The Substitute Bride: Doted by My Billionaire Husband by Sumpto Midway

Chapter 4: Feeding Him with a Spoon

Elvis's finger stopped. He stared at Olive, who was already asleep. He glanced at her neck and noticed a visible mark. Her skin was fragile. He turned and returned to the sofa.

His sleep disorder worsened daily. It certainly wasn't something her silver needles could cure, although she was skilled in medicine. He had, in fact, napped on her.

His gaze focused on her slender figure on the bed. He wondered how she could be so small and soft.

The following morning, Olive sat in the dining room, eating a pastrami sandwich with a glass of smoothie.

"Olly, I liked you the moment I saw you. If Elvis ever dares to bully you, tell Grandma; Grandma will help you beat him up!" Old Mrs. Samantha teased, smiling.

"Don't stop, Olly, drink some more smoothie," Old Mrs. Samantha urged.

"I will, Grandma," Olive replied, taking a sip.

"Good morning, young master," the maid said.

Elvis descended the stairs without acknowledging them. Olive looked up at him. He was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers. Every step was magnetic; he was undeniably alluring.

Behind him, an older nanny came down carrying a piece of white bedding stained with blood. She approached Olive and said, "Congratulations, Madam."

Olive was puzzled because she and Elvis had done nothing the previous night.

At that moment, Elvis stopped beside her. He slipped his long hands into his trouser pockets, bent down, and whispered in her ear, "I did that."

Olive breathed a sigh of relief, happy that nothing had happened. But Elvis continued, bending closer, and asked, "Are you stilla virgin?"

His question was blunt. Olive had never been in a relationship. Their posture was intimate, like lovebirds whispering.

Old Mrs. Samantha immediately covered her eyes. "I saw nothing! I'm not looking! You guys can continue!" She slightly parted her fingers and peeked secretly.

Elvis gazed at Olive's slightly reddened earlobe. His dark eyebrows were slightly raised, revealing the alluring charm of a mature man. "Your twentieth birthday hasn't arrived yet. You're nineteen. You've never had sex with a man, right?"

Olive was young, but Elvis was twenty-seven, handsome, and mature. She felt his warm breath, sending shivers down her spine.

"Do you want to eat? Here, have some," Olive offered, feeding him the pastrami sandwich. He took a bite and chewed slowly. She then offered him her smoothie.

The butler, standing nearby, immediately exclaimed, "Young mistress, that's your glass!" Elvis had a strict aversion to sharing utensils. The housekeeper quickly left to get him mouthwash.

Olive's eyelashes fluttered. Elvis straightened, his face frowning. He grabbed the glass and drank half its contents.

The butler was surprised. Old Mrs. Samantha nodded in satisfaction. At over seventy, she liked Olive and believed Elvis and she were destined to be together.

"It looks like my great-grandson will soon be in Olive's stomach!" Mrs. Samantha squealed.

Olive held the smoothie glass, contemplating whether to drink from it. (Drinking from it felt like indirect kissing.)

Elvis sat beside her. He looked at her with concern. "Why did you stop eating? Go on and eat."

"Yes, Olly, go ahead and finish your meal. I'll give you another glass later," Old Mrs. Samantha added.

Olive quickly ate half her sandwich and emptied her glass. "I'm full, Grandma. I won't eat anymore."

Elvis stared at her cute, naive expression; a sweet chuckle escaped his lips.

After breakfast, Old Mrs. Samantha asked, "Olly, do you want to go out later?"

Olive nodded. "Yes, Grandma. I want to visit my parents."

"Oh, that's right. You should visit your parents. Elvis, why don't you take Olly to her parents' house and take some gifts? Our son-in-law's etiquette shouldn't be ignored," Old Mrs. Samantha said to Elvis.

Olive started to object, but Elvis muttered, "It's fine, Grandma. I'll take her."

Elvis and Olive walked out onto the lawn. Elvis opened the passenger door for her and muttered, "Get in."

Olive waved her hand. "Grandma can't see from here. No need for the pretense. I'll take a taxi."

Elvis furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't you say you'd cooperate with me in front of Grandma? Get in the car, and don't make me say it a third time."

Olive's heart skipped a beat. He had agreed to the deal she'd offered the previous night!

Without further resistance, Olive got into the luxurious car.

The Ferrari sped along the road. Neither spoke. Olive looked out the window. Elvis's shadow was reflected in the black glass. He drove fast. Olive noticed his expensive steel watch—worth tens of millions.

She didn't know who he truly was, only that their families had reached an agreement, and she was the sacrificial lamb. She focused on the scenery outside.

Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of Olive's house. Olive leaned down to unfasten her seatbelt, but struggled.

"Let me help you," Elvis offered, leaning in to assist her.

He'd smelled her fragrance the previous night. Now, leaning close, he again noticed her pleasant scent.