Chapter 120: Mrs. Augustine, My Little Princess

When Elvis arrived, everyone surged forward, surrounding him. Amidst the greetings and praise, Pamela lifted her head and looked at Elvis, who stood beside her. He was so alluring that no one dared look directly at him. Pamela had long dreamt of a man who would stand beside her, commanding respect and supreme honor. That dream had finally come true.

Patrick wore a satisfied expression. He, too, had never dreamt of becoming the son-in-law of such a powerful man. He smiled flatteringly.

“Mr. Augustine, thank you for coming to Pamela’s birthday party. Let me introduce myself; I’m Patrick, Pamela’s father. This is Pamela’s mother…” Patrick turned to find Monica, but she hadn't moved forward with the others.

He noticed Monica’s pale face, a stark contrast to her earlier excitement. She stared at Elvis with awe, her eyes wide, her expression unbelievable. Although severely injured weeks earlier, her memory remained perfect; she recognized Elvis instantly. He had visited the Harts once before, rescuing Olive. Back then, she'd thought him Olive's gigolo and hadn't been impressed. She never imagined he was Elvis Augustine! But what was his relationship with Olive? Questions flooded Monica's mind, overwhelming her.

Her stunned silence made Pamela and Patrick uncomfortable. Patrick quickly reprimanded her in a low voice:

“Monica, what are you doing?”

Pamela looked at Elvis and softly explained, “Mr. Augustine, my mother’s reaction is probably due to her overwhelming happiness at seeing you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Elvis hadn’t spoken since entering. His deep, narrow eyes fixed on Monica, his thin lips curving into a scoff. Patrick nearly jumped. He whispered,

“Monica, when did you meet President Augustine? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Monica’s body was slick with sweat. “I…I…” she stammered.

Pamela, noticing Monica’s embarrassment before Elvis, swiftly changed the subject.

“Mr. Augustine, let me tell you something hilarious. Olive’s supposed husband claims to be her butler. And this ‘butler’ says Olive’s birthday will be celebrated on the top floor by her husband. Isn’t it amusing?” She let out a nervous laugh and rubbed her hand on Elvis’s shoulder.

Elvis looked up, his gaze meeting Olive’s. Her dark eyes were fixed on him. Meeting her gaze, he slowly licked his lips, a gentle smile gracing his handsome face.

“Why didn’t you tell them who your husband is?”

Olive shuddered. “Even if I told them, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d laugh.”

“I’m here. No one will dare laugh at you. Tell them who your husband is.” Elvis’s low, magnetic voice was full of assurance.

Pamela, Monica, Patrick, and everyone in the hall were bewildered. The silence was profound.

Olive turned to the confused Pamela. “My husband is Elvis Augustine.”

Gasps filled the hall. Confusion reigned. What? What was Olive saying? Was her husband Elvis Augustine? No, it couldn’t be true!

Pamela’s face drained of color. She felt plunged into an icy pool.

Mr. Henry bowed respectfully. “Young master.”

Elvis strode across the room, his long legs carrying him with effortless grace. Everyone parted to let him pass. He reached Olive like an elegant lion moving through a jungle. He caressed her face and, in front of everyone, gently kissed her forehead.

“Mrs. Augustine, my princess, happy birthday.”

Murmurs erupted. “No way!” “So the owner of the Red Villa is Elvis!” “So Olive married Elvis!”

Patrick and Monica felt a jolt of shock. They never imagined the owner of the Red Villa was Elvis, that Olive was already Mrs. Augustine!

Pamela’s pupils constricted, her heart shattering. For years, she'd dreamt of marrying Elvis, of becoming Mrs. Elvis Augustine!

“No, it’s not true!” Pamela cried, rushing forward, her eyes red. “Mr. Augustine, you’re joking, aren’t you?”

Elvis released Olive, putting his arm around her waist, protectively. “For you, my Mrs. Augustine, I’ll light a dozen fireworks.”