Chapter 70 Grace Burns the Diary, Erasing Her Feelings for Him [2]
Henry's fingers shook as they brushed the dressing table. The realization hit him hard—Grace had taken the diary!
A faint burnt smell drifted in from the balcony. Henry's body tensed as he quickly walked over.
There, he saw Grace burning their wedding photos. His eyes widened as he saw the diary in flames. Grace sat there, staring at the fire like it meant nothing.
"Are you crazy?" Henry yelled, rushing to save the diary with his bare hands. He didn't think, he just acted.
The fire had died down, leaving only half the diary. Ignoring the pain in his burnt palm, Henry flipped through the charred pages and found a sentence that cut deep: [Henry will never like me again!]
Henry's chest tightened. He looked at Grace, his eyes intense. "By burning it, are you saying you don't care about our feelings together?"
"I don't want it anymore!" Grace's eyes were red. They glared at each other like trapped animals.
After a moment, she said, almost in despair, "I don't want anything related to you anymore, Henry!"
Henry, in a thin shirt, stood exposed to the cold autumn breeze and fine rain, feeling like needles on his skin. He locked eyes with Grace, and for the first time, panic washed over him.
The rain kept falling. The maid cleaned the bedroom. Grace took a shower and went to bed. By midday, the maid brought food, but Grace softly declined, too overwhelmed to eat.
Henry sat downstairs smoking. In front of him were a burnt photo frame and half-burned diary—things Grace didn't want anymore.
Through the smoke, Henry's eyes lingered on the objects. Despite his exhaustion from Elodie's illness and sleepless nights, he couldn't sleep now.
As he pondered his tangled emotions, his thoughts drifted to Grace. Wasn't this what he expected? So why did her sadness hurt him so much?
He felt responsible for Elodie, but what about Grace? Beyond her role as Mrs. Montague, her physical allure, and the satisfaction of annoying Lucas, Henry couldn't grasp his deeper feelings for her.
The maid came down and spoke softly, "Mrs. Montague said she ain't hungry! Mr. Montague, please persuade her!"
Henry asked her to leave the food. With a hoarse voice, he asked, "Was she in a lot of pain last night?"
The maid's eyes reddened. "She was in so much pain she was half-unconscious! You weren't there." She didn't want to say more and left.
Henry trudged upstairs with the lunch. Opening the master bedroom door, he found Grace pretending to sleep. He knew she was awake, just ignoring him.
He placed the food on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, quietly watching her.
Grace's face was buried in the pillow, a strand of golden hair scattered on the white fabric, and her little red nose peeked out. Henry guessed she'd been crying again.
He spoke softly, "Get up and eat something. You can't just not eat. Mira said..."
Grace shifted slightly, her voice hoarse and muffled by the pillow. "Henry, can we be normal? You don't like me; you treat me like a toy. Don't use that gentle tone like you care. When you do, it makes me sick."
"When you hug me and see me fall for it, do you think, 'She's so easy'? Henry, I did like you, but not anymore!" Grace's voice wavered, her heart aching.
Henry was exhausted. He wasn't known for his patience. He'd tried to be gentle, but Grace didn't appreciate it. Rubbing his eyes, he asked, "What do you want then? To act like strangers or to divorce me? Grace, don't forget Oliver needs Dylan's help with the lawsuit. Can you leave me?"
Grace lay silent for a long time.
Henry could almost read her mind. The thought of divorce hung between them, the urge to escape was strong. The burnt diary showed her fading feelings. But Oliver was her weak spot.
Seeing her silence, he held back his temper. He turned her over gently. Her golden hair spread across the pillow, her face tear-streaked and fragile.
Henry touched her face, his voice strained. "Grace, I never meant to play with you or leave you. I was just mad and said something stupid."
Grace turned away, not wanting to hear it. A husband with a mistress, often absent, and openly craving life beyond their marriage. Trust was shattered.
She turned her back to him, her voice muffled. "I don't want to hear this!"
Henry, thinking he'd already humbled himself, saw Grace's lack of appreciation. Realizing more words were useless, he gently turned her around, clasped her wrist, and kissed her.
Grace, still reeling from sadness, struggled. But Henry's body pressed against her.
He started unbuckling his belt with one hand, intending to make love to her. Grace's hair spread on the pillow, she looked up at him, and even breathing hurt. She murmured, saying no.
But Henry wanted it. It wasn't just physical; he needed to prove she was still his wife, that she still had him in her heart. If not in her heart, then at least in her body.
In that moment, Henry realized his own madness. Unused to losing control, he pushed aside any self-reflection. One impulse drove him: to claim Grace, to see her surrender beneath him, as she had before.
He whispered in her ear, "Let's have a baby now."
"No! I don't want to!" Grace struggled, her face rubbing against the pillow, avoiding his kisses.
Henry, gripping her chin, locked his intense blue eyes on hers and kissed her deeply. He wanted her to look at him, to break her composure, to rekindle her love, and to have her embrace him once more.
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