Chapter 530 Jacob: He Has No Choice but to Marry Her! (1)
Evergreen City, the Windsor Estate
Oliver slammed his phone down, muttering under his breath in frustration.
From the walk-in closet, Sarah adjusted her pearl earrings, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. "You were practically bouncing off the walls during that call, and now you look like thunder. Jacob again?"
The sound of his wife's voice immediately softened Oliver's mood. He wandered into the closet and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling into her shoulder like an overgrown puppy seeking comfort. "Who else could it be? That boy just told me he's got his eye on his childhood friend—he's doing it just to rile me up!"
Sarah's lips curved into a gentle smile. She covered his hands with hers, her tone gently chiding. "Two years ago, you said he was young and needed to spread his wings, so you shipped him off to Vesper City to cut his teeth. Now that Jacob's built something impressive for himself, you're complaining he hasn't given you grandchildren. Oliver, you're being utterly hypocritical—at his age, you were still playing the field! Are you suggesting Jacob should follow in those footsteps?"
Oliver bristled at the comparison. He pressed closer, his voice muffled against her neck. "I was behind bars back then—what field was there to play?"
Sarah let the subject drop, shifting to gentler territory. "Jacob will bring Nicole home, won't he? They've been inseparable all these years. He dotes on her—even took her along when he went to study abroad. He's been an exceptional brother to her, so perhaps you shouldn't be quite so hard on him."
The early morning intimacy had Oliver's mind wandering to more pleasant possibilities, but the sound of a car in the courtyard below interrupted his thoughts. Within minutes, the engine faded into the distance.
Sarah gave him a gentle push. "Go see who that was."
Reluctantly, Oliver made his way downstairs. The staff was setting up breakfast, and they immediately approached with their report. "Mr. Samuel Collins stopped by, sir. He brought two boxes of premium supplements for Ms. Taylor Montague. I offered him breakfast, but he declined."
Oliver examined the gifts—top-grade wild ginseng, worth a small fortune.
When he returned upstairs, Sarah was already dressed for their trip to the airport to collect Calliope and her husband. Despite his earlier desires, Oliver's mind was now occupied with more troubling thoughts.
Taylor had become a doctor and married two years ago. Her husband, Samuel Collins, ran a successful tech company, but their marriage seemed to lack any real warmth. Just last week, Oliver had spotted Samuel at a hotel with another woman—haggard-looking but not unattractive—and a boy of about four who bore no resemblance to Samuel whatsoever.
"From Taylor and Samuel," Oliver said, handing over the ginseng.
Sarah examined the boxes carefully, her smile appreciative. "Such thoughtful, precious gifts. Taylor has always been so considerate."
Oliver pulled her close, his voice tender. "She adores you, naturally she thinks of you. I'll have the kitchen prepare a small portion daily to help restore your energy."
But Sarah shook her head, turning to adjust his shirt collar and tie. "Something this valuable is wasted on me. Give it to Claire instead—she's been so listless lately, barely leaving her room since the weather turned cold. This would do her far more good."
Oliver readily agreed. "Whatever you wish."
Saturday Evening, the Windsor Estate
The house blazed with lights and hummed with conversation as guests filled every corner. Sarah had spared no expense for Calliope's welcome party—the finest musicians, a Michelin-starred pastry chef, and champagne that cost more per bottle than most people's monthly salary. The entire evening radiated sophisticated elegance.
Oliver guided Calliope through the crowd, introducing her to the Windsor Group's senior executives. The years had only enhanced her natural grace—she moved through the room with practiced ease, champagne flute in hand, charming everyone she met.
"Where's Jacob?" she asked Oliver during a quiet moment. "I haven't seen him all evening."
Oliver scanned the room with growing irritation. "That boy abhors these social obligations. Just two days ago, I was telling Sarah how ridiculous it is—twenty-six years old and still no serious girlfriend. Tonight, Sarah specifically invited Amelia. With her beauty and accomplishments, I'd hoped Jacob might finally take notice."
Calliope's smile was diplomatically warm. "Miss Anderson is certainly exceptional."
Sarah appeared at their side, and the two women exchanged a look of mutual understanding and respect. Oliver excused himself to hunt down his elusive son.
Third Floor, Jacob's Suite
The east-facing master suite sprawled across two thousand square feet of masculine luxury. The bedroom at the far end was a study in sophisticated darkness—ebony furniture, silk sheets the color of midnight, and lighting that cast everything in cool, intimate shadows.
On the vast bed lay a slender figure draped in a smoke-colored off-shoulder gown, her porcelain skin luminous against the dark fabric. Jacob's usual iron self-control had been loosened by alcohol and desire, and Nicole still trembled slightly beneath his intense gaze—those dark eyes burning with unmistakable masculine possession.
In the aftermath of their passion, Jacob lay still, lost in memories of their six years together. Every sweet moment, every challenge they'd weathered, every shared joy and sorrow—enough memories to last several lifetimes. Yet even as emotion threatened to overwhelm him, he remained acutely aware of the party continuing below.
His fingers traced the delicate curve of Nicole's face as reality reasserted itself. They had no official relationship, no public acknowledgment—and they never could. The family would never approve. As the eldest son, he was expected to produce worthy heirs for the Windsor legacy. His future wife would need to be not only beautiful but accomplished, educated, socially prominent.
Nicole possessed only the first qualification.
Later, when he left to study abroad, he took her along, allowing her to do as she pleased. She loved painting, and he would always find time to join her for outdoor sketching sessions and accompany her to art exhibitions across the globe. In Vesper City, they'd lived as husband and wife, their secret safe from prying eyes.
But marriage was impossible. Children, unthinkable.
He'd resigned himself to lifelong bachelorhood, and she'd agreed never to marry another. In their most intimate moments, they'd sworn themselves to each other for eternity—promises his sweet, naive Nicole had accepted without question.
A sharp knock interrupted his brooding. Oliver's voice carried through the door. "Jacob? Are you in there? Calliope would like to see you."
Jacob's body tensed. After a moment, he pulled the covers over Nicole's sleeping form and rose to straighten his clothes, transforming back into the impeccable gentleman within seconds.
He opened the door just wide enough to slip out, immediately closing it behind him. But Oliver's sharp eyes had already caught sight of the evidence scattered across the bedroom floor—delicate high heels, a wisp of lace lingerie.
"Entertaining company?" Oliver's voice was ice-cold.
He couldn't decide whether to be relieved that his son preferred women or furious that Jacob was indulging in casual affairs while refusing to pursue a proper relationship.
Jacob's smile was deliberately casual. "Just my assistant."
Oliver's anger flared. He sank into the sitting room sofa and lit a cigarette, blue smoke curling upward as he glared at his heir.
"Jacob, you're pathetic. Even rabbits know better than to soil their own nest, and here you are sleeping with your secretary? Get rid of her immediately. Your mother has her heart set on Amelia—she's downstairs right now, and frankly, I think you'd make an excellent match."
Jacob settled into the opposite chair, his expensive black evening wear immaculate, golden lighter spinning between his fingers with practiced nonchalance. "I prefer them younger, Father."
Oliver's laugh was harsh. "Younger for playing house, perhaps? You're too old for these games."
His voice turned steel-hard. "You can have your teenage girlfriends for fun, but your future wife must be educated, accomplished, and worthy of the Windsor name. That's how we ensure the next generation maintains our standards."
"Elliot and Diana are still children, Nicole needs your protection, and the Windsor Group employs over twenty thousand people worldwide—they're all counting on you. Jacob, I'm not getting any younger."
The weight of expectation settled heavily between them. Jacob stared into the flame of his lighter, his voice deliberately light. "Father, you seem plenty vigorous to me—still managing to give Mother two children in three years."
"Jacob!" Oliver's voice cracked like a whip.
Jacob's smile was maddeningly serene. "I never said I wouldn't meet her."
He rose and headed for the door, Oliver following. But halfway down the hall, the older man stopped, muttering to himself, "Wait—Jacob didn't bring any assistant home tonight..."
Must have been someone from the party. Youth, indeed.
Downstairs, crystal clinked against crystal as the evening reached its sophisticated peak. Jacob found Amelia exactly where he'd expected—holding court near the terrace doors.
He got to know her while he was abroad—they'd moved in the same elite Chinese circles, both campus celebrities in their own right. But Jacob's free time had always belonged to Nicole, limiting their interaction to polite nods and brief conversations. Since returning to spend most of his time in Vesper City, they'd had no contact whatsoever.
Amelia wore midnight blue silk that clung to every curve, the halter neckline secured by delicate gold chains that emphasized the elegant line of her throat. When she spotted Jacob, her smile was radiant with practiced charm.
"Jacob," she purred, the familiarity deliberate and intimate.
His response was coolly formal. "Miss Anderson."
A flash of annoyance crossed her features, quickly suppressed. She was too well-bred to show offense, instead launching into sophisticated small talk that demonstrated her considerable intelligence and wit. Even Jacob, notoriously difficult to impress, found himself responding with genuine amusement.
The older generation tactfully melted away, leaving them alone under the glittering chandeliers.
Amelia stepped closer, her champagne flute tilted at a coquettish angle, eyes locked on his with predatory focus. "Mr. Windsor, Do you have someone special? Let me guess..." She inhaled delicately. "That faint gardenia scent you're wearing is so familiar. If I'm not mistaken, Nicole has always favored that particular fragrance."
She leaned in until her breath whispered against his ear. "I wonder what Mr. Oliver Windsor would think if he knew you and Nicole had become... intimate."
The next instant, Jacob's hand clamped around her waist with bruising force. To observers, it might have looked romantic, but Amelia felt the steel in his grip—she was certain her ribs would be purple by morning.
'How brutally crude,' she thought.
Jacob's voice was arctic, each word precisely enunciated. "Miss Anderson, if you're feeling particularly desperate tonight, I'd be happy to recommend some professional companionship to satisfy your needs. But I strongly advise against attempting to blackmail me in my own home—I can't guarantee your continued well-being if you persist."
He released her abruptly and stepped back, his aristocratic mask sliding seamlessly into place.
Amelia's fury was barely contained, but before she could respond, Jacob was already walking away—toward the figure standing in the shadows near the garden doors.
Nicole waited there like a white lotus blooming in darkness, ethereal and heartbreakingly fragile in the dim light.
Jacob approached and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his expression transforming into something infinitely tender. "Awake already?"
Some feminine instinct made Nicole glance toward Amelia, unease flickering across her delicate features.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Who is she?"
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