Chapter 400 Sarah, what do you think I can do?
As soon as she finished talking, she opened the door and got out of the car.
Oliver, looking a mess, followed her out and tried to catch up, but Sarah was moving fast. She quickly slipped into a black SUV parked across the street.
The black vehicle, lit up by the neon lights, almost looked colorful.
Sarah sat inside, her face showing no trace of emotion. Maybe he had it all wrong. He thought he could use Felicity to threaten her, but he forgot that Sarah wasn't the native girl she used to be.
She could be cold enough to stab him!
What did Felicity matter?
Oliver stood there in the night, feeling down for a long time. Eventually, he got back in his car, not caring about his soaked pants, and sat in the driver's seat, slowly smoking a cigarette, thinking about Sarah.
After finishing his cigarette, he drove off.
Felicity, in a skimpy dress and sky-high heels, ran after him, shouting, "Mr. Windsor..."
In fact, Oliver saw her in the rearview mirror. She looked pretty pathetic!
But he pretended not to see her, his face dark, as he drove away in his black Rolls-Royce Phantom... Felicity's figure got smaller and smaller until it disappeared.
From that day on, Felicity was worthless to him.
Oliver didn't pay her any mind.
She still didn't have work to do, and Oliver didn't take her to any social events or parties. She chased after Zoey, demanding to know why.
Zoey looked up, focusing on Felicity.
After a while, she pulled an old photo from the drawer and handed it to Felicity.
Felicity held the photo, her heart sinking.
The 22-year-old Sarah, slender and delicate, her beautiful face glowing in the sunlight.
Compared to her, Felicity looked plain.
Zoey said softly, "Mr. Windsor? A man like that has too many shadows in his soul. Only someone like Sarah—pure, uncomplicated—could ever get past his walls. And that's exactly why he'll never forget her, why she'll always be the one he couldn't have. Now, Miss Mitchell—if you've got half a brain, you'll quit now. I can help you get three months' extra pay."
Felicity didn't want to believe it.
The photo slipped from her hand onto the desk. She shook her head, unable to accept the truth. She asked Zoey, "Was I just being used? Am I Mr. Windsor's pawn to get back at Mrs. Windsor?"
Zoey didn't answer.
The answer was clear.
But Felicity couldn't accept it.
For the past half month, she had gotten used to the envious looks from others. She thought that one day Oliver would want more from her. She never expected the truth to be so harsh—she was just a pawn.
At 8 PM, Oliver took the executive elevator down to the first floor.
He got into the car, and Zoey was about to close the door when someone appeared from around the corner.
It was Felicity.
She approached cautiously, "Mr. Windsor, I need to talk to you."
Zoey snapped, "Felicity."
Oliver raised a hand, "Zoey, you can head out for the night."
Zoey had no choice but to leave.
In the vast parking lot, it was just the two of them. Felicity, nervous and speaking softly, said, "Mr. Windsor, I just want to know, in your heart..."
"You're nothing." Oliver leaned back in his seat, speaking slowly, "Miss Mitchell, I'm a married man! What did you think our relationship?"
Felicity's face turned pale.
But she still didn't want to give up, her voice trembling, "But you took me to social events, introduced me to business partners."
Oliver remained indifferent, "That's because you're my secretary."
Felicity understood.
He had used her deliberately, but she had taken it seriously. From beginning to end, he had never been sincere.
Oliver adjusted the rearview mirror, his tone even colder, "HR will send you a termination letter. You'll get six months' severance pay. That's it."
He finished speaking, and the car window rolled up.
Felicity cried out, "Mr. Windsor!"
But Oliver had already driven away.
He looked down on Felicity.
He had always hated Lester, but in his heart, Lester had some guts and deserved a bit of respect. But someone like Felicity, he thought it was a waste to even look at her.
On a night, he went to Sarah's gallery.
He waited for her by the roadside.
Around 10 PM, Sarah came out of the gallery. She saw Oliver but pretended not to, walking straight to her car and getting in.
Her car started.
Oliver immediately got into his car, stepped on the gas, and followed her.
Sarah returned home and opened the door to find many gifts piled up inside.
Claire came over, "Mr. Windsor sent these!"
Seeing Sarah remain silent, Claire walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out, then clicked her tongue, "He seems so devoted! Any other woman would be moved by now!"
Sarah sat at the dining table, eating her dinner slowly.
Halfway through, she looked up and said lightly, "I'm long past the age of being moved! Have these things sent to his company tomorrow. I don't want any unclear entanglements with him."
Claire nodded, "Exactly! We're not short of money now."
Sarah continued eating her dinner.
Late at night, thunder rumbled, and it started to pour.
Jacob slept soundly.
Nicole was startled awake by the thunder and cried loudly.
Sarah cradled Nicole in her arms, humming a lullaby so softly that the little one couldn't help but smile. That smile—pure, content—made the whole world feel still, like time had paused just for them.
Sarah soothed her for a long time before reluctantly putting her down.
She went to the bathroom.
When she returned, the night wind blew in through the window crack, and she frowned slightly, walking over to close it. But as she reached the window, she froze.
The rain was pouring.
In the parking lot below, a black Rolls-Royce was parked, its body gleaming in the rain.
The front window was half-lowered.
A slender hand held a cigarette, the red tip particularly striking in the rainy night.
Sarah watched quietly.
The rain poured relentlessly around her, but inside, all she could hear was the echo of her own foolish love—too deep, too naive. And now Oliver, with his sudden tenderness—what was this performance for? Who was he trying to convince?
Sarah was about to draw the curtains.
But Oliver looked up in her direction.
In the rainy night, their eyes met.
He wore a white shirt, his hair neatly combed, his face still sharp and attractive, but what once deeply attracted her now seemed bland.
Sarah forcefully drew the curtains.
The rain continued.
Oliver's blue eyes filled with disappointment. He took out his phone and called her, but Sarah had turned it off.
She refused to see him!
She wouldn't take his calls!
Oliver continued to stare at the window, his throat moving. Finally, he slumped back in his leather seat.
He had pursued her for a long time, trying everything.
But Sarah still ignored him.
In the rainy night, Oliver's face was unusually blank.
Two days later, Sofia introduced Sarah to a painter, said to be very talented.
Sarah arranged to meet at a café.
The meeting went well.
Sarah offered him five fixed exhibition slots, taking a 30% commission. The painter was very satisfied and signed the contract readily.
After the meeting, the painter left first.
Sarah sat alone, slowly finishing her coffee.
"Mrs. Windsor." A refined male voice sounded beside her.
Sarah looked up—
It was Lowell!
Lowell sat across from her, looking a bit haggard. He told Sarah, "Felicity and I broke up."
Sarah replied calmly, "I'm not interested in your affairs."
Lowell became agitated, "Mrs. Windsor, you must know why we broke up. It's because of Mr. Windsor! Mr. Windsor seduced her. Felicity has been like a different person lately. I have no problem breaking up with her, but I don't want to see her ruin herself."
Sarah found it ironic.
She asked Lowell, "As far as I know, there have been dozens of girls like Felicity around Oliver. Rationally speaking... he's done with her!"
She sighed, "Mr. Warren, you should advise Felicity! But I think, if someone is determined to do something, no one can stop them."
Lowell stared at her.
He almost whispered, "Felicity's on a hunger strike, begging Mr. Windsor to see her."
However, Sarah didn't soften, "Sorry! I can't help!"
From the beginning, Felicity was not innocent.
Sarah prepared to leave.
But Lowell followed, grabbing her wrist. His expression showed pain, "Please! For Lester's sake."
Sarah couldn't shake off his grip.
Her eyes filled with a thin layer of moisture, Lester's blood and tears.
Her heart ached, "You all knew how Lester died? You knew what kind of person Oliver is, so why provoke him? If you're smart... contact her family and take her back to Vesper City!"
"And don't come back!"
Lowell was unwilling, "Why!"
Sarah's tone was cold, "Because he's Oliver! Because he can do anything! Can you, Mr. Warren?"
Lowell was stunned.
Sarah shook off his grip and hurried away.
Lowell stood there, watching her back, a mix of confusion and longing in his eyes.
In front of the café, a black Bentley was parked.
Oliver sat inside, smoking, watching Lowell, watching him entangle with Sarah, just like Lester did.
Was Lowell here for Felicity, or for himself?
Oliver sneered.
Late at night.
Sarah walked out of the gallery. As usual, Oliver stood across the street, looking dignified.
She ignored him, walking straight to her car.
Two men in black emerged from the darkness, blocking her, "Mrs. Windsor, sorry, Mr. Windsor requests your presence."
Sarah refused, holding onto the car door.
A cold, hard object pressed against her waist, the bodyguard's voice low, "Mrs. Windsor, sorry"
Sarah turned sharply, looking at Oliver. "What do you mean?"
Oliver gazed at her in the night. After a moment, he slightly turned, opening the back door of the black Bentley, looking elegant.
Sarah's vision went dark.
A blindfold was placed over her eyes.
About two minutes later, she fell into a hot embrace, Oliver's lips brushing her ear, his voice low and hoarse, "Sarah, let's go somewhere."
Sarah panted, "What do you want?"
Oliver ignored her resistance, humming softly, "What do you think?"