Chapter 214 Olive's All Yours!

Olive didn't want to tell North about the divorce yet. She hadn't given up on her marriage and Elvis. She truly didn't want the divorce.

"North, let's meet in two days to discuss this again. But for now, let's focus on Monica and Pamela," Olive replied calmly. "You've been with Grandpa for a day. You can return home. I'll stay here with him tonight."

North held Olive's arm, distressed by her red, swollen eyes. "I'm not tired. I'll stay with you."

"North, please go home. I'll ask Mr. Augustine to stay with me later."

North nodded. "Okay. It's fine if Mr. Augustine keeps you company. I'll go. Call me if you need anything."

After seeing North off, Olive returned to the ward. She prepared hot water and carefully washed the old man's body. Mr. Hart's body was completely cold. Olive sat beside the bed and cried bitterly. Her heart was shattered. With Mr. Hart's death, Olive knew the Hart family was no longer her home.

In the past few months, she had found a home with Elvis, but he no longer wanted her. It felt like she was nine years old again, kicked out of the Hart home and sent to the orphanage.

Olive stood, went to the table, retrieved her bag, and took out her phone. Returning to the bed, she scrolled through her contacts, staring at Elvis's number—the first one listed. She couldn't bring herself to call him. Although she desperately wanted him there, the image of him in the study that morning—staring coldly, smashing a pillow into her face, ordering her out—filled her mind. She didn't dare call. She was already grieving her grandfather's death and wouldn't willingly invite more pain.

Night fell, silence enveloping the hospital. Steady footsteps echoed in the hallway. The ward door opened, and a tall figure appeared. Elvis.

He wore a black coat, his crisp shoulders dusted with snow. He found Olive asleep beside her grandfather, holding his hand tightly. Tears stained her face; her eyes and nose were red and swollen, making her appear utterly pitiful.

Elvis groaned, reaching out to gently wipe away her tears. Asleep, Olive felt his touch and familiar scent. She stirred slightly. He leaned over, lifted her from the bed, and carried her to the empty bed at the ward's far end. He didn't lay her down but sat holding her, letting her sleep in his arms. His lips brushed her forehead, then her red, swollen eyes, her nose, and finally, her lips.

"Olive," he whispered, holding her tighter.

The next dawn, Olive awoke in the corner bed. She couldn't remember falling asleep there. She'd expected a sleepless night, filled with nightmares, but she'd slept soundly, and her eyes were no longer swollen.

"Grandpa, I'll go to the Hart home now. Don't worry, I'll make them pay," Olive vowed, then hailed a taxi.

It was Patrick's birthday, but gloom hung over the Hart family; no party was held. Monica, back from the hospital, remained confined to her room. Seeing Olive, she raged, "Olive, what are you doing here? Get out! You're not welcome." Monica avoided Olive's gaze, fearing mockery over the loss of her child.

Olive leaned against the door. "Has the Hart family changed owners? Today's my father's birthday, and I'm here to celebrate. Why would you, an outsider, drive me away?"

Monica started to respond, but Pamela interrupted. "Mom, it's okay. It's Dad's birthday. We're family; we shouldn't fight. Olive, stay for dinner, okay?" Pamela's voice was deceptively smooth.

Olive sensed Pamela's ulterior motive. She knew Pamela was planning something.

"Okay, I'll stay for dinner," Olive replied, walking away.

Monica, confused, asked Pamela in her room, "Why are you letting Olive stay?"

Pamela scoffed. "Mom, I have a plan. Don't worry."

Olive stood by the window, sipping coffee, when she felt someone approach. She saw a bodyguard, his aura sinister. Before she could react, he struck the back of her neck. Olive fainted.

The bodyguard carried her. Pamela instructed, "Take her to the third room upstairs."

He obeyed. Pamela took a picture of Olive and sent it to two people. Then, she went to the sitting room to await her guest.

Half an hour later, a tall, handsome figure entered—Marvin. Pamela smiled.

"Academician Augustine, welcome. You're the most elegant young academician, adored by celebrities, yet you become Olive's slave. You rush to her whenever she's involved." Pamela's tone was vicious.

Marvin stared coldly. "Where's Olive?"

"In the third room upstairs," Pamela replied.

He started upstairs. Pamela called out, stopping him. "Don't you see? This is your chance. You've always wanted Olive. She's upstairs. She's all yours."