Chapter 225: An Intruder

“Olive, I’ll take Aunt Rebecca and await you at Imperial City,” Derrick Domino said, turning to leave.

Derrick Domino was waiting for her at Imperial City. It was Imperial City again. Many people seemed to be anticipating her arrival. Olive had always felt a pull toward Imperial City, but Derrick's words intensified that feeling.

She turned to look at his back. He looked extremely handsome in his black outfit. The rain fell on his umbrella, not a drop splashing him. Olive knew her mother, Joyce, had been fond of Derrick; she remembered Joyce holding her with one hand and Derrick with the other. He, too, had been raised by Joyce.

So engrossed in her thoughts, Olive didn't notice the luxurious Rolls-Royce Phantom parked quietly in front of the cemetery. Elvis had arrived.

He sat in the back seat, already discharged from the hospital. Today, he wore a white shirt, tie, business vest, and black suit—the attire of a high-level executive. His appearance exuded elegance and maturity.

Elvis watched Olive through the window. A frown appeared on his face when he saw her looking at Derrick Domino's back.

Secretary Andrew, in the driver's seat, observed Elvis in the rearview mirror. He sensed his CEO's displeasure at the sight of Olive with Derrick. Elvis hadn't lost his temper recently, but he had become unusually quiet and emotionless.

At that moment, another tall, handsome figure appeared—Marvin, carrying a black umbrella and a bouquet.

Andrew scoffed, glancing at Elvis. "CEO, your wife is quite the catch. Newly divorced, and already attracting suitors."

Elvis, having arrived early and observed her from the car, knew she would be sad, but he couldn't approach or comfort her. He raised his head, glancing at Andrew. A cold chill seemed to wash over Andrew, who bowed his head and coughed.

"Let's go," Elvis said. He couldn't bear to stay another second, fearing he might lose control.

"Yes, CEO," Andrew replied, driving away.

Marvin knelt, placing the flowers on the tombstone before rising to look at Olive. "Olive, what are your plans? I leave in two days."

"Are you leaving?" Olive asked, her eyes fixed on him.

"My year is up, and my mother wants me home. Olive, please come with me." Elvis had once told Olive that Marvin had come to Los Angeles seeking her. Olive lowered her head, silent for a moment before lifting it again. "I'll tidy things here and go to Imperial City soon."

"Really?" Joy flooded Marvin's cold black eyes.

"However, I'm still going alone. Have a safe journey, Academician Augustine."

Marvin smiled softly. "Alright, Olive. Looking forward to seeing you in Imperial City."

The Red Villa

Elvis returned to the bedroom, discarding his suit on the sofa before collapsing onto the bed, closing his eyes wearily. His movements were languid, exhibiting a raw masculinity.

He rested his head on the snow-white pillow, Olive's pillow, still carrying the faint scent of her perfume. It felt like months since he'd seen her; her delicate features filled his mind.

His fingers brushed against the sheets, and he felt a silky fabric—Olive's nightdress. She hadn't taken anything, not even the nightgown she'd last worn. It felt as smooth as her skin. He closed his eyes, clutching the nightdress, reminiscing about the night she’d worn it, hugging him tightly and boldly sitting on his waist. It felt unreal, a dream.

Then, a small hand gently caressed his business vest, sliding down to his belt. Elvis's eyes snapped open as he grasped the hand. It wasn't a dream; someone was in his room.

An unfamiliar girl, appearing to be in her early twenties, with an innocent face and dark eyes remarkably similar to Olive's, stood beside the bed.

He quickly released her hand and stood, his lips thinning. "Do you understand the rules? Who let you in?" he demanded. A maid daring to enter his room—a first at the Red Villa.

The maid's face paled, her heart pounding. "Young master, I…"

The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Samantha entered. "Elvis, don't be harsh. I let her in."

Mrs. Samantha's presence seemed to calm Elvis somewhat, but his anger remained. He awaited an explanation. She looked at the maid. "Go downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am," the frightened maid replied, hurrying from the room.

Once the door closed, Mrs. Samantha saw Elvis's gloomy face and explained apologetically, "Elvis, I didn't know what else to do. Even though you're out of the hospital, you haven't mentioned your condition. I thought it right to find someone for you… to try. That maid resembles Olive, so it might be easier for you. Grandma knows you still have Olive in your heart." Her gaze fell upon the nightdress on the bed.

Elvis gritted his teeth, embarrassed. Mrs. Samantha breathed a sigh of relief, patting her chest. She'd escaped his wrath, but she blinked, asking softly, "Elvis, you really need to tell me if you… can still perform."