Chapter 229 We're Just Playing Along!
Oliver strutted in, and his lackey piped up, "Boss, he's not spilling a thing! Even after all that beating, he just keeps saying he held hands with Mrs. Windsor."
The basement was a dump, barely lit. Oliver, all decked out in black, plopped down and melted into the shadows. His face, once a looker, now had a mean streak.
He stared at Lester. Even after the beatdown, Lester still looked annoyingly handsome.
Oliver let out a low chuckle. "Held hands, huh? Which hand?"
He grabbed a baseball bat as he spoke.
Lester looked up, eyes locked on Oliver. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this brute was Sarah's husband. Sarah, so delicate and fragile, married to this savage.
Lester gritted his teeth. "I was pure with her! You might have her body, but you'll never have her soul. She'll never be yours; she'll break free."
Oliver picked up some papers nearby and saw that Lester was into philosophy. With a sneer, he put on white gloves and safety goggles. Without another word, he swung the bat down.
Lester's hands were toast.
Amidst the screams, Oliver looked down and smirked, "This is what you get for messing with my wife! I've been holding back. Whether you make it through the next three months is up to luck!"
Lester lay there, writhing in pain, staring at his mangled hands.
A card with $100,000 was tossed on the ground.
Oliver's voice was ice-cold. "For your medical bills."
Lester screamed, "You'll get what's coming to you! I love her, it's real love, not some twisted possession!"
"Is that so?" Oliver's smile was calm but sinister. He walked over and stomped on Lester's left hand, making him scream again.
At the basement door, Sarah stood in her nightgown, staring blankly.
She saw the real Oliver.
She saw Lester, bloodied and broken, all because she wanted to know what love felt like. She had caused this.
But Oliver, to get back at her, was with other women.
Why?
Sarah's simple world shattered.
She kept muttering, "No! Why?"
Her eyes were glued to Oliver, babbling, not knowing what she was saying or where she was. She no longer recognized Lester.
She only knew Oliver. Sarah had lost her mind, plain and simple, she had gone mad.
When she couldn't be brought back, and the doctor broke the news, Oliver was stunned, and so was Zoey.
No one saw Sarah's breakdown coming.
Sarah became even more innocent than before. She stopped going to school, staying home every day. She could take care of herself but had the mind of a seven or eight-year-old, pure and innocent.
Oliver came home every night to be with her.
But he never touched her again. He had needs, but he didn't go after other women. It wasn't out of some moral high ground; it was just that looking at Sarah's face, he felt nothing.
When Sarah was four months pregnant, Oliver had a paternity test done just to be sure. Yep, the kid was his.
That night, he sat alone in his study, lost in thought.
He remembered how he got back at Dylan, married Sarah, and seemed to have it all. But now, it felt like he had nothing.
Because Sarah had lost her mind.
"Oliver!" Grace jolted awake from a nightmare, eyes wide in the dark.
She dreamt about Oliver and Sarah, about Oliver treating Sarah horribly, and their tragic end. It reminded her of her own mess with Henry, all sorrow and pain.
Grace sat up, hugging her knees, still shaking from the dream.
A hand gently touched her shoulder.
Grace looked up and saw Henry in the dark, sitting in a wheelchair, wearing a white bathrobe. Other than the wheelchair, he appeared perfectly fine.
He spoke softly, "Taylor's almost better."
"Okay," Grace whispered, looking at him with longing and desperation. She wanted to hug Henry. All her daytime strength crumbled in that moment.
For the first time, she spoke softly and vulnerably, "Henry, can you hold me?"
Henry's eyes were deep and unreadable in the night.
Just when Grace thought he'd leave, he gently pulled her onto his lap, softly telling her that his legs had no feeling and that he wouldn't be hurt.
Soon after, he lowered his head to kiss her, slipping his hand into her nightgown.
Henry was very restrained, everything was slow and deliberate, but he was incredibly nervous, afraid she wouldn't be satisfied or would be repulsed, especially since he was now disabled, with only one functioning hand.
It had been years, and he was rusty.
Henry was considerate of Grace's feelings, always gentle, letting her sit on his lap. In the dark, he watched her expressions, asking in a low voice if it was okay.
Grace didn't speak, biting his neck gently, urging him silently.
Soon, she let out a low moan.
He turned her face towards him, insisting on looking at her, his large hand pressing her down rhythmically. They stared at each other's almost contorted faces, silently sharing this intimate moment.
Though silent, their bodies felt intensely.
Perhaps because of the forbidden nature, their bodies were almost overwhelmed. They did it repeatedly.
Until dawn, Henry was still reluctant to part. He held her slender waist, watching her expression in the faint morning light, asking gently, "Are you satisfied?"
Grace had been satisfied long ago. As a woman, once or twice was enough; after that, she was just indulging him.
She could feel that Henry hadn't been with a woman for years. Though restrained, he was very skilled, likely having held back for a long time.
Grace cherished this feeling, preferring to let him think she had a high demand, still holding onto him.
Henry seemed to understand her feelings, holding her for a long time. Before dawn, he whispered, "Grace, this is just for one night! After tonight, let's forget this ever happened."
Grace cupped his face, her voice soft. "Are you concerned about Owen? Henry, we..."
"We're just playing a role!" she said.
Henry interrupted her, his voice indifferent and apologetic. "I'm not prepared to take responsibility."
Grace looked closely at his face.