Chapter 450 Sarah, Let's Remarry!
Oliver's words were shockingly explicit. He complained about condoms dulling sensation and casually mentioned getting a vasectomy—all while they stood in the kitchen. Sarah couldn't imagine what outrageous things he might say in private.
"The children are home," she warned him.
Oliver smirked. "How do you think we got them in the first place?"
They both froze, suddenly remembering that Nicole wasn't actually their biological daughter, but Lester's child. Somehow, they'd both begun thinking of her as their own.
The water in the pot began to boil, breaking the moment.
"I need to cook the pasta," Sarah said softly. "Stop fooling around."
Despite the awkward pause, Oliver wasn't about to waste this rare intimate moment. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"I'm being serious," he murmured. "Sarah, let's remarry."
She stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Oliver turned her to face him, his expression earnest. "I want us to remarry. I want you back."
Her silence spoke volumes.
"Don't play dumb," he said, his gaze intense.
"Enough, Oliver!" she protested, pushing against his shoulder.
He laughed softly, pressing his forehead against hers. They were so close his breath warmed her lips as he spoke.
"Come back home with me. I won't let you down again. I won't make you unhappy."
His voice cracked slightly. "God, Sarah, I've missed you and Jacob so much."
His sincerity touched her, but she was a grown woman now. She needed to think carefully, especially with the Moore family's involvement complicating matters.
Sensing her hesitation, Oliver's disappointment was palpable, though he didn't push. Instead, he deflected with humor: "What, you'll sleep with me all night but won't acknowledge it in the morning?"
When she remained silent, he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, pressing his body against hers to leave no doubt about his desire.
Sarah pushed at his shoulders. The man's appetite was insatiable!
That afternoon, Oliver visited the Windsor Group. The 68-story tower pierced the skyline like a needle.
Behind his massive desk, Oliver examined a document with narrowed eyes. "This is Nicholas's work?" he asked Zoey.
She nodded.
"Mr. Moore certainly thinks highly of himself," Oliver scoffed. "Living in Matthew's shadow all these years has made him forget his place."
Zoey smiled knowingly.
Oliver reached for his cigarette case. "Get to Eldon—Nicholas's right-hand man. Start with ten million. If that's not enough, try thirty, fifty million. Whatever it takes to bring him to our side. If money won't work, find his weakness. I don't care how you do it, but I want someone inside Nicholas's circle."
Zoey paled at the ruthlessness of his plan.
Oliver looked up. "Too difficult? This is how business works with me—high risk, high reward. When Sarah agrees to remarry me, I'll gift you that villa near the school."
A property worth at least $30 million. Zoey would do anything for that kind of money.
After she left, Oliver lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply. Blue-gray smoke swirled around his chiseled features, partially obscuring his face in the haze.
Three evenings later, as sunset painted the sky, Oliver's black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside Sarah's building. A deep blue luxury car was already parked nearby—Nicholas waiting inside.
Oliver studied the car briefly before grabbing a manila envelope from the passenger seat. He approached Nicholas's window and knocked.
"I appreciate your recent interest in Windsor Group," Oliver said with a charming smile. "Rest assured, I'll return the favor. You can count on that."
Nicholas turned to look at him.
With one hand casually in his pocket, Oliver glanced skyward. "Beautiful evening, isn't it? I imagine you're enjoying your stakeout. Quite romantic. But you might want to look at this—it'll turn your sunny mood stormy in no time."
He tossed the envelope to Nicholas. "No need to thank me. Consider it a token of my affection."
Nicholas opened it, his expression freezing as he read the contents.
Inside was a medical report about his son Isaac, clearly stating his injuries had been caused by deliberate pushing. The report had been suppressed, and Hestia had been the one to take Isaac to the hospital.
Shortly after, the blood bank had mysteriously run short.
And Hestia had suggested bringing Jacob in to donate blood.
Nicholas's face turned ashen.
The setting sun cast an orange glow as the breeze ruffled Oliver's hair. Backlit, his features were obscured, but his voice carried a chilling edge.
"I hope you enjoy my little gift, Mr. Moore."
Nicholas looked up at him once, then wordlessly stepped on the gas.