Chapter 238: Stay with me.

Derrick Domino had quietly nurtured Olive with the utmost care. Elvis pondered Derrick for a moment, unimpressed. As a scion of one of Los Angeles's four great families, Derrick possessed a remarkably low profile. Elvis concluded there was something mysterious about him, feeling he had seriously neglected Derrick, who had played a significant role in the events leading to Olive's estrangement from the Hart family.

Elvis handed Olive a bowl.

“I heard you and Derrick grew up together. Childhood sweethearts?”

“Yes,” Olive replied, taking the bowl. “My mother likes Derrick very much. He’s her closest student.”

“Your mum…” Elvis began, but paused, a thought striking him. He’d never asked about her mother, nor had she mentioned her.

Olive started to speak, but Mrs. Kathy entered, smiling.

“Miss Olive, I heard you wanted noodles today. I just ground some flour; I’ll make you some handmade noodles.”

“Aunt Kathy,” Olive quickly interjected, holding Mrs. Kathy’s arm, her cheeks flushing. “No need, Aunt. I already bought some packaged noodles.”

Mrs. Kathy frowned, insistent. “Those noodles aren’t delicious. Aunt will make some fresh, healthy ones.”

Mrs. Kathy poured the flour into the bowl, adding milk, eggs, and a little water, beginning to make noodles. Elvis glanced at Mrs. Kathy. If he wasn't mistaken, she possessed the skill of a star chef, worthy of employment by the wealthiest families.

“Wow, Aunt Kathy,” Olive exclaimed, astonished. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Your craftsmanship has greatly improved.”

Mrs. Kathy quickly prepared the noodles and a sauce whose aroma alone was mouthwatering.

“Miss Olive, I did nothing. You prepared all this yourself,” she said, referring to the seemingly minimal task Olive had left to do: boiling the water. Olive pondered this inwardly.

“Aunt Kathy,” Olive called, her face expressing immense gratitude.

“Miss Olive, don’t be so thankful! We have a large garden; we get vegetables and fruit year-round. If we don’t help with chores, what’s the point?”

Olive waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s fine, Miss Olive. I’ll leave you two,” Mrs. Kathy excused herself, then moved to Elvis’s side. “Miss Olive, who is this?”

Olive smiled at Elvis. “He’s my husband.”

Elvis smiled shyly. “Oh, he’s your husband. Sir, Miss Olive, enjoy your meal. I’ll go now.” Mrs. Kathy left.

Elvis put his arms around Olive’s waist. Olive had specifically requested to be called Olive by Mrs. Kathy and the neighbors, yet they persisted in calling her “Miss Olive.”

Olive turned, touched Elvis’s chin with her fingers, and murmured, “Mr. Augustine, I have plenty of land. I’m a rich woman. Why don’t you stay and be my personal assistant? I’ll take good care of you.”

Elvis lowered his eyes, his breath warm on her face. “You want me to eat your food so you can lure me to bed?”

Olive, unafraid, looked at him provocatively. “Nonsense! There’s a huge difference between wanting your body and aching for it!”

Elvis chuckled and kissed her fiercely. Olive moaned, breaking away to shove a strawberry into his mouth.

“Hey, this is my territory, and you’ll do as I say!”

Elvis savored the strawberry. He pinched her cheek. They ate the noodles, relishing Mrs. Kathy’s delicious cooking.

Finished, Olive stood. “Mr. Augustine, wash the dishes.”

Elvis picked up the dishes, staring at her. “What will you be doing?”

Olive laughed. “I’ll wash your clothes,” she replied, running off.

The moment she was gone, Mrs. Kathy entered, holding new clothes. Eyes fixed on Elvis, she said respectfully, “Master, I’ve made new outfits for you and Miss Olive.”

Elvis admired the high-quality fabric and hand-stitching. “Thank you. Please place them on the table.”

“Okay, sir.”

Olive’s voice boomed from inside. “Aunt Sandra, why did you wash my clothes again?”

Mrs. Sandra, who loved cleaning, was wiping a glass. “Miss Olive, I didn’t wash your underwear!”

Olive shook her head. These women—preparing her food, washing her clothes—left her nothing to do.

“Aunt Sandra,” Olive whispered, lowering her head.

“Miss Olive, are you angry? Do you think we’re getting too old to clean properly?” Mrs. Sandra asked seriously.

Olive, knowing she couldn't win, shook her head. Elvis washed the dishes and entered; Olive had finished washing their underwear and was hanging them on the balcony. He watched silently.