Chapter 132 Mrs. Montague, Did You Ever Have Feelings for Him?
The private room was still buzzing.
Felix was there too. Thanks to Grace, he and Henry were always at odds, barely acknowledging each other.
By the early hours, most guys had left.
Henry was still on the sofa, smoking with a blank face. The ashtray in front of him was overflowing with butts.
Felix shot him a snide comment, "What's up? Having issues in the bedroom? Drowning your sorrows, Mr. Montague? Pleasing someone isn't easy. Grace spent years on you, now it's your turn."
Henry sneered. "We're fine!"
He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Better than some people who love but can't have! Felix, don't even dream about it!"
Felix taunted, "Really? I think there's plenty of time ahead!"
Henry ignored him, heading to the restroom. He washed his hands and was about to leave when a pair of slender arms wrapped around him from behind.
The woman was experienced, her fingers slipping into his shirt collar, stirring his desire.
Henry's blue eyes darkened.
She was determined, teasing him and grabbing his hand to touch her, trying to ignite his desire.
Henry felt a handful of silicone. He leaned against the sink, eyes playful.
Seeing no resistance, she got bolder.
"Enough!" Henry grabbed her hand and pushed her away. He turned back to wash his hands.
The woman, a popular star, was angry at being rejected. She wasn't used to being turned down.
She leaned against the wall, lowering her voice, "Mr. Montague, don't you want to try? My figure's better than your wife's! And I'm way more fun."
Henry finished washing and dried his hands.
Amidst the noise, he spoke elegantly, "Not at all. My wife's touch is much better! Besides, I don't like women who are too forward."
He walked out.
The star gritted her teeth. She thought she could win Henry over tonight!
She didn't believe Henry's words. She doubted Grace's figure was better and didn't think pampered Grace could be interesting in bed.
Henry got home very late.
The servant had left a light on in the hall.
The master bedroom upstairs was dark. Grace hadn't waited up or called him all night. He didn't know if it was trust or indifference.
As he went upstairs, Henry thought, 'it must be indifference!'
Entering the bedroom, he didn't wake Grace. He went straight to the bathroom, turned on the light, and took off his clothes. He smelled perfume on his shirt and saw a lipstick smudge.
Normally, a man would destroy the evidence.
Henry looked at it for a few seconds. In the end, he tossed the shirt into the laundry basket. Grace would probably clean it up in the morning.
He washed up and lay down next to Grace. Maybe because of the earlier teasing, he felt a bit aroused.
But when he hugged Grace, she trembled slightly and tried to even out her breathing. It was clear she was awake but didn't want to talk.
Henry immediately lost interest.
In the morning, Grace got up as usual to prepare Henry's clothes and accessories. She casually started cleaning up his clothes from the night before.
When she picked up his shirt to soak it, she paused.
The white shirt had a woman's perfume scent and a faint orange lipstick mark.
Henry had left it for her to see. What was he trying to tell her?
Was he flaunting his freedom or just playing around?
Grace chose to ignore it. She soaked the shirt, added detergent, and gently scrubbed. As the bubbles formed, the perfume scent and lipstick mark vanished, as if nothing had happened.
The shirt was clean as new.
Just as she was about to hang it to dry, Henry snatched it from her and tossed it into the trash.
She looked at it for a moment, then met Henry's gaze.
He stood tall and muscular, his hair messy, exuding charm even in the early morning. Grace couldn't help but wonder if this manly body had been with another woman last night.
But she didn't ask.
Henry stared into her eyes. "Aren't you going to ask about last night? Even if I was with another woman, you don't want to know?"
Grace lowered her eyes. "Ask what? You got intimate with someone without asking me first. Now you want me to ask? Isn't that unreasonable?"
She was calm and rational, which infuriated Henry the most.
He suddenly lifted Grace onto the sink. The marble was wet, soaking her silk nightgown, making it semi-transparent and incredibly sexy.
Henry squeezed between her legs, not letting her close them. This position made her feel ashamed.
Grace tried to pull back, but Henry held her waist, pressing her forward, their bodies tightly pressed together.
Henry gently pushed aside her thin shoulder strap. His blue eyes showed no desire; he just wanted to make her succumb.
Grace refused to play along.
Henry's hot lips pressed against her ear, whispering hoarsely, "Didn't you say you didn't care? Didn't you say you didn't mind me with other women? I came back with perfume on me, and you don't care at all. Do you still consider me your husband?"
He turned her to face the mirror, forcing her to see her flushed face. He gently tugged her hair, whispering, "Look how honest you are."
He wasn't satisfied, demanding she call his name. He said if she called him Henry, he would let her go.
Grace bit her lip, drawing blood, but refused to say his name. She remembered the past when she loved him, shyly hugging his neck and calling him Henry with a mix of fear and affection.
But that was then. Now, she couldn't say it.
At his most vulnerable, Henry would lose control. At the peak of his emotions, he pressed close to her ear, asking, "Mrs. Montague, did you ever have feelings for him? Tell me, did you?"
Grace was pushed to the brink.
She suddenly cried out, her voice choked with sobs, "I did! I did!"
Henry had a moment of distraction. He hugged her tightly, resting his face against her neck, breathing lightly.
After a long time, he let go and walked straight into the shower.
The glass door slid shut with a bang.