Chapter 216 Have You Forgotten, My Big Brother?
Elvis, having received Pamela's message, arrived quickly. Pamela led him to a room, where he glared at her.
“I didn’t hurt Olive. She’s in the next room,” Pamela muttered.
Elvis stared coldly, his thin lips tightening. “You better not touch a hair on her head, or the entire Hart family will be buried with you.”
He turned to leave. Pamela, consumed by jealousy and a fascination with Elvis (whose affections lay with Olive), rushed to him, hugging his waist.
“Mr. Augustine, don’t go!”
Elvis commanded, “Let go!”
“Mr. Augustine, why are you so ruthless? I met you first! Look at me—I’m no worse than Olive.”
Releasing her grip, Pamela stepped in front of him, removing her coat to reveal a suspender nightdress. The image of Olive bathing at the villa, her sweet scent filling the room, and the identical nightdress she wore, flooded Elvis’s mind. Pamela had imitated Olive since childhood, but could never truly be her. Elvis was her last resort; she aimed to seduce him and become his wife. Despite careful planning, overwhelming nervousness gripped her.
“Mr. Augustine, I’m not worse than Olive. I’ll be more pleasing. Just let me be your woman,” she pleaded seductively.
Elvis remained impassive. His deep gaze swept over her, from head to toe. “Have you showered?”
This was the first time Pamela had been subjected to Elvis’s intense scrutiny. His powerful aura usually intimidated everyone; he was the epitome of masculine success, wealth, and power, making even perfect women feel inadequate. Previously, Elvis barely glanced at Pamela; now, his gaze, though seemingly casual, felt different.
Pamela, overjoyed, nodded swiftly. “Yes, I’ve showered.”
“You seem in need of a man. Since you’re short of men, shall I call some to satisfy you?”
Pamela’s smile froze. Elvis took two steps forward, his low voice laced with disdain.
“How can you compare yourself to Olive? Your face isn't as beautiful, your skin lacks her glow, your figure is inferior. You wear cheap perfume and dare compare yourself to her?”
Humiliated, Pamela wished the earth would swallow her whole. Elvis, without another glance, headed for the door. His assessment was true; Pamela was undeniably inferior to Olive in every way, even in the nightdress. He had impeccable taste, and she simply wasn't his type.
A chill ran through Pamela. Her meticulous preparations had culminated in humiliation. Clenching her fist, she gritted her teeth and addressed his back.
“I saved you. Now, fulfill my third promise.”
Elvis stopped. Turning, he looked at her.
“You want me to sleep with you? That’s your third request? I won’t. I’m not interested.”
Despite her thick skin, Pamela felt the sting of his rejection. She merely stared, scrutinizing him. Elvis sensed something amiss—his body temperature rising, his breathing labored. He detected a faint scent, initially overlooked due to his concern for Olive’s safety. A grim look crossed his face.
“What fragrance did you use? What did you do?”
Pamela, knowing the aphrodisiac incense was taking effect, replied proudly, “It’s the most potent aphrodisiac. No man can resist it. The only antidote is a woman.”
Elvis moved, his sharp fingers encircling her neck. “Pamela, are you testing my tolerance?”
He’d faced countless temptations, seen many such tricks, but Pamela's audacity was unprecedented.
Pamela gasped for air, her face reddening under his grip.
It had taken immense courage for Pamela to resort to such measures. She feared Elvis, knowing he was capable of anything, yet felt she had no other choice to get him into bed with her. She touched his hand.
“Are you willing to kill me? It was a freezing night; we hugged in the cave to stay warm. Have you forgotten that day? Have you forgotten, my big brother?”