Chapter 508 The Truth Revealed: Oliver Beats Nicholas 1
Zyra held Elspeth close as she approached from a distance. When she saw the woman lying on the ground, a piercing scream tore through the night sky.
"Ms. Gray! Ms. Gray, what have you done?" Zyra cried out desperately. "If you're gone, what will happen to Elspeth?"
The infant in her arms was only a few months old, but she seemed to sense her mother's passing and began wailing inconsolably, her cries echoing through the darkness. Fearing the traumatic sight would scar the child, Zyra covered Elspeth's eyes, shielding her from the horrific scene of her birth mother's broken body.
There, in the darkness, lay a fallen rose.
Chaos erupted below. Police arrived swiftly, cordoning off the area with yellow tape to preserve the crime scene. Even Zyra could only watch from afar, clutching Elspeth as she gazed at her mistress's lifeless form.
Though capable and resourceful, Zyra felt utterly helpless—she was completely alone in this foreign place with no one to turn to. Then suddenly, she remembered Sarah, who had visited recently and insisted Zyra contact her if anything happened. With Azalea's tragic death, Sarah was her only hope.
Zyra fumbled through her small purse for Sarah's business card. When the call connected, she spoke with a trembling voice, explaining what had happened.
On the other end, Oliver and Sarah immediately rushed to the scene upon receiving the devastating news.
Zyra dropped her phone and rushed forward with the baby, pleading tearfully with the emergency responders: "Ms. Gray is so young and healthy—please call an ambulance, please try to save her! Her baby is so small, she can't grow up without her mother!"
The paramedics glanced at the child and shook their heads solemnly. It was too late.
Zyra held Elspeth tighter as the baby continued crying. Christmas Eve celebrations continued around them—life went on despite one soul's departure from this world.
Inside the private dining room, crystal chandeliers cast brilliant light. A thunderous crash echoed from outside, followed by an infant's wails and excited chatter about a young woman's tragic decision. Nicholas even heard someone mention Elspeth's name.
Nicholas didn't even lift his eyes. He suspected Azalea had jumped—someone with her temperament couldn't withstand Hestia's public humiliation. Now she was dead, and perhaps that was for the best. Death would finally bring her peace.
When the tragedy downstairs ended the Christmas Eve gathering, both families departed somberly. As they left, a red coat lay abandoned in the hallway—the one Azalea had worn when she arrived.
Nicholas maintained his pleasant demeanor throughout, but when he saw that coat, his eye twitched involuntarily. He quickened his pace, unwilling to look at the garment or remember the woman who had betrayed him. She had approached him for money, deceived him, and aborted their child. She deserved her fate—what was there to regret?
The Moore family understood what had happened. Isabella wanted to speak but held her tongue. Hestia's face was ashen—she couldn't bear to look at the gruesome scene below, feeling guilty and fearing Azalea's vengeful spirit.
She noticed Elspeth, barely a few months old but strikingly beautiful, resembling both Nicholas and Sarah. The child's constant crying suggested Azalea had never told Nicholas the truth. Otherwise, Nicholas wouldn't have been so ruthless in driving Azalea to her death.
Even in her naivety, Hestia realized she had become a weapon—she had killed Azalea for Nicholas. Though she should have felt triumphant about their united front, she found her husband terrifying instead. If he could treat his mistress so cruelly, what might he do to her?
Before getting in the car, Nicholas finally turned back for one last look. Police vehicles blocked most of his view, but through the dispersing crowd, he could see Azalea lying in a pool of blood. She lay peacefully on her back, showing no trace of resentment or unwillingness to go.
From inside the car, Isaac called for his father to get in, saying the dead woman was evil. Nicholas paused, then climbed into the vehicle.
Back at the Moore Mansion, an inexplicable anxiety consumed him. Though he felt vindicated, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Azalea's final moments. He turned to embrace Hestia, hoping physical release might quiet his racing thoughts.
Hestia pulled away, keeping three feet of distance between them as she stared at the dark ceiling, saying she was tired in a flat voice. For the first time, she felt afraid—her husband's cruelty was terrifying.
That night, Nicholas dreamed of Azalea. In his dream, she stood in the bright hall of a luxurious villa, painting at an easel. She would tilt her head and speak to him intimately: "Mr. Moore, you love art, so I learned to paint for you."
He dreamed of her visit to the detention center, where she told him she had never loved him. If she truly never loved him, if she was merely a prostitute, why had she so easily fallen into his trap and walked willingly to her death?
Finally, he saw a blooming rose. She hadn't even said goodbye—she simply opened the private room door and jumped resolutely. She never bid farewell to her Nicholas, though she had promised to be with him forever.
Nicholas jolted awake from the nightmare, his back cold with sweat. He threw off the silk covers and got out of bed.
Hestia lay awake too, hearing him dress in the darkness. She knew he was going out, probably to pay his respects to his mistress. After Nicholas left, Hestia also rose and quietly went to the courtyard to pray, begging Azalea's spirit to seek revenge on Nicholas alone and spare her and her children.
In the deep of night, Nicholas drove alone back to the restaurant. The pavement had been scrubbed clean, traffic flowed normally as if nothing tragic had occurred, but a faint metallic scent of blood still lingered in the air.
Nicholas stood silently on the street, staring at the spot where Azalea had lain. He remained there until his eyes burned and tears unexpectedly streamed down his face.
Had he truly felt nothing? Had he never developed any genuine feelings for her? If he didn't love her, why had his revenge been so vicious?
Nicholas stood alone on the empty street, exhausted but with nowhere to go. He wanted to find someone who would call him "Mr. Moore" with that particular tone, only to realize he had destroyed the only person who ever had. She died on Christmas Eve, rushing to meet him.
Nicholas laughed—a sound more painful than crying.
Winter's harsh grip tightened, and the world seemed shrouded in gloom.
Azalea was buried in Evergreen City, in a small, unnamed cemetery where birds would sing and flowers would bloom under blue skies and white clouds. Her photograph on the headstone captured her youth and beauty.
Since she had severed ties with her family, only Oliver, Sarah, and Zyra attended her funeral. After the burial, Zyra handed Oliver a key and an address.
"I know Mr. and Mrs. Windsor are trustworthy," Zyra said. "This is Ms. Gray's house in Oceancrest City—her favorite place. It contains all her possessions, and I'm entrusting everything to you, including Elspeth."
Zyra pressed her forehead against Elspeth's before continuing, "I must leave now. Please take care of Elspeth."
Oliver took the baby, assuring Zyra, "Don't worry. With us, this child will never suffer—we'll give her a wonderful childhood and future."
Tears glistened in Zyra's eyes as she departed.
Three days later, Oliver went to Nicholas's company, determined to reveal the truth. Elspeth's cord blood had saved Nicholas's son's life, yet he had repaid this gift by destroying Azalea. Oliver intended to confront Nicholas about his cowardice—why torment a woman when Oliver was the real architect of his revenge?
Everything had been Oliver's doing. If Nicholas wanted revenge, he should target Oliver, not an innocent woman who had borne his child.
But Nicholas's secretary said he wasn't in the office—he was out entertaining clients. Oliver used his fists to extract the location.
When Oliver arrived at the club, he found Nicholas in broad daylight, lost in debauchery. In the opulent private room, Nicholas lay with his head in a prostitute's lap, his white shirt unbuttoned and belt loosened, his black hair disheveled from recent activity.
The woman was feeding him imported grapes one by one as Nicholas enjoyed her ministrations. He studied her face, finding her increasingly familiar, though he refused to dwell on why.
Just as they were about to resume their activities, the door burst open. Oliver stormed in while the manager frantically tried to stop him. Oliver slammed the man against the hallway wall, threatening: "Say another word and I'll tear this place down."
The manager trembled, knowing Oliver's reputation in Evergreen City—he could indeed destroy the club without consequence.
After dismissing the manager, Oliver strode into the room. Both the prostitute and Nicholas looked at him—one panicked, the other calm. Oliver grabbed the woman and studied her face carefully, then understood everything.
With a cold laugh, Oliver told her to dress and leave. Knowing his reputation, she quickly gathered her clothes and fled, apologizing to Nicholas as she went.
After the door closed softly, Oliver walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with harsh daylight.
Turning to face Nicholas, Oliver spoke quietly but firmly, "She's dead. I buried her—not in her hometown or in Oceancrest City. Nicholas, she had no home. Perhaps her brief time with you was the only home she ever knew, her life's only sanctuary. Yes, she wronged you, but I orchestrated everything. You should have come after me, but wasn't my revenge justified? Your Moore family dragged Sarah to an operating table while she was pregnant, extracting bone marrow to save your sickly son.
"Nicholas, Sarah owes you nothing. I owe you nothing. And Azalea owed you nothing.
"Your family called her a prostitute, and so did you. She took money for services—what's wrong with that? Yet you demanded her love, and what good did loving you bring her? Only humiliation and a forced end to her young life!
"I was too late to save her, but at least I can give you the beating you deserve."
Oliver grabbed Nicholas by the shirt and began throwing punches, breaking his nose with brutal efficiency. With each blow, he cursed Nicholas, continuing until both men were covered in blood and Oliver's knuckles were raw.
Nicholas collapsed on the carpet, gasping and bloodied. Oliver kicked him once more and spat: "You killed someone who loved you."
His eyes red with rage, Oliver pulled out cigarettes and a lighter with trembling hands. Unwilling to waste more words on such a pathetic creature, he left with a final warning—he would be waiting for Nicholas to come find him.
The door slammed shut with such force that the walls shook.
Despite his bloodied face, Nicholas smiled. He felt exhilarated—his corpse-like body finally felt something again. He could still experience pain!
But Oliver expected him to seek him out? What a joke! He had indeed caused Azalea's death, but she had brought it on herself. Why should he mourn or feel sorry for a prostitute? She had wronged him first.
How could she not owe him? She was dead, but who would compensate for his sense of betrayal?
Nicholas staggered to his feet, determined to continue his dissolute lifestyle.
Oliver returned to his villa as evening painted the sky with brilliant colors. Infant cries echoed from the second floor, and a servant informed him that Calliope had arrived to keep Sarah company, asking about dinner preparations.
Oliver held his cigarette between elegant fingers, saying softly, "Prepare some of Calliope's favorite dishes and invite her to stay for dinner. Sarah's been in low spirits lately—having a friend here should improve her appetite."
The servant commented on his thoughtfulness, and Oliver simply smiled. He hadn't been a good husband in the past, and Sarah had suffered for years because of it. From now on, he would love her twice as much to make up for everything.
Upstairs, Calliope was indeed visiting. She had been coming daily to comfort Sarah and care for the motherless child, developing genuine affection for little Elspeth through their time together.
Besides, the child shared blood with Sarah, creating an even stronger bond. Calliope had thoughts about the situation but hesitated to voice them.
At dusk, Elspeth cried inconsolably despite Calliope's prolonged efforts to soothe her.
When Oliver came upstairs, though he had cleaned himself up, Sarah detected the faint scent of blood after years of marriage and guessed what had happened.
"Did you get into a fight?" she asked.
Oliver touched his nose and sat on the sofa, not bothering to hide the truth: "Yes, I couldn't help myself. I found Nicholas and gave him the beating he deserved."
Though Sarah agreed, she didn't say so aloud. Calliope enthusiastically approved, holding Elspeth as she said, "He absolutely deserved it! Ms. Gray was barely twenty when he drove her to jump, leaving this poor child behind."
Calliope nuzzled Elspeth gently, sighing, "And now she doesn't even have a proper surname to call her own."
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