Chapter 237: Childhood

Elvis’s tall, handsome body stiffened. Olive’s slender wrist remained in his palm; her skin felt as smooth as silk. He felt no bones, her hand like the nightdress hidden beneath his pillows. He instantly recognized her unusual demeanor.

Olive nodded. “Yes, we didn’t have a honeymoon, and I want one now.”

Elvis’s heart pounded. He released her hand, turning and walking away.

“Elvis!” she called. “Come on, let’s do this; you’ll never see me again afterward.”

He halted, turning back. Their eyes met—hers already brimming with tears. He strode toward her, pulling her into his arms.

“I used all my strength pushing you away. You should be in Imperial by now.”

She lowered her head, burying her face in his neck. Whispering, she hugged his waist, “I want to go too, but Mr. Augustine, I can’t bear to leave you.”

He tightened his embrace. “Olive, forget about me. Don’t let me see your love for me; it will torture me.”

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to release her. He took her hands, pulling her forward. “Let’s go back to the city. To the airport. I’ll book you another flight.”

She stumbled behind him, reluctant. Looking at his cold back, she sobbed softly. “If I leave, what will you do? How many more sleeping pills?”

He shook his head. “I’m already ill. It has nothing to do with you. Don’t waste your time on me.”

“Oh,” she murmured, nodding slowly. “Give me five days. I promise to fly to Imperial City in five days. After that, you’ll never see me again. Just five days. Mr. Augustine, do you want this honeymoon?”

He stopped. He’d used all his strength to push her away, yet she persisted, still requesting a honeymoon. All the barriers in his heart crumbled; he was defeated. He’d lost. Her persistence had rekindled his selfishness and possessiveness. He envisioned those five days. How could he resist?

After a moment, his hoarse voice replied, “Yes, I do.”

Olive prepared breakfast in the kitchen. “Mr. Augustine, how about noodles? You just woke up; something lighter.”

Leaning in the doorway, Elvis watched her, still feeling as if he were dreaming. “Okay,” he responded calmly.

“Mr. Augustine, get me a bowl.”

He reached for one, his attention caught by the logo. It was a blue and white Imperial bowl, a priceless antique. He looked around—not just bowls, but cutlery and mugs, all from Imperial. He hadn’t noticed the understated extravagance of the house until now.

“Mr. Augustine, why are you holding the bowl? Do you like it? You can keep it,” Olive said, looking at him.

His handsome face remained impassive. He merely hooked his thin lips, asking calmly, “Who bought these?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had them since I was sent here.”

He looked around at her childhood home—a simple house filled with luxurious items, and a large garden stretching as far as the eye could see, situated away from the city. It was quiet and beautiful, like a fairyland.

“Did you grow these vegetables and fruits?” he asked, bewildered.

“Huh?” Olive exclaimed shyly. “Do you think I can do it alone? The neighbors helped.”

He saw middle-aged women in the garden, tending the plants.

“And meat?” he questioned, curious.

“My neighbors’ husbands have a farm. Pigs, ducks, chickens, cattle, sheep. If I want meat, they give me some.”

“Seafood?”

“The men go to the sea. Fish, shrimp, shellfish—all kinds,” she softly explained.

He was speechless. He came from wealth, raised with privilege. This place was both new and breathtaking. The water was mountain spring water; the produce, all natural. If she craved meat, she simply got it.

He focused on Olive, realizing he barely knew her. So many mysteries surrounded her.

“Olive, was it your father’s arrangement to come here?”

“Yes,” she replied, then paused. “Not really. It’s related to Derrick Domino.”