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

Chapter 8: Pushing Her to Wrestle

Gabriella and Pearl were stunned. This man was Olive's gigolo. Gabriella felt as if she'd been slapped.

The store manager emerged from the kitchen with a cake. Elvis took it and left the shop. Olive followed without saying goodbye to Gabriella.

Gabriella was astounded. She hadn't expected Olive to hire such a high-quality gigolo.

"Gabriella," Pearl muttered, dazed, "it looks like you really will be calling Olive 'Boss.'"

Gabriella glared at her. Pearl immediately laughed. "Gabriella, what I mean is, Olive's gigolo is so handsome! How much does it cost to hire him?"

Pearl's words reminded Gabriella that if Olive could afford him, so could she. This thought excited her.

"Manager," Gabriella said over the counter, "can I please have the cake I bought? We're leaving now."

"I'm sorry, young ladies," the manager replied. "I'll refund your money, even double it. But I can't let you have the cake."

"Why?" Gabriella and Pearl asked in unison.

"It's for my dog now," the manager said.

"What the heck do you mean? You're humiliating us!" Gabriella tapped the counter angrily.

"I haven't humiliated you enough. You both offended a big man. The cake is no longer for you."

The car arrived at the Red Villa. Elvis handed Olive a black and gold card. "You should have this."

Olive's eyelashes fluttered. "Why is he giving me a card?"

"I don't want it," she said, rejecting it.

"You can't afford to support me, but I can support you, my Mrs. Augustine."

My Mrs. Augustine?

Olive's heart skipped a beat. She took the card, quickly opened the passenger door, and got out of the car with the cake. She carefully placed the card in her bag and entered the living room. Old Mrs. Samantha was watching TV.

"Olly, you're back," Old Mrs. Samantha said with a smile. "Hope it went well?"

"Yes, Grandma. It went well. Elvis bought a cake on the way back. Come, let's eat it together."

"Oh, my, yes please!" Old Mrs. Samantha's face lit up. She stood and walked with Olive to the dining room.

Elvis entered and headed upstairs, pausing when he saw Old Mrs. Samantha. "Grandma, remember your blood pressure is high. Just one bite of the cake is enough."

Old Mrs. Samantha ignored him, shoving a ninth forkful into her mouth. "I know what I can handle, Elvis. The cake is really yummy."

Olive chuckled, amused by Old Mrs. Samantha's attitude. She looked up at Elvis. "Do you want some?"

"No, thanks. I don't eat sugary food."

"Oh."

"There's a stain on the corner of your mouth," Elvis said. Olive stuck out her tongue and licked the milk stain from her lips.

When she looked up again, he had gone to the study. She took a napkin and wiped her lips properly.

The butler led an elderly man upstairs.

"Grandma, who's that man?"

"Oh, that's Mr. Gregory Aiden. He comes here once a month."

Olive's heart skipped a beat. Mr. Aiden was a world-renowned hypnotist. She studied medicine and knew his name. He must be treating Elvis's insomnia. It seemed his sleep disorder was more serious than she thought.

Restless, Olive went to the study door. The study was messy; documents were scattered on the floor, and the clock in Mr. Aiden's hand was shattered. Elvis stood at the desk, his hands on the table. Hearing the door open, he looked up, and their eyes met. He looked like a completely different person. Although she had only met him the previous night, she could see the difference.

They stared at each other. Elvis's lips curved into a grim line. "Get out!"

Olive turned and left the study, but stood outside the door. The butler picked up the broken clock and left with Mr. Aiden. As they closed the door, Olive asked,

"Mr. Aiden, how is he?"

Mr. Aiden shook his head. "In the early stages, I could hypnotize Sir Elvis and he could sleep for a day, but his mental state deteriorated too quickly. He became extremely vigilant, his defenses terrifyingly strong. It's impossible to hypnotize him now."

Olive wasn't surprised. Elvis was a mature, reserved man.

Olive gently reached for the doorknob, wanting to go in.

"Young mistress, no," Butler Henry dissuaded her. "It's very dangerous for you to go in now. Have you forgotten what transpired last night?"

"The memory is still fresh in my mind, sir. But once his sleep disorder develops into a mental illness, he won't be able to control the dark, irritable, pathological creature within him," Olive explained, leaving Henry pale.

Olive opened the door and entered. In the study, Elvis saw her return. He frowned and yelled, "Get out! Don't make me say it a third time!"

Olive stepped forward, a bright smile on her face. "Mr. Hart, what if you say it a third time?"

Elvis felt a surge of heat. Veins bulged in his forehead. He was losing control. He didn't want to hurt her! He grabbed her arm and yelled, "Get the fuck out!"

He let go. She lost her balance, falling against the sharp edge of the table. Olive groaned in pain, blood flowing from a wound on her forehead.