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Chapter 59 - 59- You don’t believe me?
As soon as she stepped out, she broke free from his embrace and ran off, determined to leave. She couldn't stay with this demon any longer—he was too terrifying, too heartless.
He followed behind her slowly, hands in his coat pockets, walking leisurely. His strides were long, while hers were short, but despite her running, it seemed like he could easily keep up with her. He casually asked, as if nothing were amiss, "You don't actually think I'm the one who tampered with things, do you?"
Albert Wilson stared at her slender back and muttered, frustrated. Just now in the hospital room, he had noticed her trembling and her rejection. This woman really... Did she think so little of him? Did she think he was so despicable that he would resort to such vile, underhanded tactics to deal with them?
Yes! He had planned to deal with Grace Lancaster after taking care of Doreen Lancaster, but then she got pregnant. He wasn't cruel enough to harm a pregnant woman, so the matter had been temporarily put on hold.
But now, something had happened to Grace Lancaster today. Maybe it was divine intervention. He couldn't help but sneer inwardly: William S Lancaster, you've done so much wrong that even Heaven can't stand it anymore, and now it's come back to bite your daughter!
"Not you? Then who else could it be?"
He shouldn't have asked, but as soon as he did, Cynthia abruptly stopped and turned around, her voice sharp with anger.
She really was good at acting, making herself sound so wronged, so innocent. Strangely enough, despite her harsh words, he didn't get angry. A faint smile remained on his handsome face as he slowly walked up to her. He looked down at her, his dark eyes deep and captivating.
"You don't believe me?"
She turned her face away, lips pressed together, not saying anything, responding only with silence. He raised his hand and gently turned her face toward him, making her meet his gaze. There, in the depths of his eyes, she saw sincerity and determination. He said, "Cynthia, let me say this one last time—this has nothing to do with me!"
Cynthia had never seen Albert Wilson like this before. His eyes were clean and beautiful, his pupils clear, like a big, innocent boy with no ulterior motives, only hoping that she would trust him.
She felt her cold, hardened heart suddenly soften.
When she thought about it carefully, she realized that he wouldn't stoop to such low, underhanded tactics. Look at how he treated Doreen Lancaster—he had turned her into a pariah, someone everyone was eager to condemn. Yet, Doreen still couldn't forget him, still thought that all the wrongs in her life were caused by her, the one who stood in the way of others' happiness.
But even though she believed him in her heart, she still wouldn't admit it. She waved his hand away with a frown.
"Do whatever you want, it has nothing to do with me."
She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and turned to leave, but before she could take a step, he suddenly moved forward, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into his embrace. She didn't have time to react before his lips pressed firmly against hers. A series of loud camera clicks echoed from not far away.
Grace Lancaster's miscarriage, caused by someone's plot, was already a significant event in the financial world, and reporters had gathered at the hospital for an interview. But more importantly, they were eager to get a shot of the elusive, mysterious Lancaster Cynthia— the woman who had stood behind Vice President Wilson with a calm and composed demeanor, never making a fuss.
Since her brief appearance at the wedding, Cynthia had vanished from public view, completely disappearing, as if her presence at the wedding was nothing more than an illusion. It was no wonder that so many women were willing to spread rumors about Wilson's affairs—this world often had men who were well-established, yet some women, driven by their hunger for wealth, would cling to them, especially when the man was as rich and handsome as Albert Wilson.
The reporters had once tried to stake out Wilson's mansion for a glimpse, but had never seen a trace of him or Cynthia. They had been married for months and never appeared in public together. When they recalled how Wilson had abandoned Cynthia at the wedding banquet, the rumors began to spread that she wasn't favored and was likely on the verge of being divorced.
Cynthia was stunned, held in his arms as he kissed her. His hands gripped her shoulders, preventing her from moving, and she was forced to wrap her arms around his lean waist. The heat from his body seeped into her palms, sending waves of warmth throughout her. She felt alive, full of energy.
His tongue gently traced the shape of her cold lips, painting the perfect outline, and when she parted her lips in a daze, he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers in a tender, lingering embrace.
Snowflakes gently fell from the sky, landing on the corners of their eyes, on the edges of their brows, and on their lips, where they melted instantly, dissolving into water with the warmth of their embrace.
From a distance, the reporters only saw two figures—one dark, one gray—deeply embracing in the light snowfall. The man's tall figure sheltered the woman's petite frame, while her wine-red hair appeared even more enchanting against the sea of white.
It was rare for any woman to stand beside the elegant Vice President Wilson without stealing the spotlight, but this woman, just a delicate back, had an inexplicable pull that made it hard for anyone to look away. In the next moment, they all raised their cameras, capturing this romantic, beautiful kiss in the snow, freezing the moment in time.
Not far from the reporters, a tall figure stood quietly, watching the kiss in the snow.
The man's slightly haggard face was filled with an unshakable sorrow. Even though he knew she was already married to that man, he had never seen them this intimate before.
That time in the Lancaster family's living room, it had been she who kissed that man, but he had felt it was out of spite, with no real emotion behind it.
But now, seeing them embrace and kiss like this, it felt like a sharp stab to his heart. She didn't resist, didn't push him away; instead, she acted like a shy little woman, leaning into his embrace, lifting her head to receive his kiss.
What kind of pain was this? To watch the woman you love kiss another man so deeply and intimately!
This kind of pain couldn't be expressed in words. It felt like the entire world was collapsing around him, or like someone was slowly and painfully carving him up with a knife.
Vincent stood there, his hands clenched into fists in his coat pockets, his lips tightly pressed together, pale with visible strain. He didn't know how long he had stood there until the sharp pain in his chest gradually subsided. Only then did he raise a hand to his mouth and cough a few times to break the sweet moment they were lost in.
"Ahem—"
At the sound of the deliberate cough, Albert Wilson reluctantly released the woman in his arms, her lips red and eyes hazy. As he turned his gaze and saw the person standing nearby, he gave a faint smile and greeted him casually.
"Prosecutor, what brings you out here?"
As soon as those words were spoken, Albert Wilson clearly noticed the shudder that ran through the woman in his arms. She stumbled, nearly losing her balance, and if he hadn't been there to steady her, she likely would have fallen hard to the ground.
Cynthia's mind exploded with confusion at Albert Wilson's words. The moment she heard "Prosecutor," her head felt as if it had been struck by a loud noise. Wasn't he supposed to stay behind to take care of Wilson Grace Lancaster? How could he have come out so quickly?
So, did that mean he had seen the kiss? Her body suddenly felt cold, and she wanted to escape from his embrace, to turn and run. But then she remembered the reporters behind her.
Unable to escape and too afraid to face Vincent, she buried her face in Albert's broad chest, hoping that out of sight, out of mind would work for her.
It was all this man's fault, holding her like this and kissing her as if he had never been with a woman before. And his grip was so strong that she couldn't break free.
Then, she heard Vincent's hoarse and sorrowful voice drift through the air.
"She's asleep. I'll go handle something outside."
Her heart clenched painfully.
The man above her simply smiled politely and pulled out his phone to make a call. Soon, his signature silver-gray car pulled up from the parking lot, and Jim got out, respectfully opening the passenger door.
"Well then... we'll take our leave now, Prosecutor!"
Still unable to muster the courage to raise her head, Cynthia remained pressed against Albert's chest. He casually bid Vincent goodbye and led her toward the car.
Thankfully, his tall frame shielded her from the reporters' prying eyes. But as they passed Vincent, Albert suddenly stopped, and Cynthia froze, every muscle in her body stiffening.
Vincent stood there, facing them, and they were so close that she could almost feel the sorrow radiating from him.
Albert turned to Jim, who was standing by, and issued a command.
"Leave the reporters to you. And make sure to tell them: The beautiful woman in my arms, with a perfect figure, hair, and charm, is none other than the infamous soon-to-be-divorced Mrs. Wilson, my wife!"
Cynthia could feel Vincent's body slightly tremble beside her.
"Yes, boss!" Jim responded.
