Chapter 470 Oliver: The Promised Reward, Coming Right Up!
Half an hour later, the black sedan pulled into the villa's driveway.
Oliver carried the still-sleeping Sarah from the car, moving effortlessly through the grand foyer and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed without so much as a heavy breath.
Sitting beside her, he brushed stray strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her soft skin with unmistakable tenderness.
The patter of small feet approached from the hallway—Nicole, of course. Seeing her mother asleep, she tiptoed to her father's side.
"Is Mommy sleepy?" she whispered.
"Just tired, sweetheart," Oliver said, stroking her head.
Nicole's big eyes sparkled as she leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on her mother's cheek, her face radiating pure adoration.
Oliver scooped her up with a smile. "Let's play in the garden. Didn't you want to kick your little ball around?"
The midday sun cast perfect light across the lush lawn where Oliver, in a crisp white shirt and expensive watch, crouched to play with Nicole. Her floral dress swayed in the gentle breeze as they kicked the ball back and forth.
Claire called them in for lunch, muttering her disapproval, "He's such a handful, honestly. If he's not with his wife, he's dragging Miss Windsor out for some fun the second Mrs. Windsor's eyes are closed. Sunburn? Not his problem!"
But Nicole's joy was impossible to miss, and Claire couldn't help feeling emotional. Nicole's parents could finally rest easy.
That afternoon, Zoey arrived for a meeting.
The study remained quiet as Oliver leaned back in his leather chair, slowly rotating it before speaking. "Buy off a few media outlets. Have them report extensively on the Quinton painting misunderstanding. Nothing direct—just insinuations."
"Mr. Windsor, you deserve vindication after what happened," Zoey agreed.
Oliver tilted his head back with a faint smile. "Matthew's had it too good for too long. If I'm right, once this story breaks, even if he escapes formal discipline, he'll face serious reprimand. Diplomatic incidents aren't taken lightly—even he can't sweep this under the rug."
"Brilliant strategy, Mr. Windsor," Zoey said admiringly.
Oliver's smile turned wry. "I'm just throwing money at the problem. No matter how large our company grows, we're still limited in influence. Sometimes cash is our only leverage."
Zoey fell silent. Though said jokingly, Oliver spoke the truth—even vast wealth had its limitations.
After Zoey left to execute the plan, Oliver sat alone, smoking two cigarettes while contemplating his next moves.
Sarah finally woke at dusk. The setting sun painted the floor-to-ceiling windows a brilliant crimson. Still drowsy, she reclined against the pillows, admiring the view.
The bathroom door opened as Oliver emerged with damp hair, dressed in fresh clothes—his white shirt untucked, belt unfastened. The casual look made him appear more relaxed, younger somehow.
Sarah watched him quietly.
"You're awake," he said, sitting beside her. "Hungry? I can bring something up from the kitchen."
Instead of answering, Sarah sat up and embraced him, saying nothing but holding him with gentle affection.
In the twilight, their silhouettes merged into one.
Later, after making love, they lay close together. Oliver brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them tenderly. Still thinking of her words from that morning, he stroked her shoulder and spoke softly, "Sarah, let's remarry. Give me the right to care for you and the children properly."
Nestled against him, she teased, "Are you saying our current arrangement is improper?"
Oliver gazed at her, blue eyes gleaming with sensual intent. Sarah backed down from her challenge, resting her head against his shoulder.
Their peaceful moment was interrupted by Oliver's phone. He answered to hear a familiar male voice delivering a terse message: [Nicholas has just been released on medical parole.]
"Understood," Oliver replied flatly before hanging up.
Sarah, recognizing the caller's voice, felt a sudden chill of shock.
It was him!
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