The Runaway Groom
Chapter 838

Over at Jefferson Manor, Henry Jefferson's funeral was over, and it was now time to deal with lan Jefferson.

Once James learned that lan was the one who sent those thugs from before, he unleashed all his fury and indignation on lan.

Isaac's phone happened to ring at the time, and as he took it out to answer it, James's fist landed squarely on the bridge of lan's nose, shattering it and making him scream.

Irene heard it even as Isaac started to head outside.

"Yeah?"

Irene was relieved to hear him answer. "What was that?"

"Just James venting," he flatly replied.

Irene quickly understood what had happened and did not ask anything else.

“I might be home late tonight," he added.

"Oh," Irene murmured. "Actually, I was just going to tell you that there's no one at home. We're all out.”

"I see. Head home soon, though.”

"Okay."

"Shall I hang up now?" Isaac asked after a brief silence.

"Okay."

As they alighted, Tommy held Irene's hand as they headed into the mansion, saying, “I'm so happy, Mommy."

Irene lowered her gaze at him. “You're happy because we went out?" "Yes." Tommy nodded, his head bobbing like a bird's. "Let's go out more, I'll be even happier.”

Irene gave his little hand a squeeze. "Alright."

Tommy was so happy he was skipping all the way, and Irene smiled as she watched him on cloud nine.

Maybe staying home for the children was not that bad—her sons would at least be happy, would they not?

She even bathed both children for the day before coaxing them to sleep.

It was 9 PM when everything was done. Tommy put on his bear pajamas, sitting on the bed as he played with the paper windmill they bought from the amusement park.

He puffed at it, propelling that flap even as Irene tried to get him to sleep. "It's almost ten. Time to sleep—you can play with it tomorrow too."

Tommy reluctantly lay down then, but he was still holding the paper windmill.

Irene pulled his blanket over him and gave him a peck on the forehead. "Good boy."

Tommy beamed happily and closed his eyes obediently.

Irene made sure he was asleep before going upstairs.

It was past ten after she took her bath, but Isaac had yet to return. She could not sleep, so she picked up a book to read, but her mind could not calm down enough for her to take the words in.

As such, she headed downstairs and poured herself half a glass of wine before returning upstairs to stand out on the balcony.

She swirled her glass as she rested both hands on the railing, shaking the pale yellow liquid within.

She took a small sip and frowned.

She did not drink much and was not used to the taste.

She soon saw a car approaching from nearby, but it was too dark for her to see what it looked like.

Even so, she was sure that Isaac had returned.

Soon, the car drove into the front porch and its headlights turned off.

A towering figure then opened the door alighted, his shadow seemingly stretching on forever on the ground under the streetlights.

Licking her lips, Irene called out to him.

"Isaac."

Isaac looked up. Seeing her on the balcony, he asked, "Haven't you slept yet?"

“I was waiting for you."

He smiled, his usual scowl easing above his dark gaze. "Were you drinking?" Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"Yeah." Irene swirled her glass and finished the rest.

"Had a lot to drink?" he asked.

"...I'm starting to feel tipsy."

Putting her glass on the railing, she looked at him coquettishly and undid the sash on her sleeping gown, asking directly, "Can you catch it?"

Even as she said those words, her sash started to fall.

It was so light it seemed to dance in the air as it floated down, landing squarely on Isaac's shoulder.

His gaze darkened further and he studied her with pupils as dark as bottomless abyss.

"Do you have more?" he asked softly.

His longer fingers took hold of the sash just then, feeling the soft black texture.

He glanced at it in his hands, remembering that most of Irene's sleepwear were long sleeved and matched with pants—the conservative sort.

In fact, he had never seen the one she was wearing!

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