Chapter 73 Henry's Gone Mad! So Has She!
Grace, a bit tipsy, noticed it was almost 11 P.M. Just as she was about to pay and leave, Henry walked in.
On this winter night, he wore a black coat over a sharp blue striped shirt. His coat had raindrops, and his deep-set eyes hinted at a stormy journey.
Amid the bar's noise, their eyes met. Henry's gaze was intense, while Grace seemed indifferent to the tension.
Grace wore a slightly sheer silk shirt, catching Henry's interest. He moved through the crowd towards her.
When he reached her, he gently took her coat and carefully buttoned it up.
Henry's intentions were clear. Grace found it amusing. When he held her hand, she mocked, "Henry, why the act? I'm not some naive 20-year-old."
Henry replied, "You're only 24."
Grace smiled faintly. "Yes, but I've had enough of love's drama."
At the car, Grace skipped the passenger seat and got into the back. Henry, standing by the open door, asked, "Am I just your driver now?"
Grace, tipsy, chuckled. "You chose to drive, didn't you? No one forced you."
Henry shut the door, got in, and buckled up, grinning, "Mrs. Montague, you're quite sharp-tongued now."
Grace's tone softened, "Well, thanks to you."
Henry glanced at her in the mirror. Her half-closed eyes, serene face, and the semi-sheer black silk shirt she wore caught his attention.
Despite her distance, he couldn't help but fantasize about her.
In the drizzle, they returned to the villa. A servant offered an umbrella, but Henry took it, guiding Grace inside.
Once inside, Grace pushed him away. "I'm wet; I need a shower."
As she ascended the stairs, her silk dress fluttered under the chandelier. Her indifference only fueled Henry's desire. As she opened the bedroom door, he gently pushed her against it.
In the dark room, Grace didn't pull away. Tilting her head back, she murmured, "Henry, if you want sex, wait until I shower."
This infuriated Henry. "Can't wait, Mrs. Montague! I want to do it now!"
Grace retorted, "Sex with me has become a routine, hasn't it? If we don't shower first, there's no feeling at all? Do I mean nothing to you?"
Without waiting, he kissed her.
They had been married for years, and he knew how to possess her body, though it wasn't as comfortable as on the bed.
Grace gave in, a sign of their marriage's state. Leaning against his shoulder, her damp hair brushed his neck, sending a shiver down his spine and stirring excitement within him.
He carried her to the bed, tossing clothes, shoes, and stockings everywhere. Grace, tipsy, clung to Henry's shoulders as the room spun.
Her phone rang from the bedside. Henry grabbed it first, expecting Lucas, but it was a message from a stranger: [I want to see you again, can I?]
Henry's face darkened. "Met him at the bar? Added him on Facebook?"
It was actually Juniper who added him, but Grace didn't say that. She wrapped her arms around Henry's neck and said, "Yes! A young, handsome guy! You flirt with Elodie, so why can't I have some fun too? If you can't handle it, we can get a divorce!"
Her golden hair spread across the pillow, beautiful and defiant. Henry, furious but restrained by her title as 'Mrs. Montague,' channeled his emotions into physical intimacy, hoping to leave a lasting mark.
He kissed her fiercely, fingers interlocked with hers, as if to keep her from ever leaving.
Grace knew Henry's kindness was just to keep her from leaving, not out of love. She was his perfect match in bed. If Elodie had beauty, strength, or status, where would that leave Grace?
She was just his plaything. But she didn't care anymore. When he tired of her, she'd be free. They'd part ways, and "long time no see" would be too much.
Grace endured, tilting her head back. She noticed a new photo on the bedside table—a composite of her and Henry, looking natural and loving. Henry had it made.
Her eyes fixated on the photo, her delicate nose flaring with emotion. She reached for it, gripped the frame tightly, using as much force as Henry, madly wanting to destroy him.
The bronze frame fell, hitting Henry's forehead. Blood trickled down, a shocking sight.
Grace, trembling, gazed at Henry, her body quivering with alcohol-fueled intensity. Softly, she said, "Henry, if I could choose, I would rather have never liked you."
Henry's expression was complex. After a moment, he smiled twistedly.
He pinched her chin, kissed her tenderly, and whispered, "Too bad! You did like me! Even if you burned the photos and diaries, you can't erase the fact. Grace, I won't let you go."
Driven by desire, Henry felt she was his forever—his Mrs. Montague.
He slowly possessed her, and Grace thought he was out of his mind. Maybe she was too.