Chapter 98: Do You Like Other Girls?

In the past few days, Elvis had been contemplating her injuries, unable to summon the courage to ask about them. The floral chiffon shirt lifted, revealing her healed skin. There were no scars; her skin was as white as milk.

“It’s okay. Don’t look,” Olive said, pushing his hand—adorned with an expensive watch—away. Elvis looked up.

“It’s really healed,” he said.

“Yeah, the injury wasn’t that serious. I applied ointment, but it still hurts a little,” Olive replied, lifting his hand to her neck. Elvis examined the shallow mark where he had bitten her; though healed, it was still visible. He buried his face in her neck, sucking greedily at the scar, kissing it repeatedly.

“I’m so sorry, Olive. I’m so sorry,” he murmured. An apology felt cheap, yet it was all he could offer.

“Well, I forgive you this time, but don’t bite me next time,” Olive smiled.

Elvis kissed her lips. “I won’t. Even if I do, it’ll be gentle,” he whispered, then softly bit her ear. Olive quickly pushed him away.

“You needed to see how seductive you looked that night,” he said.

The elevator arrived. Elvis pulled her close, lifting her into his arms. “If you’re curious, I can show you all the pleasures in this world.”

Olive didn’t want to discuss such topics. She abruptly changed the subject. “Mr. Augustine, I know you like younger girls. When I get older, will you have ‘sugar babies’?” Though young and attractive, she knew aging was inevitable.

Elvis chuckled. “It was only after I met you that I realized I liked younger girls. It’s you I like, understood?”

Olive blushed, feeling sweetly overwhelmed.

Reaching his office—a first for Olive—she gazed out at the city. Her phone beeped; a message from Divine. “What the hell is going on, Olive?” The message included a picture of Olive in Elvis’s arms.

Olive’s eyes narrowed. “Where did this photo come from?” she replied.

Divine, passing Augustine Corporation, had noticed a small crowd and taken a picture through the glass wall. “Olive, I’m outside! I saw you with the CEO, Elvis. What’s going on? Are you cheating on your husband?”

Olive sighed. “Divine, I can’t explain now. Don’t worry; I’ll tell you everything at the Ivory Council.”

Though curious, Divine could only wait. She put away her phone and headed home. A classic car reversed; Greg was behind the wheel.

“Divine, what are you doing here?”

Divine, uninterested in his questions, knew she needed to protect Olive, given Greg’s friendship with Pamela. “I’m going home. And please, don’t talk to me.”

Greg insisted, “Divine, we need to tell our parents about the engagement. Get in; I’ll take you home and inform them.”

Divine hesitated, then got into the car. Greg took a different route. She realized something was wrong. “Greg, where are you taking me? Stop the car!”

He stopped on a deserted street, dragged her out, snatched her handbag, and examined the chat between her and Olive. He evilly forwarded the picture to Pamela.

“Greg, what are you doing? Give me my phone!”

He pushed her to the ground, disgust etched on his face. “Divine, this is a highway. Go home yourself. The exercise will help you lose weight. You make me sick!”