Chapter 2: The Newlywed Husband

Monica, a once-popular actress, maintained her youthful beauty even after having two daughters. She was a formidable woman, skillfully maneuvering her way to become the matriarch of the Hart family, effectively supplanting the original wife. Monica had orchestrated a lavish wedding for Olive, even commissioning a custom-designed Parisian gown at great expense. Her efforts earned widespread praise.

Olive, feigning ignorance, peered through the doorway. "Why isn't the groom here?"

Monica's expression instantly shifted. A wave of stunned silence rippled through the assembled guests. Whispers arose, questioning whether Olive was aware of her husband's illness.

Patrick stepped forward, his demeanor slightly uneasy. "Olive, the groom isn't feeling well. He can't come, but you'll meet him later."

A dutiful smile touched Olive's lips. "Okay, Dad. I'll go meet him."

Patrick escorted Olive to a luxury G-Wagon parked in the hotel garage. She waved as the car sped away, leaving the guests to cast sympathetic and subtly accusatory glances at Monica. Her stunning appearance did little to mitigate the whispers about her role in marrying her stepdaughter to a sick man.

Olive quickly grabbed his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Just moan. Can you do that?"

Moan?

At that moment, Olive overheard a maid warning Old Madam Samantha outside the room. "Madam, this isn't good. We should go back..."

The old lady hushed angrily. "I'll listen with my ears, not my eyes!"

Olive tried to see what was happening, but Elvis restrained her, pressing her back. "Hurry up and moan."

Olive realized he was putting on a show for the old lady and needed her cooperation.

"I can't do that."

Elvis looked at the young, reserved girl beneath him. His large hands reached for her dress and pulled it off.

Olive felt a chill run down her spine, instinctively shielding herself. Despite his thin frame, his strength surprised her. His fingers quickly encountered resistance. He narrowed his eyes. "Virgin?"

Olive didn't respond, using her slender arms to push him away. Elvis's gaze intensified. He moved his fingers, finding a pressure point that caused discomfort without pain. Olive's face flushed crimson.

Monica's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Olive's pointed question threatened to derail her meticulously planned wedding. Monica, however, merely let it pass, confident in her ability to retaliate later.

Olive arrived at the Red Villa and was shown to her room. The darkness and chill of the unlit space heightened her vigilance. She saw a man lying on the bed – her new husband.

Reaching out to check his pulse, she extended a finger, only to have her waist seized by thin but strong fingers. Before she could react, he was on top of her.

Stunned, Olive remembered being told her husband was ill. But the strength of the fingers gripping her belied illness.

"Who are you?"

Olive countered, pressing against him, but he easily evaded her, pinning her. His movements were swift, precise, and ruthless.

"Who are you? Let me go!" she struggled, their bodies pressing together through the thin fabric.

"The bride is enthusiastic. Do you want to have sex?" A deep, magnetic voice rumbled.

Degenerate!

A chilling possibility struck Olive. The man's slender fingers were already unzipping her dress.