Chapter 291

Chapter 291
"Don't play anymore!" I cried out, unable to bear another second of the recording.

The woman in that audio sounded so wanton, her voice filled with desperate desire, like some shameless harlot.

Was that really me? Humiliation burned my face as I lunged for Henry's phone.

He quickly tucked it away, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I wasn't lying, Sophia. You need to face your mistakes."

Rage and shame flooded through me. I yanked my hand away from his grasp and turned my back to him, frantically gathering my scattered clothes from the floor.

As I dressed, the silence between us grew heavier. I refused to acknowledge his presence.

From the corner of my eye, I caught something flicker across his expression—was that concern?

"Don't worry," he said magnanimously, "I won't report you to the police. Let's just call it a casual fling. No one else needs to know."

He paused, and I could feel his gaze on my back.

"Besides," he continued with undisguised arrogance, "you seem rather... desperate. We could be friends with benefits. Call me whenever you need me—I promise I'll come running."

I could practically hear the self-satisfaction in his voice. After months of celibacy, he'd finally gotten what he wanted.

I picked up my clothes piece by piece, methodically putting them on, my mind racing with thoughts.

Truthfully, being with Henry this time felt different—as if he'd reached some hidden part deep inside me. My desperate body and soul had found satisfaction.

But deep down, I knew perfectly well that Henry and I were divorced. We had no reason to remain in each other's lives.

I turned to face him, my eyes cold as ice.

"Mr. Henry, thank you for keeping this incident private. If you could delete that recording as well, it would be perfect. I'd be very grateful."

Henry lounged against the headboard, eyeing me sideways. "Delete the recording? Not likely! You sound too good—I want to keep it for my private collection. Of course, if you think my technique was satisfactory and want to relive the experience, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Fully dressed now, I found my purse and pulled out several bills, tossing them onto the bed beside him.

If that's how he wanted to play it, fine. I'd just pretend I'd hired a handsome prostitute with good technique.

Without bothering to check his reaction, I bolted from the room.

The recording problem would have to wait.

As soon as Sophia left, Henry stared at the money on the bedside table, a vein throbbing at his temple.

"Sophia!" He was genuinely outraged. "Did she really treat me like some kind of sex worker?"

Despite his anger, the memory of what had just happened put him in a good mood. He called James: "Find out everything you can about someone named Nadia! Yes, that's right—she's Violet's assistant!"

I ran from Henry's hospital room without stopping, not slowing down until I reached the empty street outside.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe.

The truth was, even though I'd been drugged and my thinking wasn't clear, I'd known exactly who I was with. Perhaps from the moment I realized I'd been drugged, some part of me had been hoping—expecting—something to happen between Henry and me.

My body was sometimes more honest than my heart.

The cold night wind whipped around me, clearing my head. Remembering it was my ovulation day, I immediately ran to the nearest pharmacy and bought emergency contraception.

I didn't even bother finding water. I just tore open the package, threw the pill into my mouth, and swallowed. Bitterness spread from my throat to my stomach.

I'd been trying so hard to avoid Henry. Why couldn't I escape him?

My heart had died gradually with each cold interaction between us, but his recent persistent appearances had stirred something in me again.

I feared this feeling—the possibility of my old feelings for Henry resurfacing.

If today hadn't happened, I could have lied to myself, pretended I felt nothing for Henry, convinced myself we'd never cross paths again.

But now... my worst fear had come true. I'd connected with him physically—and worse, I'd enjoyed it.

What if this was just another of his revenge tactics?

I couldn't bear to think about it. My chest ached so badly I could hardly keep my eyes open. Just then, the sky suddenly opened up, pelting down with rain. The icy droplets fell like tiny daggers on my neck and face, each one stinging my skin.

It reminded me of that night years ago when I finally accepted that Henry didn't love me.

That night, I witnessed Henry holding Isabella, looking at her with such tenderness—a look he'd never once given me.

Before Isabella entered the picture, I'd stubbornly believed that if I tried hard enough, if I was good enough to Henry, eventually he would fall in love with me. But seeing him with her that night, I finally understood: when someone doesn't love you, no amount of effort will change that. Henry's heart belonged to Isabella, and nothing I did would ever change that.

I'd forced myself to let go of those feelings.

Yet here I was, having just slept with him again. I tilted my head back, letting the rain mix with my tears, feeling a pain so deep it threatened to tear me apart.

As I stared up at the falling raindrops, willing myself not to cry, a large black umbrella appeared above me.

Then Henry's handsome face came into view.

I'd run out so quickly I'd forgotten my phone. Worried I might do something rash, Henry had rushed after me. When he saw it was raining, he'd grabbed an umbrella and searched the streets until he found me.

He held the umbrella over me, the soft glow of the streetlight revealing the tear tracks on my face. When he saw my tears, something flickered in his eyes—a flash of pain.

Henry reached out to wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye, his expression puzzled.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard before.

He sounded like a concerned husband caring for his wife. The genuine worry in his tone made my nose sting with fresh tears.

I couldn't stop crying. Seeing me unable to speak, only able to weep, Henry gently wiped my tears and pulled me into his arms.

"Don't cry," he murmured. "Tell me what's bothering you. Who upset you? I'll make it right."

I was always stubborn, too proud to cry in front of others, yet here I was sobbing in Henry's arms. When I couldn't bring myself to speak, he simply held me closer, rubbing my back soothingly.

These weren't gestures Henry would typically make. He'd always considered such things beneath him.

Yet now he did them so naturally. I buried my face against his broad, warm chest, letting all my bottled-up hurt flow out through my tears, soaking the front of his shirt.

In the distance, Nadia stood beneath a black umbrella, watching the pair.

Her nails dug deep into her palm as she observed the scene.

Wasn't Isabella supposed to be the one Henry loved most?

Then why was Sophia in his arms?

Hadn't everyone said Henry had germaphobia? Why was he letting Sophia cry all over him like that?