The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 78

Henry's lips pressed against mine, throwing me into complete disarray. His unexpected public display of affection—something he had never done before—made my knees weak.

The crowd around us erupted in cheers and whistles, camera phone flashes flickering in the darkness.

Before I could regain my composure, Henry swept me up into his arms. Despite his drunken state, he carried me effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing at all.

"Henry, put me down!" I protested, my voice barely above a whisper as he strode toward the building entrance.

"No," he replied simply, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who had consumed so much alcohol. "Don't try to escape me."

Residents moved aside, creating a path for us. Henry's scent surrounded me, and my closed-off heart seemed to soften once again.

When we reached the third floor, Henry finally set me down outside Betty's apartment, but his arms remained firmly around my waist.

"Open it," he commanded, his warm breath tickling my ear.

I crossed my arms and defied him: "No."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "No?"

"This is Betty's home," I explained, trying to sound firm despite my racing heart. "I can't let you barge in without her permission."

Henry's eyes darkened.

"You're still my wife," he reminded me, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone that always sent shivers down my spine.

"On paper only," I countered, lifting my chin to meet his gaze directly.

A ghost of a smile played at his lips before he leaned forward, capturing my mouth once more. This kiss was different—carrying a feeling of wanting me to submit to him.

His tongue teased mine, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck while the other pressed against the small of my back, eliminating any space between us.

I hated myself for responding, for melting against him even as my mind screamed in protest. My body remembered every touch, every sensation, automatically yielding to his familiar rhythm.

"Fucking manipulative bastard," I gasped when he finally released my mouth, though my body remained pressed against his.

He didn't seem offended by my insult. Instead, he caught my wrist, his thumb brushing over my pulse point before guiding my hand toward the fingerprint scanner beside the door.

"If you won't open it willingly," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple, "then I'll have to persuade you."

Before I could resist, he pressed my thumb against the scanner.

The lock clicked open, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

Henry wasted no time, sweeping me up again and carrying me inside. Though he had never been here before, he headed straight for the bedroom where I had been staying.

"How do you know where—" I couldn't finish my sentence. He had already deposited me onto the bed, then immediately climbed in beside me, pinning me with one arm while deftly kicking off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" I tried to wriggle free. "Get out of the bed!"

"Stop fighting," he said, his voice suddenly weary as he pulled me against his chest. "I just want to sleep."

I stilled, confused by this unexpected turn. "Sleep?"

"Don't act so surprised," he muttered, burying his face in my hair. "You haven't been sleeping well either, have you? I can see it in your eyes."

When his arms tightened around my waist, his breath warm against my neck, my resistance faded.

"I can't sleep when you're not there," he confessed, his voice slurring slightly as exhaustion and alcohol finally caught up with him. "Haven't had a decent night's rest since you left."

I should have pushed him away. Should have demanded he return to his own home, to Isabella. But there was something in his vulnerability that held me captive.

"Don't mention Isabella," I said, the name leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "Not while you're in bed with me."

He tensed slightly before relaxing again. "She's sick," he mumbled. "Came back for treatment. Doesn't want to marry me."

I froze, trying to process his words. Was this just drunk rambling, or was he telling the truth?

"Stop talking about her," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction.

"Mm," he agreed, already drifting off. "Just want you. Always you."

His breathing soon evened out, his grip on me loosening slightly as he fell into deep sleep. I lay awake, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his body around mine.

Why did this feel so right when everything about our relationship had been so wrong?

Meanwhile, across the city, social media was exploding. Videos of Henry Harding—one of New York's most notorious billionaires—throwing money at strangers while publicly declaring his love for his wife were being shared thousands of times.

"OMG did you see Henry Harding's midnight meltdown?"

"Who was that woman? His wife? I thought he was with Isabella Scott!"

"That was the most romantic thing I've ever seen! Drunk or not, the man clearly loves her!"

"No, that wasn't his wife. That was definitely Isabella Scott he was kissing."

The debate raged on, with commenters splitting into two camps—those supporting Sophia and those supporting Isabella.

The grainy nighttime footage made it difficult to clearly identify the woman wrapped in Henry's coat.

Isabella sat alone in her hotel suite, scrolling through the videos with growing rage. The woman in Henry's arms was undoubtedly Sophia, but many online believed it was her.

Isabella skillfully edited a similar image of herself, matching the lighting and background.

She posted it without caption or comment, misleading all netizens into guessing.

The effect was immediate, the online narrative began shifting.

"I knew it was Isabella! She just confirmed it with her post!"

"They're finally back together!"

"But where did they go after?"

Some remained skeptical.

"Stop playing games, Isabella. Was that you or not?"

But Isabella didn't care about these questions. The louder the netizens' voices grew, the more beneficial it was for squeezing Sophia out of Henry's life.

When I finally opened my eyes, morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains. For a moment, I felt disoriented, confused by the warm weight pressed against my back. Then the events of the previous night came rushing back.

Henry.

He was still sound asleep, one arm draped possessively around my waist, his face relaxed in a way I rarely saw when he was conscious. His hair was tousled, his jawline darkened with stubble.

I quietly admired his handsome face. Despite everything, just having this man nearby made my heart beat faster.

How pathetic, Sophia, I chided myself.

After everything he's done, you're still melting at the sight of his sleeping face.

I tried to slide out from under his arm, but suddenly felt his hand begin to move. His palm slid slowly down my side, over my hip, his fingers gently tracing circles on my back.

His breathing changed, becoming deeper and more ragged.

As his hand continued exploring, moving to my thigh, then back up to cup my rear, I froze. His lower body began to grow larger and thicker with aroused desire.

I quickly rolled away from him, landing on my feet beside the bed.

Without hesitation, I delivered a swift kick to his thigh. "What are you trying to do?"

Henry's eyes opened, revealing no trace of sleep or surprise.

"A good morning would have been nicer," he remarked dryly, making no move to sit up.

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're in Betty's guest room! Were you really planning to—" I couldn't even say it out loud, my face heating at the thought.

"I'm a man who hasn't been with his wife for weeks," he replied, his voice husky. "What did you expect?"

The casual way he said it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, made me even angrier.

"You bastard! It's barely dawn and you want to—" I cut myself off, realizing something important. "Wait. Were you awake the whole time?"

A satisfied smile spread across Henry's face, confirming my suspicion.

"You were faking sleep?" I asked again, mortification washing over me as I recalled how I'd studied his face, how my expression had probably revealed every pathetic emotion I still harbored for him.

"I wanted to see what you'd do," he admitted without a trace of remorse.