Chapter 34 Making Up for Her Birthday
Henry brought back the oatmeal, set it on the small round table, and was about to help Grace over to eat.
Grace leaned against the headboard and whispered, "It's different."
Henry paused, and then it clicked.
Grace looked at him, her voice even softer. "Henry, it's different. I used to love you, so even if I didn't want to, I'd endure it to make you happy."
"And now?"
Under the soft light, Henry gazed at her delicate face and spoke gently, "Now you don't love me anymore, right? Grace, I don't know when you stopped loving me, but I don't care. Love doesn't matter these days."
Henry, a pragmatic businessman, was skeptical about love.
In the business world, no one talked about feelings. Men cared most about fame, fortune, and power. Wives, kids, and even lovers were just accessories to power.
After speaking, he walked over, picked her up, and moved toward the sofa.
Grace's body trembled. Her bandaged arm instinctively curled behind her, showing her resistance and fear.
Henry was a bit annoyed, snorting coldly, "I'm not interested in a bandaged you!"
He then recalled the doctor's advice. Due to Grace's unreserved honesty, the wound ran deep. Without proper attention, it would undoubtedly leave a scar, necessitating potential cosmetic surgery for its removal.
His expression softened, and his movements became much gentler as he set Grace down.
"Eat! You need to eat to have the strength to run, Mrs. Montague!" Henry said.
He couldn't resist injecting a mocking tone into his final remark, but Grace remained unfazed.
Grace ate with poise, conducting herself quietly and almost soundlessly, her presence understated.
Henry watched her delicate demeanor, finding it hard to recall her resolute look at the hotel. He couldn't help but think of Elodie, the woman whose violin skills had once amazed him and whom he had wanted to marry out of gratitude.
Having dined with Elodie on several occasions, Henry noticed that she tended to make noise while eating, possibly stemming from her modest family background—a habit that Henry found displeasing.
However, at that moment, he reasoned that they wouldn't be dining together frequently post-marriage, maybe just two or three times a week. He believed he could tolerate it, and with time, he might even grow accustomed to it.
His gaze was so focused that Grace couldn't help but look up. Their eyes met.
Henry was about to say something, but she lowered her head and continued eating gracefully, showing no intention of speaking to him.
In an instant, Henry's mood darkened. It was evident to him that Grace was indifferent to his emotions.
After finishing her meal and regaining some strength, she returned to bed to rest. She appeared cold and distant, treating Henry as if he were invisible.
Henry cleaned up the table, stared at her for a few seconds, then lay down on the sofa and angrily turned off all the lights.
In the middle of the night, Henry woke up for no reason.
He opened his eyes to find the hospital bed empty, but the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Was Grace taking a bath inside?
Henry cursed under his breath, got up, and yanked open the bathroom door.
Then, both of them froze.
Grace didn't expect him to wake up, while Henry didn't expect to see such a scene in the bathroom.
The bathtub was filled with water, and Grace stood naked by the tub, her golden hair cascading down her waist, accentuating her slender figure and smooth skin. She was trying to wash herself.
With one arm injured, her movements were clumsy.
Seeing Henry enter, she quickly covered her chest with her hands. Her long, slender legs instinctively rubbed together and trembled slightly.
That sight was truly enticing.
Henry walked over without a word, took the washcloth from her hand, and said in a not-so-great tone, "Are you trying to kill yourself? The doctor said you need to stay in bed for at least two days."
Grace turned her back and whispered, "I just wanted to clean up a bit."
Henry thought for a moment and understood why she wanted to wash. At the hotel, although they didn't finish, he had been with her for about 10 minutes. Those deep and shallow marks of possession, no matter how much she resisted, still elicited a physical response.
Henry recollected that perhaps it had been too long since they had last been intimate, and their emotions had been in disarray, reaching an intensity that was almost unbearable.
Thinking about it, he felt a bit restless, his body reacting as well.
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her slender, fragrant shoulder. In a husky and seductive voice, he asked, "Does your body still retain my scent?"
Grace shivered. Henry turned her around and looked down at her under the light, his blue eyes deep and unfathomable.
In the past, Grace would have been moved. But now, she felt it was pathetic.
Henry's feelings for her were driven by lust rather than love, yet he was unwilling to release her from his grasp. After being entangled with him for so long, Grace was undeniably weary.
Sometimes, she was so tired that she didn't even have the strength to resist.
She let him carry her to the sink, let him adjust the light to the brightest, let him freely admire her body. She was almost completely exposed in front of him.
Henry began to wipe her down.
The washcloth moved over her body, and occasionally, his large hand would touch her sensitive areas. At those times, Grace's body couldn't help but tremble, like a delicate flower covered in morning dew.
Henry threw away the towel but didn't help her put on the hospital gown. Instead, he wrapped her in a white bathrobe.
Carrying her back to bed, he couldn't help but whisper in her ear, "Did it feel good just now?"
Grace turned her face away in embarrassment. Her face, pale from blood loss, looked even more beautiful and fragile.
She still didn't speak to him, remaining quiet. Nor did she make a fuss about leaving.
Every night, he helped her wash up, and each time, she trembled. At first, Henry thought it was a physical reaction, that she felt good when he touched her. Later, he realized she was afraid.
Afraid of his approach, his touch. Afraid he would get interested and want to have sex with her again.
When Henry realized this, he lost interest and said indifferently, "I'm taking care of you, not trying to sleep with you!"
During the night, as Grace slept, Henry sat against the headboard, silently observing her. He noticed that she had lost weight.
Even though she had been having nutritious soups these days, her face was noticeably sharper than before, and she wasn't happy at all. She didn't talk to him or communicate with him.
It was as if she planned to remain silent for the rest of her life.
There was a knock at the door.
Henry paused, then got up to open it.
Celeste stood outside, still in her business suit in the middle of the night, with a faint look of fatigue on her face. She lowered her voice and said softly, "Mr. Montague, there's an urgent matter from the company that needs your immediate attention. What do you think..."
"To the company!" Henry interrupted directly.
As Henry closed the door, he stole another glance at Grace, who was peacefully asleep.
Celeste, too, caught sight of Grace. Bathed in the soft yellow light, Grace appeared serene and undisturbed in her slumber. The juxtaposition of her peaceful state stirred feelings of both envy and jealousy within Celeste.
Henry closed the door firmly, casting a sidelong glance at Celeste. She hesitated, refraining from any outward reaction, and promptly lowered her head, obediently trailing behind Henry.
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