty. Was he truly this heartless, or did he see women as mere possessions?
Albert's face darkened. He sat up to meet her gaze, his expression as sharp as steel.
"My affairs are none of your concern. You're my woman, and you'll do as I say. If I tell you to have a child, you will. If I decide you won't, even if you're pregnant, you'll get rid of it—"
Slap!
A hard slap echoed through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. Albert froze, his face turned away, holding that position for five full seconds. When he finally turned back, there was disbelief in his eyes as he looked at her. Cynthia's chest rose and fell with fury, and tears glistened in her wide, angry eyes.
Grabbing a blanket, Cynthia covered her body, which he had just held so tenderly moments before. Her hands trembled as she stared at him defiantly. She may be his woman, but she still had her own dignity, her own feelings. How dare he try to humiliate her like that?
Damn woman—she'd actually slapped him! His cheek stung, the pain intense; she had struck him with everything she had, truly defying him without fear.
Anger simmered in Albert's eyes. He leaned closer, lifting her chin with a chilling calm, a cold smirk tugging at his lips.
"Cynthia, your money—consider it gone."
With that, his expression hardened. He flung her back onto the bed, then got dressed, walking out without a backward glance.
Cynthia's face went as pale as a sheet, her lips trembling as she stared at the empty doorway. She clutched herself tightly, collapsing onto the bed as silent tears poured down her cheeks. What should have been a sweet, tender night had turned into this bitter, heartbreaking scene.
Why did she have to fight him? Why couldn't she ignore his insults? Why was she always so stubborn, never learning to compromise? And now... where would she find the seventy thousand she needed?
The thought of it made her heart sink. She buried herself deeper into the soft bed, crying until she fell asleep, only to wake up sobbing again. Everyone thought she was unbreakable, but in truth, her heart was the most fragile of all—she just never let anyone see.
The night passed in fits of restless sleep and silent tears. When morning came, Cynthia looked in the mirror and was startled by her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. She splashed cold water on her face until the puffiness subsided a bit, but the weight on her mind remained. Where was she supposed to find the seventy thousand she needed?
She dismissed the idea of going to Vincent. He was already overwhelmed with his own problems, and she didn't want to add to his troubles—or worse, give Grace Lancaster and others any reason to accuse her of manipulating Vincent.
Now, she had no one else to turn to except the very man who had humiliated her the night before. But after his cruel words, could she really bring herself to go back and ask for his help?
As she finished tidying herself, there was a knock on the door. Fredy called out, saying breakfast was ready. She opened the door, trying to mask her weariness, and spoke quietly, "Fredy, change everything in this room to what the young master usually uses."
The bright, celebratory red decor felt unbearably out of place.
Fredy took in her swollen eyes and tired expression, sighing. "Understood, ma'am," he replied softly. "But please, you should eat something. Whatever's happened, you need to take care of yourself."
The mention of her health made her flinch. Grabbing her purse, she rushed out without looking back. She knew what she needed to do first—buy emergency contraception. After what happened last night, combined with the fact that it was her most vulnerable time of the month, she couldn't risk leaving it to chance.
Fredy called after her, his voice filled with concern, but she had already disappeared down the hall, determined and alone.
When she returned to her apartment, it was still somewhat early. She dragged her tired body to the kitchen, made herself some porridge, and took the medicine. Her hands were shaking as she swallowed it. It wasn't as if she didn't know the harm it could cause, but what other choice did she have?
Her head ached from a poor night's sleep, so she decided to lie down and try to rest. But even after tossing and turning for a long time, she couldn't fall asleep. Finally, she forced herself to reach for her phone and dial his number. The phone rang for a long time with no answer, and her heart began to fill with anxiety.
She had slapped him last night, and with his temperament, it was very likely he would refuse to answer her calls. But what would she do if that happened? The more she thought about it, the worse she felt, and with a growing sense of dread, she kept dialing.
At first, there was no answer. Then, suddenly, he hung up on her. Her heart sank, and tears flowed uncontrollably. If, because of her momentary impulsiveness, two precious lives were lost to the world, she would never find peace for the rest of her life.
Lost in her own sorrow, she didn't even notice when the call was finally answered. It wasn't until she heard his cold voice that she snapped back to reality.
"What is it?"
His voice was utterly indifferent, but she cried harder, tears flowing even more freely. Hastily wiping her face, she struggled to make her voice sound calm and humble.
"Mr. Wilson, I'm deeply sorry about last night—it was my fault for being reckless. If you need to return the slap, that's fine. But...could we please keep the arrangement for the 700,000?"
She spoke the words she had prepared, her voice thick with the lingering effects of her tears, pleading in a tone filled with humility.
On the other end of the phone, there was a deathly silence, so deep that she could only hear the increasingly erratic beating of her own heart.
The oppressive quiet seemed to last an eternity. Just as she felt she might faint from the lack of air, his voice came through, cold and distant.
"Are you crying?" he asked lazily.
She froze, holding the phone, unsure of how to respond. She didn't know why he would ask such a sudden, blunt question. He asked again.
"I asked if you're crying."
She could only mumble a response.
"Yes..."
As the words left her lips, she couldn't help but shrink back slightly. She had never been so open about her vulnerability with anyone before.
His voice softened slightly. She heard the flick of a lighter, and it seemed like he lit a cigarette. She could almost picture him, his cold face surrounded by swirling smoke, his sharp eyes.
"How do you plan to make things right?" he asked.
"I... I don't know..."
She answered honestly. She truly didn't know what more she could do to make amends. She had nothing left besides her body, and after everything that happened last night, she wasn't even sure if he would still be interested in her.
Another suffocating silence followed, lasting long enough for a cigarette to burn out.
"Miss Lancaster, I hear you can dance?"
His question was so casual, so light, as if it were just an idle thought. She trembled slightly, gripping the phone, and finally murmured,
"Yes..."
He seemed to smile, but the words that followed felt like a knife stabbing straight into her chest.
"How about this—Miss Lancaster dances for me, and we'll consider last night's grievances forgiven?"
