Chapter 101: My Little Bride

When Olive heard his story, her eyelashes fluttered. She withdrew her hand and stopped the acupuncture. Elvis opened his eyes and stared at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Olive pouted and muttered, "Oh, nothing. I just thought about how Mr. Augustine's younger brother took the bribe intended for him. He must be very sad."

Elvis quickly raised his hand and squeezed her face gently. "Little jealous thing. You're jealous of a baby?"

Olive chuckled. "That was years ago. That baby's an adult now. And that little girl your mother liked is probably beautiful and enchanting."

"After that day, my mother's friend disappeared with her daughter," Elvis added. "I never saw her grow up."

"That means Mr. Augustine hasn't looked for them in years," Olive observed.

A frown creased Elvis's face. His silence spoke volumes. Olive raised her right foot and kicked him hard. He fell off the bed onto the fluffy carpet.

His handsome face was gloomy; his thin lips formed an unhappy line. His aura was cold and powerful. Olive furrowed her brows and looked at him, her clear black eyes bright.

"Mr. Augustine, let me tell you, I won't be intimidated. I'm not finished dealing with Pamela, and now a little bride has appeared."

"Little brat, you're asking for it, aren't you?" Elvis cursed in a low voice. He quickly climbed back onto the bed and reached for her.

Olive was upset but remained composed. Elvis grabbed her slender ankle, pulled her under him, turned her over, and spanked her.

Olive's face flushed. It wasn't painful, but humiliating. She grabbed his hand. "Elvis, that's not right."

Elvis pressed his face into her hair and explained softly, "My mother didn't have many friends; she was rather timid. She liked very few people. She really liked that girl. If I find her, I'll treat her like a sister."

Underneath him, Olive felt his weight uncomfortably. She hummed in displeasure.

"What kind of sister? Your mother found a sister for you? What if she wasn't pretty? Would you still want her as a sister?"

Elvis kissed her cheek affectionately. He hadn't expected her jealousy, but he liked it.

"I'm Elvis Augustine. I'm proud, and not every woman appreciates that. Unless that girl has your beauty, intelligence, tenacity, and bravery. It's a pity you're one of a kind. No one else makes my heart beat like this."

Olive found his words sweet, but she pushed him away. "Go away."

Elvis stared at her and released her. Olive crawled back under her blanket, looking at him.

"So, you've only met this little bride once. Does she like you?"

Elvis pondered. "She grabbed my finger."

"How?" Olive held out her hand and gently pulled his index finger into her palm.

Elvis blinked. A memory surfaced—himself at seven, standing by a cradle, looking at a little girl. She wasn't wrinkled like other babies; she was already bright and glowing. Lying on a goose-yellow blanket, she stared at him with big black eyes, her little hands reaching for his finger, grinning. His mother had teased, "Look, Elvis's little bride likes him very much."

He looked at Olive's watery eyes; her image overlaid that of the little girl. He lowered his head to kiss her, but she avoided him, quickly releasing his finger and wrapping the silk sheet around herself.

"Mr. Augustine, you're terrifying," she scolded.

Elvis swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He hugged her. "Sleep," he murmured.

Olive looked up at him, wriggling. "Mr. Augustine, how did your mother die?" She sensed his deep love for his mother.

Elvis closed his eyes, his face calm. "She cut open her stomach with a knife to deliver the baby. She thought it was due in July, but the baby was already dead—a girl. Devastated, she jumped from a skyscraper. Her body was never found."

Olive froze, traumatized. She contemplated the courage it must have taken.

Elvis rolled over and pulled her close. "Olive," he murmured, "I'll never let go of your hand. Never."