Chapter 138: Elvis's Darling

Olive's heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his eyes. She reached out and grasped his index finger. The scene felt like a replay from twenty years prior, when Elvis first met her as a baby—a chubby, little dumpling. In the nursery, Joyce, elegant and composed, watched. Anabelle's beautiful, sad eyes slowly softened into a smile; she didn't know what was happening, but Elvis stood by the cradle. She approached and gently stroked his head. "Elvis," she whispered, "this will be your wife." In the cradle, Olive stared at him with wide eyes, waving her tiny hands and tugging at his finger, clinging to it tightly. She grinned. Elvis's handsome face flushed; he turned and quickly returned to his room. Leaving, he overheard Joyce's lovely voice conversing with Anabelle: "This is the first time I've seen Elvis smile." He had no idea the girl before him was his betrothed.

Olive stared at Elvis provocatively. "Thank me for helping you relieve your dreams," she teased. Elvis realized that any mention of his bride made Olive jealous—a jealousy he found endearing. "Mrs. Augustine," he murmured, "your skin is itchy again, isn't it?" His fingers brushed against the buttons of her pajamas, intending to unbutton them. Olive batted his hand away, pushing him and trying to flee. "Mr. Augustine, don't!" He caught her ankle, pulling her back. They tumbled onto the bed, Olive struggling against him. The old wooden bed creaked. A cough from the next room startled them both. Olive froze, suddenly remembering she was in the dormitory; the sounds from the bed could be easily misinterpreted. Shame burned her cheeks; she was certain the neighboring students had heard and judged them harshly. She covered her face in her hands. Elvis pulled her close, hugging her tightly. Olive thumped him hard, muttering, "It's all your fault." Elvis smiled. "What are you afraid of? Does anyone not know the man in your room is me? We're legally allowed to share a bed."

Olive, refusing to engage further with his teasing, changed the subject. "What's wrong with your aunt? Why doesn't she like you?" "A woman like my mother had many admirers," Elvis replied, "and my uncle was among them." "What?" Olive gasped. "Then what happened? Tell me about your parents and your stepmother, Lily!" Intrigued, she leaned in, eager for gossip, convinced he'd only scratched the surface of the story. Elvis rolled over, pinning her wrist above her head, then began unbuttoning her pajamas. "I've chatted long enough. Time to turn off the lights."

Olive felt the cool breeze against her skin as her pajamas came undone. She tried to struggle, but found herself trapped, unable to move. "Mr. Augustine, just sleep! Don't do anything under the guise of sleeping. Let me go!" He kissed her forehead, his lips trailing down to her eyes, her nose, and finally her lips. "Shh! Mrs. Augustine, don't yell. The next student will hear you." Terrified, Olive held her breath, unable to move or make a sound, only staring at him with wide, watery eyes. He buried his face in her hair, his voice hoarse. "I wanted to see if you've grown up." Olive quickly closed her eyes, surrendering to sleep.

Divine handed Olive a package. "Olive, this is for you." The return address was Bounty's; she'd called earlier to get Olive's address. Olive hadn't expected the parcel so quickly. "Olive, what's inside?" Divine asked curiously. "I don't know. Let's see." Inside the box was a stunning evening gown. "Wow! This dress is beautiful," Divine exclaimed. It was a long, shimmering nude-colored gown, adorned with countless crystals. Bounty, a woman of noble birth, had impeccable taste. A note accompanied the dress: "Looking forward to seeing you tonight, my Olive."

The dinner party was at dusk. After considering it, Olive texted Elvis: "Mr. Augustine, I'm going to a party tonight, okay?" Elvis, leaving the CEO's office and about to take the VIP elevator, had not intended for her to attend. He wanted to shield her from the Augustine family, from his painful past. Upon receiving the text, he replied, "You can go, but no short dresses. Keep your distance from boys. And text me when you want picking up." "Alright, thank you, Mr. Augustine."

The dinner was held in the opulent lobby of a luxurious hotel. Pamela, elegantly dressed, had already arrived.