Chapter 469 Bound by Love, Unstoppable as One 3
To everyone's shock, the painting Sarah brought was identical to the one displayed in Quinton's exhibition.
"Where did this forgery come from?" someone whispered.
Sarah hadn't come alone. Beside her stood Zoey and fifty elite Windsor Group security personnel—each one capable of handling ten ordinary men in combat.
Matthew's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Sarah approached him with quiet dignity. "This is Quinton's authentic masterpiece. The one that burned was merely a forgery."
The room erupted in disbelief.
Matthew let out a cold laugh. "Why should I believe you? The real Quinton hangs in the gallery, not in your possession."
With a subtle nod from Matthew, Aaron stepped forward. "Miss, we're discussing serious matters here. Perhaps you should go home and rest."
Sarah gently blocked his path.
"This is no joke to me," she said firmly. "I wouldn't bring this original without absolute certainty. I won't leave, and I certainly won't stand by while my husband is falsely accused and detained."
She surveyed the room with unwavering confidence. "I've not only brought Quinton's authentic work, but I've also invited John, the international restoration expert who holds twenty-four global certifications. Who better to identify Quinton's true masterpiece?"
Murmurs spread through the room. John rarely made public appearances—yet Sarah had somehow brought him to Evergreen City.
Oliver's emotions surged as her words echoed in his mind—she had called him her husband.
His gaze was unwavering, burning with intensity as he watched her command the room. If they'd been alone, he would have gathered her into his arms and never let go. What he felt wasn't just desire—it was genuine admiration, something deeper that went far beyond physical attraction.
Meanwhile, Matthew remained skeptical.
He couldn't accept that someone had replicated Quinton's work so perfectly that it had hung in the gallery for days without detection. More painfully, he couldn't bear that Oliver had anticipated his every move, making his elaborate scheme look like child's play.
Matthew gestured toward the bearded expert. "Then let John examine it."
John placed the painting on the table and meticulously studied it through his magnifying glass for nearly ten minutes. Finally, he looked up and announced to the room, "This is undoubtedly Quinton's work. I stake my thirty-year career on it—this is the original."
Matthew was defeated. He sank into his chair, unable to rise for some time. When he finally looked at Sarah again, his aged eyes seemed filled with unspoken words that he couldn't bring himself to utter.
The onlookers whispered among themselves. Everyone present was shrewd enough to understand Matthew's failed scheme. At its mildest, this was a family dispute; at its worst, it was deliberate sabotage that would have sacrificed an artistic treasure.
Though disgusted by Matthew's actions, no one dared speak against a man of his position.
Aaron dispersed the crowd.
In the vast room, only Matthew and Sarah remained—father and daughter by blood, but the familial bond between them had dissolved.
Matthew seemed to have aged another decade in minutes.
"You've sided with him?" he asked, his voice laden with pain. "Do you know how much it hurt to see you walk through that door? Who do you think I've been doing all this for?"
Sarah's expression remained impassive. "I know. For Nicholas."
"Nicholas is still imprisoned!" Matthew countered. "Do you also believe he deserves no mercy?"
Sarah lowered her gaze and spoke quietly, "The unforgivable one is you. You tampered with Oliver's brakes."
"If the children and I had been in that car that day, I wouldn't be standing before you now—we would have been silently murdered by your hand. Jacob and Nicole too. Nicholas may be the apple of your eye."
"But Jacob and Nicole are mine. If you harm them, I will seek retribution without hesitation—regardless of what it costs the Moore family name, your reputation, or even Nicholas's life."
Sarah had used all her strength to speak these harsh words. Despite everything, he was still her father, and delivering such ultimatums brought her no joy.
She walked out the door.
Outside, the sunlight was perfect. Oliver stood by the window, bathed in golden light.
She walked slowly toward him and took his hand. "Oliver, let's go home."
Those words were the sweetest he had ever heard.
Even as they sat in the car, he was still savoring them.
In the privacy of the backseat, separated from the driver, Oliver pulled Sarah onto his lap, facing him. Though somewhat embarrassed, she had grown accustomed to such intimacy.
Oliver caressed her slender waist, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Say it again—what you said earlier."
She feigned confusion. "What did I say?"
Oliver captured her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. Between breaths, he murmured, "Don't play innocent. You called me your husband. Say it again, Sarah... I need to hear it."
Sarah leaned back slightly.
Her delicate fingers traced his prominent nose, defined jawline, and the sensual curve of his Adam's apple. After a moment, she whispered, "We haven't actually signed the marriage certificate yet."
She was clearly teasing him.
Frustration—both physical and emotional—coursed through Oliver. He pulled her close, holding her tightly against him. Their bodies swayed together, shivering at the sudden closeness. His gaze burned into hers, his voice low and breathless as he murmured, "I could ask the driver to take the long way home... We could make love right here, and then make up for the past three days once we're home. What do you say?"
He looked entirely serious.
Sarah felt a flutter of apprehension.
It wasn't that she didn't want him, but she was genuinely exhausted after days of constant activity. A woman's desire had naturally diminished when fatigue set in.
Their relationship had matured enough that she didn't need to reject him harshly. Instead, after sharing a long, intimate kiss while sitting on his lap, she whispered, "Oliver, I'm so tired."
Her tone blended the vulnerability of a lover with the trust of a child.
In an instant, Oliver suppressed his arousal. He cradled Sarah against his chest, holding her as tenderly as he would Nicole, creating a comfortable space for her to rest.
Sarah truly fell asleep, her delicate face relaxing as her eyelashes rested gently on her cheeks.
Oliver couldn't take his eyes off her.
Sarah finally let down all her defenses around him, allowing herself to show her vulnerability.
A warmth flickered in his eyes—he had finally, wholly won her heart.
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