Chapter 33: Olive Playing Cards

Olive raised her head and met Elvis's narrow eyes. He sat at the main table, wearing a fine black shirt and black trousers. When Harry shouted, Elvis held a cigarette between his fingers. He looked up at Olive; the smoke partially obscured his handsome face, but she could vaguely see his heroic eyebrows furrow slightly. He exhaled a slow puff of smoke.

Olive was embarrassed to have been pushed into this situation, but now that she'd encountered Elvis, her embarrassment intensified.

"Young Master Harry, where did this little beauty come from? Is she here for you?" the boss asked Harry.

It was obvious they assumed Olive was there to accompany Elvis. Harry looked at Elvis's face. Elvis had already withdrawn his gaze; he threw a card from his hand with a deep, indifferent expression.

Pretending not to know each other?

Harry smiled calmly. He didn't mind the gossip; besides, he enjoyed watching the drama unfold. He greeted Olive, "Come serve us some wine."

One of the lecherous bosses reached out and grabbed Olive's slender arm. "Little beauty, why the mask? With a figure like yours, your face can't be bad. Take it off and let us see."

The boss reached for her mask. Olive quickly avoided his hand with a frown. "There's a mistake. I'm not here to accompany or serve anyone. Let me go!"

"Beauty, you realize the kind of people here? It doesn't matter if you were initially meant to accompany or serve us. We don't care!"

Olive remembered the manager's warning: the place was filled with LA bigwigs she couldn't afford to offend. She didn't want trouble, but she'd been thrust into this game against her will.

"Let's bet on whether this girl is ugly or an angel under that mask."

"Interesting. I bet she's ugly. If she were stunning, she wouldn't be wearing a mask. Beauty is a woman's greatest weapon."

"I bet she's breathtaking; her body is gorgeous," one of the men countered.

The men's conversation centered on women and their bodies. Trapped, Olive overheard everything.

She wore a small velvet dress with a fringed skirt falling below her knees. Her slender frame, even partially concealed, surpassed the coolly dressed women in the luxurious room. Olive glanced at Elvis, who sat in the main seat, smoking with his eyes closed, a beautiful woman beside him. He was aloof and ruthless, offering no help, treating her like a stranger. While this was what she'd hoped for—to distance herself from him—Olive's heart ached.

The lecherous boss again tried to remove her mask. "Beauty, the bets are set, let's see your face."

"Hold on," Olive said quickly.

"What is it?" the boss stopped.

"I've already said I'm not meant to be here. Let me play a game with you. If I win, you let me go. If I lose, you can do whatever you want."

She proposed a card game. Many women—thin, fat, of different races and shapes—surrounded the men, but few possessed Olive's coolness and cunning. Her suggestion piqued their curiosity.

"You can't escape. Let's play. It'll be more interesting." Olive sat at the poker table with Elvis beside her.

Elvis remained silent, elegantly smoking his cigarette, yet he commanded the attention of everyone present.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Olive, offering a kindly reminder, "No one beats my brother at poker. Perhaps you should ask him for mercy first."

Olive said nothing. She wouldn't beg him.

Elvis showed no emotion, but a cold aura emanated from him as he threw his cigarette into the ashtray, a flicker of anger in his eyes.