Chapter 137: The Midas Family Has a Daughter, Anabelle

Elvis tossed the cigarette butt into the trash can and held her in his arms. Her fragrance gave him a sense of security and belonging—a feeling he'd longed for his entire life.

Across the street, an expensive car slowed, and Marvin's handsome face appeared in the slowly descending driver's window. He watched the couple embracing under the streetlight for a few seconds before accelerating away.

Elvis hugged Olive for a moment. "You're hungry. Come, I'll take you to get some seafood."

"But, suddenly I don't want seafood."

"Then what do you want to eat?"

Olive took his hand. "Mr. Augustine, come with me!"

She led him to the pharmacy and produced a flask. "Come eat with me," she said, beckoning him.

Elvis's heart softened. Seeing her sweet face, he knew she was trying to cheer him up. "Okay," he mumbled.

Olive warmed the food in the microwave. "Mr. Augustine, our institute's food is amazingly delicious. Many people come here just for it. It's definitely not worse than Chef Maria's cooking. But if you doubt it, try it." She scooped a spoonful of rice and offered it to his mouth.

Although Elvis had no appetite, he obediently opened his mouth.

"Isn't it delicious?" Olive asked, her eyes bright.

"Yes, it is delicious," Elvis nodded.

Olive also took a spoonful. Then she held a chicken thigh to his mouth. "Hey, open up. You need to replenish your strength."

Elvis chuckled, furrowing his brows. He lowered his voice. "Why replenish my strength? Do you need me to work tonight?"

"Eat, will you? You're cuter when you don't talk!" Olive stuffed the chicken leg into his mouth, silencing him.

Elvis smiled and took a bite, then fed her some. They fed each other until they were satisfied.

"Mrs. Augustine, shall we go home?" Elvis asked, finishing the food.

"I have some work to do here tonight. Going home and back seems like a chore. How about you sleep here with me?"

"Where do you sleep?"

"I'm a full-time student here. I have a dorm room," Olive said, gesturing with her eyes.

Elvis pulled her into his arms. "Then let's go to bed now."

In the dormitory, they showered quickly before lying down. Elvis leaned against the headboard; Olive nestled obediently in his embrace.

"Mr. Augustine, can you tell me why you're unhappy?" Olive asked.

Elvis patted her head. "My aunt arrived in LA tonight and visited Grandma at the villa."

Olive sat up, looking at him. "Your aunt? So, you purposely didn't take me home. You lied about needing a document!" She clenched her fist and punched his chest twice.

Elvis caught her fist. "My aunt mocked you. She said you only graduated from high school and plans to introduce my brother to a talented medical student. She seems to really like this girl."

Realizing she was mocked for her high school diploma, Olive bit her lip, pulled away, and turned her back to him. "I'm ignoring you. You're all bad people."

Looking at her slender figure, Elvis turned to her side, his lips brushing her earlobe. He smiled softly. "You're angry? Why don't I take this chance and show you how bad I am?"

His hand moved toward her stomach, attempting to reach under her shirt. Olive quickly stopped him. "Mr. Augustine, don't!"

He kissed her face. He then stopped, hugging her from behind. His low voice sounded in her ear, "My mother and stepmother are actually sisters. To be precise, my stepmother, Lily, is the eldest daughter of the Midas family, and my mother is an illegitimate daughter. My mother lived Lily's life. Lily was sick and bedridden, so my mother took on the roles of both daughters, and was admired by the public." He paused, sighing. "My mother was a uniquely talented jewelry designer. At eighteen, she created a classic piece loved by all generations. Sometimes, fate is cruel. My mother and Lily were born on the same day. The city knew the Midas family had a daughter, but only Lily was known publicly."

It was the first time Elvis told Olive about his mother, Anabelle, the true creator of the jewelry brand, while Lily took all the credit.

"Mr. Augustine, wasn't your mother strong-willed?" Olive asked, remembering his story about his mother's self-performed C-section.

Elvis's features softened. He whispered, "No, my mother is gentle, almost childlike, and very unassuming. Her only friend was that old woman."

Olive raised her voice slightly, a hint of jealousy in her tone. "I remember. That's your bride's mother!"

Elvis's fingers pressed against her shoulder, his dark eyes meeting hers.

The passage has been significantly cleaned up, correcting grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure for improved clarity and flow. The story itself remains largely unchanged, focusing on cleaning the writing.