Chapter 120: Mrs. Augustine, My Little Princess

When Elvis arrived, everyone surged forward, surrounding him. Amidst the greetings and praise, Pamela lifted her head and gazed at Elvis, who stood beside her. His allure was such that few dared meet his gaze directly. Pamela had long dreamt of a man who would stand by her side, commanding respect and supreme honor. That dream had come true.

Patrick's face registered satisfaction. He, too, had never imagined becoming the son-in-law of a man as powerful as Elvis. He offered a flattering smile. "Mr. Augustine, thank you for coming to Pamela's birthday party. Let me introduce myself; I'm Patrick, Pamela's father. This is Pamela's mother…" Patrick turned to find Monica, but she hadn't moved with the others.

He noticed her pallor, a stark contrast to her earlier excitement. Monica stared at Elvis with wide-eyed awe, her expression unbelievable. Although severely injured weeks prior, her memory remained sharp, and she quickly recognized him. Elvis had visited the Harts once before, rescuing Olive. Back then, she'd dismissed him as Olive's gigolo. Never had she imagined he was Elvis Augustine! But what was his relationship with Olive? Questions exploded in Monica's mind, leaving her speechless.

Her gaffe distressed Pamela and Patrick. Patrick quickly reprimanded her in a low voice, "Monica, what are you doing?"

Pamela, turning to Elvis, explained softly, "Mr. Augustine, my mother's reaction is likely due to her overwhelming happiness. I hope you don't mind."

Elvis, who hadn't spoken since entering, fixed his deep, narrow eyes on Monica. His thin lips curled into a slight sneer. Patrick nearly jumped. "Monica," he whispered, "when did you meet President Augustine? Why didn't you tell me?"

Monica was drenched in sweat. "I…I…" she stammered.

Seeing Monica's embarrassment before Elvis, Pamela swiftly changed the subject. "Mr. Augustine," she said, "let me tell you something hilarious. Olive's supposed husband claims to be her butler! And this 'butler' says Olive's birthday will be celebrated on the top floor by her 'husband.' Isn't it amusing?" She laughed, a little hysterically, and rubbed Elvis's shoulder.

Elvis looked up and his eyes met Olive's. Their black eyes locked. He slowly licked his lips, a gentle smile gracing his handsome face. "Why didn't you tell them who your husband is?"

Olive shuddered. "Even if I told them, they wouldn't believe me. They'd laugh."

"I'm here," Elvis said, his low, magnetic voice laced with assurance. "No one will dare laugh at you. Tell them who your husband is."

Pamela, Monica, Patrick, and the entire hall were bewildered. Silence descended; a pin could have been heard dropping.

Olive turned to the confused Pamela. "My husband is Elvis Augustine."

Gasps filled the hall. Perplexity reigned. What? Was Olive saying her husband was Elvis Augustine? No, it couldn't be true!

Pamela's face drained of color, the brightness extinguished. She felt as if plunged into an icy pool.

Mr. Henry bowed deeply. "Young master."

Elvis, with long strides, moved through the parting crowd, an elegant lion through a jungle. He caressed Olive's face, gently kissing her forehead before everyone. "Mrs. Augustine, my princess, happy birthday."

Murmurs erupted. "No way!" "So the owner of the Red Villa is Elvis!" "Olive married Elvis!"

Patrick and Monica felt a jolt of electricity. They never imagined the owner of the Red Villa was Elvis, that Olive was already Mrs. Augustine!

Pamela's pupils shrank, her heart shattering. For years, she'd dreamt of marrying Elvis, of becoming Mrs. Elvis Augustine. "No, it's not true!" she cried, rushing forward, her eyes red. "Mr. Augustine, you're joking, aren't you?"

Elvis released Olive, his arms encircling her waist, protecting her. "For you, my Mrs. Augustine, I'll light a dozen fireworks."