Chapter 518 The Proposal
After Oliver left, Fiona, persistent and bashful, followed him. "Mr. Windsor, is there something I can help you with?" she asked.
Oliver, preferring not to engage, found her presence bothersome. He paused mid-stride and spared no thought for preserving the young lady's pride, "Miss Fiona, I'm a married man."
Fiona's smile turned playful, "Mr. Windsor, you're divorced. Don't think you can fob me off with that excuse."
Oliver's already cool demeanor turned positively frosty.
Jamie heaved a sigh, realizing this awkward moment had arrived all too quickly.
"What did you say?" Oliver's voice was icy.
Fiona was startled, her words coming out jumbled, "I-I just heard you and Natalie got a divorce... Isn't that true?"
"Who told you?" Oliver narrowed his eyes, "Natalie?"
"I-I don't know who... Mr. Windsor, what's wrong with you? Your look... It's kind of freaking me out..."
"Who told you?!" Patience wearing thin, Oliver looked ready to explode if Fiona weren't a woman.
"It might be... Natalie, maybe? I don't know, okay? Everyone's talking about it... I heard it through the grapevine!"
Who else could be spreading news of your divorce if not the two of you?
Fiona's trembling leg didn't escape Oliver's disdainful notice.
So much for nerve. She dared to sidle up to him? Ha!
"Jamie, look into it!"
"Right away."
Jamie was already tapping out instructions on his phone before his response fully left his mouth.
"Don't follow me," Oliver tossed over his shoulder, stepping away then pausing, "Even your name irks me."
Fiona, already tense, went sheet-white at his words.
Mr. Michael, watching from a distance, rushed over to his daughter, "Oh, my precious girl, why the tears?"
"Dad, Oliver said my name makes him sick!" she sobbed.
The commotion drew a crowd, leaving Fiona humiliated and running off in tears.
"Mr. Michael, it might just be an excuse," someone nearby hinted, astute in reading the situation.
Mr. Michael exhaled a knowing sigh, speechless.
Oliver scanned the room, Natalie nowhere to be found.
Jamie flagged down a staff and felt a shiver run down his spine at their response, yet had to report, "Sir, the lady has already left."
Oliver responded in silence.
Oliver stormed out, not wanting to spend another second in this godforsaken place.
Jamie hurriedly offered a brief explanation to the hosts and followed Oliver out, only to be greeted by the clamor of a loud crash outside.
Oliver slammed his fist on the hood of the Bentley, causing a few nearby security guards to exchange fretful glances yet not daring to utter a word or ask any questions.
Jamie let out a sigh of relief, preferring Oliver's temper tantrum to his silent brooding. The calm before the storm was always deceitful, and Jamie certainly didn't miss it.
He quickly glanced at the license plate and relaxed even more—it was Oliver's own car. Great, one less hassle of having to deal with someone else's property damage.
“Sir, there’s something else... I don't know if I should bring it up or not.”
“If it's inappropriate, then keep it to yourself,” Oliver snapped irritably.
Jamie blinked but decided it had to be said. If Oliver were to find out later that he had withheld information, the fallout would be even worse. “Sir, at the party today, someone proposed to your wife.”
“Just about half an hour before you arrived, Mr. Green—who's in foreign trade—confessed his feelings to your wife. He said he wants to marry her,” Jamie managed to say.
Oliver let out a scornful snort. "Go on."
Jamie felt the metaphorical knife at his throat, pressing him to tell the entire truth. "Mr. Green claimed he's been fond of her for a long time, put her on a pedestal, and... he mentioned something about wanting to pamper her as his wife. He also said something about you..."
"You stuttering? Need me to call a doctor?"
That’s right. He implied that you don't cherish her, suggesting he's ready to step in.
Oliver paused for a moment. “Are we talking about the same Mr. Green? The one who got divorced, has a son, looks a bit short and pudgy, and is over forty?”
“...Yes.” In reality, his son was quite well-behaved, with a bright personality and good grades. Mr. Green may have put on some weight, but he was overall a nice-looking guy; he used to be quite the looker in his youth—nothing like the unfavorable picture Oliver painted.
Oliver's face remained impassive, his hands balled into fists, knuckles whitened with tension.
“Crash!”
Another thunderous sound echoed as he punched the hood a second time.
Fortunately, the Bentley was built to withstand much, and even with Oliver's seasoned boxing prowess, the punches left no discernible marks.
Jamie was silently thankful for that, but his relief was short-lived as he watched Oliver approach the security guards.
The guards, intimidated by Oliver's fierce aura, cowardly gripped their batons and started backing away. “You—you, stay back! Or else I'll—I'll swing... huh?”
The baton slipped from the guard’s clammy hands. It was now in Oliver’s possession.
The other guards gave chase and witnessed the baton relentlessly pounding on the multimillion-dollar luxury Bentley with a series of unapologetic "clangs."
"Whose car is this? Move it, find the owner already!" The head of security snapped to action, "Such an expensive car... insurance won't cover all this damage, will it? A few dents by fists are one thing, but a baton too? We're screwed; our jobs are on the line!"
The head of security zeroed in on a bystander, Jamie, "Sir, is this your friend? I mean, look at this mess..."
"Don't sweat it; it's my boss's own car, no big deal!" Jamie's expression was as calm as a clear sky.
The security guards were speechless.
Oliver vented his anger with a few dozen blows, but the Bentley's high-quality materials meant that despite its misshapen exterior and cracked windshield, it could still run. Still feeling unsatisfied, Oliver gave it a kick.
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