Chapter 313 She Begins to Count Down Her Life
At 8 PM, Oliver got back to the hotel.
The suite was pitch dark, and Sarah was sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window, the neon lights outside casting a lonely glow on her beautiful face.
"Why didn't you turn on the lights?" Oliver asked as he flipped on all the switches.
The bright lights revealed a trace of tears at the corner of Sarah's eyes, showing she had been crying.
Oliver looked at her for a bit, then plopped down on the couch and shrugged off his coat. "Still upset about last night? Have you eaten?" he asked casually.
Sarah said she had. Oliver wasn't totally convinced, but with Isabelle in the picture, things were tense between them, and he didn't feel as protective of her as he used to.
He thought, 'Whatever, she's not dumb. When she gets hungry, she'll eat.'
Oliver had been swamped all day and was probably exhausted, but he still wanted sex. After a short rest, he made a move, expecting Sarah to push him away. To his surprise, she went along with it. When he kissed her, she kissed him back.
Sarah didn't resist him anymore; she even wrapped her arms around his neck, her slender body responding to Oliver's moves.
Oliver looked at her, his gaze very sensual. They had been together for several years. Except for the two years she pretended to be clueless, she had always been very conservative in bed, almost passively accepting. She had never been accustomed to enjoying it like this.
After satisfying himself for a while, Oliver leaned against her and asked in a hoarse voice, "Why are you so proactive today?"
This should have been his happiest moment.
Sarah clung to him, her face pressed against his neck, cautiously asking, "If you let Dylan out of the detention center, can he go abroad?
Oliver looked down at her anxious expression and the faint blue marks on her body. So her earlier initiative was all for Dylan, her remarkable brother.
Oliver's gaze turned cold. He didn't answer her question; he just used rough actions to cruelly shatter all her fantasies, over and over.
Sarah held him tightly. This time, her voice trembled, "I'll remarry you, Oliver! From now on, I'll listen to you. Whatever you want, it's fine!"
Oliver completely stopped, his eyes filled with suppressed anger. "Sarah, are you hiding something from me?"
"No!" she murmured in a daze, "I'm just tired and fed up! Don't you hate Dylan and the Miller family? Can I stay and let you torment and take revenge on me, Oliver?"
Oliver's body had already cooled down, his desire turning into rage. He raised his hand, pinched her chin, and sneered, "Should I be moved by your sibling bond? But if you want to take his place and suffer, let's see how far you're willing to go."
Sarah was too naive to understand Oliver's evil thoughts.
In her daze, he pressed her against the floor-to-ceiling window. Behind her was Oliver's scorching body, his lips close to her ear, cold and indifferent, "Whatever I want? This is how I play with women. Can you handle it?"
With that, he mercilessly thrust into her.
Sarah's eyes widened, her hands spread flat on the cold glass. She looked at the dazzling neon lights outside, so vibrant, while she was so wretched.
The man behind her, cruelly humiliating her—was that really Oliver? Was it the same Oliver she once loved? He used to be so gentle, not wanting to hurt her at all, but now he was treating her like a prostitute!
"Oliver," Sarah coughed a few times, bright red blood staining the transparent glass.
She kept calling his name. It was the only way to stay conscious through the pain. But she wasn't calling out to the man hurting her now; she was calling to the Oliver she once loved. The one who took an entire night to be gentle with her the first time they were intimate.
She kept thinking, 'Why hasn't it ended yet? Oliver had done it several times. Why hasn't he stopped, why hasn't he let me go? He knows I am in pain.'
In her daze from the pain, she was thrown down. Without support, she slowly slid to the soft carpet, but it wasn't over. Oliver sat on the couch, demanding her to serve him.
He was fully clothed, only his belt undone, now wanting her to help him tidy up.
Sarah's lips curled into a smile. Olivia had once warned her, "Mrs. Windsor, if you want to have a better life, don't mention Dylan in front of Mr. Windsor. If you do, he won't let you off easily."
Now, she finally understood. But what did it matter? She had cancer, she was going to die. What did it matter if she suffered a bit before dying?
It would be best if Oliver tortured her to death, then the debt between their families would be settled.
This moment was the most humiliating of Sarah's life. Sarah had once been Dylan's treasure, but now, she was barely clothed, kneeling in front of Oliver, carefully wiping him, zipping him up. His belt was too stiff, she wasn't good at it. But Oliver guided her hand, teaching her slowly.
She did it cautiously, while he looked down at her delicate, tormented body. Actually, without any reservations, he found it very thrilling, more so than with anyone else.
Sarah was different from other women; she was like a flower in a greenhouse, without a single sharp edge. When he stopped caring about her feelings, there was a destructive pleasure in being with her that he couldn't find with other women. Besides, her body was delicate enough.
Finally, she finished tidying him up. She wanted to get up, but he pressed her down again, gently stroking her face with a playful touch. After some thought, he said, "Tomorrow morning, we'll go get the marriage certificate, Mrs. Windsor."
The last title carried a hint of sarcasm. But Sarah didn't mind anymore. She had already suffered so much.
She lowered her gaze, her voice hoarse, "Thank you!"
Oliver stared at her. After a while, he got up and walked out in front of her. The door opened and closed, making a slight sound.
Sarah's body went limp, collapsing on the carpet. She knew Oliver was angry. He was going out to fool around, to humiliate her!
Sarah rested for a quarter of an hour, then slowly got up and started cleaning the room.
Oliver had been rough during sex; the couch, the carpet, everywhere bore traces of him, even the large glass had her bloodstains. But Oliver hadn't noticed; he was only concerned with his own release. He didn't know she was dying.
That night, Oliver didn't come back, and Sarah curled up on the cold bed, looking at the moonlight through the glass.
She began to count down her life. She thought, staying by Oliver's side, she should die quickly. Maybe in half a year, or maybe just two or three months, she would leave this world.
However, she still had Jacob!