Chapter 17 Who Gave You the Guts?
Grace was already tipsy, swaying on her feet. Henry led her to the parking lot, opened the passenger door, and told her to get in. But even drunk, Grace wasn't having it.
She leaned against the car, her head tilted, lips parted, and said in a husky, sexy voice, "Henry, I'm not going home with you! We're getting a divorce!"
Henry stared at her, his blue eyes locked on her. He'd never seen her like this before. In her champagne silk blouse and fishtail skirt, she looked both dignified and irresistibly alluring. Every curve of her body seemed to invite his touch.
Henry leaned in close, gritting his teeth. "Look at you. Where's your ladylike demeanor now?"
Grace's eyes cleared for a moment, then clouded over again. She was still out of it. Henry gave up trying to reason with her and shoved her into the car, a bit rougher than he intended.
Grace struggled, leaning against the seat, muttering things that made Henry uneasy. Frustrated, Henry locked the doors and was about to fasten her seatbelt when he noticed the car parked opposite them. Inside was Lucas.
Both cars had their headlights on, and Henry and Lucas stared each other down. Lucas's eyes were as dark as the night. So were Henry's.
After a long moment, Henry turned to fasten Grace's seatbelt. She squirmed, half-asleep, still murmuring, "I don't want to go back with you."
Henry gently touched her face, whispering, "If you don't go back with me, who will you go back with?"
Ignoring her protests, he sat up straight, his expression blank as he looked at Lucas. Then, under Lucas's gaze, he drove away with Grace.
The two luxury cars passed each other, Lucas's grip on the steering wheel tightening, while Henry let out a cold laugh.
The city lights dimmed, and the night deepened.
Henry's car pulled into the villa. The housekeeper heard the noise and came to open the door, asking, "Mr. Montague, do you need a late-night snack?" Then she paused. "Mrs. Montague is back!"
Henry unfastened his seatbelt and said calmly, "Prepare something to sober her up and bring it upstairs. Mrs. Montague is drunk."
The housekeeper nodded and hurried off. Henry turned to look at Grace. She had fallen asleep, her slender throat taut, drawing his attention.
Henry, far from a saint, hadn't been intimate in a while. Leaning over, he gently touched her, his fingers tracing her features, his blue eyes fixed on her face. Women have needs too, especially when they're drunk.
As Henry touched her, she let out a soft moan, murmuring his name, "Henry, Henry."
Henry unfastened her seatbelt, got out, and carried her inside. Grace, dizzy from the movement, clung to his neck, murmuring, "Henry, slow down, slow down."
Henry couldn't resist kissing her as he walked, their lips and teeth mingling with the taste of wine and passion, ready to ignite.
In the master bedroom, the crystal lights shone brightly. Their clothes were scattered on the floor—Henry's shirt and belt, Grace's skirt and stockings—making anyone who saw them blush.
The housekeeper had prepared the sobering soup and was about to bring it over. Through the crack in the door, she saw the intimate scene on the bed and quickly retreated.
Henry was in a rush, barely undressed, he slipped on a condom. He held Grace's slender neck with one hand and pressed her head towards him with the other, their foreheads touching, his nose brushing against hers, his hot breath making her shiver.
Grace was disoriented. Deep down, unease crept in. She knew they shouldn't be doing this.
As Henry lost himself in the moment, Grace murmured, "Henry, when are we getting a divorce?"
Henry's body tensed. He gently pinched her cheek, coaxing her to look at him. Grace's face was flushed, exuding a mature charm. She looked at him quietly, murmuring, "Henry, I don't like you anymore, I don't like you anymore!" She repeated it several times.
Henry's face darkened. He pinched her chin, stared at her for a long time, and slowly said, "Do you think I care?"
He truly didn't. Their marriage had been a mistake from the start, and he didn't love her. Rationality told Henry he didn't need to care about feelings now; he just needed an obedient wife and a way to release his pent-up energy.
On the bed was Grace's soft body. Henry just needed to possess her. Just like every time before, no matter how much Grace cried, he wouldn't soften. But seeing the tears at the corner of her eyes, Henry didn't feel like doing it anymore.
He released her, casually draping a sheet over her. Donning a robe, he strolled out to the living room, leaning against the sofa as he lit a cigarette. When Henry smoked, his Adam's apple moved slightly, looking attractive and full of tension.
After a while, thin gray smoke rose, giving him a hazy aura. At that moment, he refused to acknowledge his brewing frustration. He couldn't admit the rising anger in his heart when Grace expressed her dislike. It felt like a sudden loss, as if something that had always been his was abruptly snatched away.
He didn't want to guess when she stopped liking him. Henry smoked seven or eight cigarettes, then exited the bedroom and descended the stairs at a leisurely pace. His handsome face remained as serene as still water.
The housekeeper hadn't slept yet and was surprised to see his expression, wondering, "Weren't Mr. Montague and Mrs. Montague making love just now? Why does Mr. Montague look unhappy?"
Henry instructed calmly, "Give me the sobering soup."
The housekeeper handed him the bowl and quickly retreated. He put out the cigarette and took the sobering soup upstairs.
In the master bedroom, there was a faint sweet scent, and on the floor, their clothes were still piled up. Henry paid them no mind. Seated by the bed, he gazed at Grace as she lay there.
Her skin was soft, her waist so slender that one arm could wrap around it, her legs perfectly proportioned, and at this moment, she was rubbing the sheets uncomfortably due to the alcohol, unintentionally exuding feminine charm. Henry's desire surged.
Perhaps fueled by her earlier words, Henry's tone turned stern. "Get up, have the sobering soup, and then rest."
Ignoring his command, Grace kept her face buried in the pillow, her voice quivering as she whispered, "Henry, we shouldn't be doing this."
Henry stared at her. After a while, he said coldly, "Dare to say that again!"
That way, she wouldn't be able to say those hurtful words. Henry was always proud, rarely coaxing anyone, and recently he was really pent up, so he didn't bother with her anymore, directly lying down and turning off the lights to sleep.
But with Grace sleeping next to him, how could he sleep? Tossing and turning for what felt like an eternity, Henry eventually reached out and drew Grace into his embrace. Gritting his teeth, he whispered fiercely by her ear, "If you don't want me, you can't want anyone else!"
Grace, initially feeling a chill, now welcomed the warmth enveloping her as she nestled comfortably into his arms.
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