Chapter 462 Desire Rekindled Instantly
A deafening crash echoed through the street.
The side door of the black Bentley was violently torn off, clanging onto the pavement as the vehicle careened sideways toward a wall.
The hood crumpled with a sickening thud, black smoke billowing from the engine. Though the airbags deployed instantly, protecting the driver, Oliver's right arm was deeply impaled by flying glass, penetrating nearly twelve inches deep. Blood soaked through his crisp white shirt, dripping steadily.
Oliver sat in the wreckage, breathing heavily.
He wasn't fearless—he feared what would happen to his children without a father, to Sarah without his protection. Who would shield them from those who wished them harm?
With grim determination, he pulled the glass shard from his flesh. His vision blurred, but he managed to unbuckle his seatbelt and force the damaged door open. He stumbled away from the vehicle as engine oil leaked ominously beneath it, threatening explosion at any moment.
A crowd had gathered to witness the wealthy, handsome man's accident.
"Get back!" Oliver shouted, waving his arms. "The car might explode!"
Amid screams, the onlookers scattered. Oliver staggered several dozen feet before turning to look at the mangled wreckage. His throat tightened as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket with trembling hands and lit it.
Fortunately, his phone still worked. He called Zoey as sirens wailed in the distance.
Standing amid the chaos on Evergreen City's busiest street, with storm clouds gathering overhead, Oliver remained as immovable as a mountain.
At ten that morning, Matthew was in a meeting with Aaron providing witty commentary, creating a pleasant atmosphere.
Footsteps approached from outside, growing louder until the heavy boardroom door swung open. Oliver stood in the doorway, arm in a sling, clothes bloodstained, wearing a sardonic smile.
"Having a nice meeting, are we?" he asked.
Matthew remained motionless, his face darkening ominously.
Aaron, sensing trouble, rose quickly and approached Oliver. "We're discussing important matters, Mr. Windsor," he said quietly. "Perhaps this isn't the best time?"
"Not the best time?" Oliver tossed a brake pad onto the table in front of Matthew. "I made a special trip just to thank Mr. Matthew Moore for his so-called "gift." I also wanted to let him know that I'm still standing. As for the "favor" he did me, I promise I'll return it in full."
Whispers rippled through the room as Matthew's expression grew even darker.
The tension was palpable until Aaron intervened with a placating smile. "Mr. Windsor, perhaps family matters should be discussed privately?"
Oliver pointed at Matthew. "Ask him if Sarah is his daughter. Ask if she's the child he brought into his home. What was she to you—a pet to be discarded when inconvenient? To have her legs broken if disobedient? And now you want to make her a widow? Have you gone mad from loneliness, Mr. Moore? Or does the Moore family have some throne to inherit?"
"Mr. Windsor, please," Aaron pleaded, "as a personal favor to me."
Oliver relented, but still pointed at Matthew with a final warning: "Remember, Mr. Moore, no one stays on top forever. It's wise to leave yourself some goodwill."
Only then did Matthew finally speak. "Mr. Windsor has a strong survival instinct. Shouldn't you be filing a police report rather than disrupting my meeting?"
His attempt to change the subject revealed his remarkable composure.
Oliver laughed coldly. "I feared you might need emergency heart medication if I went to the police first."
He turned to leave, their relationship now irreparably fractured.
Taking just a few steps, he spotted Sarah standing outside, disheveled and wearing house slippers—a testament to her distress.
Their eyes locked for a long moment.
"I'm fine," Oliver said gently. "How did you know? Did Zoey tell you?"
Sarah said nothing. She rushed forward and embraced him fiercely, burying her face against his chest. She didn't care about the blood on his clothes, her inappropriate footwear, or the stares of onlookers. In that moment, she only needed to hold him.
She had begun to fear losing him.
Oliver felt a surge of emotion as he looked down at her. Though nearly thirty, Sarah still seemed so small and fragile in his arms. He gently touched her cheek, his voice hoarse, "Don't cry. You're hurting my arm."
Even as he told her not to cry, tears fell from his own eyes.
Cradling her face, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "No more tears, Sarah. You're breaking my heart."
Sarah looked up at him, her eyes filled with nothing but him.
In that moment, Oliver felt like he had the whole world.
Two black SUVs waited below, with Zoey and six imposing bodyguards in dark suits and sunglasses.
Zoey opened the car door for them.
Before getting in, Oliver cast one last, icy glance at the two-story building, a cruel smile curling his lips. That filthy old bastard.
Once inside, Zoey turned to them. "Mr. Windsor, rest assured this vehicle is bulletproof and shock-resistant. What happened this morning won't happen again."
Oliver leaned back. "After my dramatic entrance, Matthew won't dare try anything soon."
He pulled back a corner of the window curtain to watch the busy street, his tone icy. "Find ways to make Matthew's life less comfortable."
"Yes, Mr. Windsor," Zoey nodded.
With Oliver's injured arm requiring several days' rest, Zoey drove them directly home.
Having lost considerable blood, Oliver tried to head to his study, but Sarah insisted he rest while she prepared iron-rich foods in the kitchen.
He reclined in bed, handling business on his phone.
Eventually, he lay back, listening to the sounds from downstairs: dishes clinking, Sarah's soft instructions to the staff, Claire's chatter... all the ordinary sounds of domestic happiness.
He provided for his family, and the women of his household were safe in their haven.
Oliver had intended to nap briefly but slept until dusk. Sitting up, he gazed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the moon rising among the branches.
The door creaked open softly.
The bedroom was dark, unlit.
Sarah approached the bed, discovering Oliver awake, watching her with an intense gaze from his position against the headboard. She sat beside him, saying softly, "Eat something, then I'll change your bandages."
With a click, the light came on.
Oliver blinked at her. "Where are the children?"
"They're home," Sarah said quietly.
"Do you know why I was so angry today?" Oliver asked softly. "Tampering with my car was one thing, but if this had happened earlier, Jacob and Nicole would have been inside. I can't bear to imagine what might have happened."
His eyes burned with intensity. ""
Sarah nodded softly.
She offered no further comment, focusing instead on feeding him.
His words had frightened her as well.
To Sarah, nothing was more important than Jacob and Nicole. She and her husband were united in this.
Though she said little, her gentle expression made it clear she stood with him.
Oliver was deeply moved.
He was aroused again in an instant. Sarah could do nothing but coax him, telling him to wait until his wound had healed. The bowl of food—red dates—was left forgotten.
He was truly impossible. In playful revenge, Sarah bit his shoulder.
Afterward, her forehead damp, she nestled her head against his neck, reluctant to move away from his warmth. Oliver kissed her reddened lips, his voice husky, "Sarah, after my reconstructive surgery, let's have a baby. A little girl like Nicole, to raise and spoil together."
It took Sarah a moment to process his words.
It wasn't that she didn't want children, but the timing seemed wrong. "Let's wait a while," she murmured. "Perhaps next year."
Next year she would turn thirty.
Oliver, approaching forty-two, felt he was in his prime—capable of giving her not just one child, but ten if she wanted.
They held each other, exchanging tender words, ignoring their disheveled clothing, content in their embrace.
From downstairs came Nicole's voice, followed by the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs. Nicole burst through the master bedroom door, exclaiming softly, "I found Mommy and Daddy!"
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