Chapter 8: Pushing Her to Wrestle

Gabriella and Pearl were stunned. This man was Olive's gigolo. Gabriella felt a sharp slap to her face. The store manager emerged from the kitchen with a cake. Elvis took it and left the shop, Olive following without a word to Gabriella.

Gabriella was astounded. She hadn't expected Olive to hire such a high-quality gigolo. "Gabriella," Pearl muttered, dazed, "it looks like you really will be calling Olive 'Boss.'"

Gabriella glared fiercely. Pearl immediately laughed, saying, "Gabriella, what I mean is, Olive's gigolo is so handsome! How much does it cost to hire him?"

Pearl's words reminded Gabriella that if Olive could afford him, so could she. This thought excited her.

"Manager," Gabriella said to the counter, "can I please have the cake I bought? We're leaving now."

"I'm sorry, young ladies," the manager replied. "I'll refund your money—double it, even—but I can't let you have the cake."

"Why?" Gabriella and Pearl asked in unison.

"It's for my dog now," the manager responded.

"What the heck do you mean? You're humiliating us!" Gabriella tapped the counter angrily.

"I haven't humiliated you enough. You both offended a big man. The cake is no longer for you..."

Chapter 8: Pushing Her to Wrestle

The car arrived at the Red Villa. Elvis handed Olive a black and gold card. "You should have this."

Olive's eyes widened. "Why is he giving me a card?"

"I don't want it," she rejected it.

"You can't afford to support me, but I can support you, my Mrs. Augustine."

My Mrs. Augustine?

Olive's heart skipped a beat. She took the card, quickly opened the passenger door, and got out of the car with the cake. She carefully placed the card in her bag and entered the living room, where she greeted old Mrs. Samantha, who was watching television.

"Olly, you're back. Hope it went well?" Old Mrs. Samantha responded with a smile.

"Yes, Grandma, it went well. Elvis bought a cake on our way back. Come, let's eat it together."

"Oh my, yes please!" Old Mrs. Samantha's face lit up. She stood and walked with Olive to the dining room.

Elvis entered and headed upstairs, pausing when his eyes fell on Old Mrs. Samantha. "Grandma, remember your blood pressure is high; just one bite of the cake is enough."

Old Mrs. Samantha ignored him, shoving a ninth forkful into her mouth. "I know what I have, Elvis. The cake really is yummy."

Olive chuckled, amused by Old Mrs. Samantha's attitude. She looked up at Elvis. "Do you want some?"

"No, thanks. I don't eat sugary food."

"Oh."

"There's a stain on the corner of your mouth," Elvis said to Olive. Olive stuck out her tongue and licked the milk stain from her lips. When she looked up again, he had already gone to the study. She took a napkin and wiped her lips properly.

The butler led an elderly man upstairs.

"Grandma, who's that man?"

"Oh, that's Mr. Gregory Aiden. He comes here once a month."

Olive's heart skipped a beat. Mr. Aiden was a world-renowned hypnotist. She had studied medicine and knew his name. He must be treating Elvis for insomnia; his sleep disorder seemed more serious than she thought.

Restless, Olive headed to the study door. The study was messy; documents lay scattered on the floor, and the clock in Mr. Aiden's hand was shattered. Elvis stood before the desk, hands on the table. Hearing a sound, he looked up, and Olive's dark eyes met his. He looked like a completely different person. Although she had only met him the previous night, she could see the difference.

They stared at each other. Elvis's lips tightened. "Get out!" he said solemnly.

Olive turned and left the study but stood outside the door. The butler picked up the broken clock and exited with Mr. Aiden, closing the door behind them.

"Mr. Aiden, how is he?"

Mr. Aiden shook his head. "At first, I could hypnotize Sir Elvis, and he could sleep for a day, but his mental state deteriorated too quickly. He became extremely vigilant, his defenses terrifyingly strong, making it impossible to hypnotize him."

Olive wasn't surprised. Elvis was a mature, reserved, and controlled man.

Olive gently reached for the doorknob, wanting to enter.

"Young mistress, no, it's very dangerous for you to go in now. Have you forgotten what transpired last night?" Butler Henry dissuaded her.

"The memory is fresh in my mind, sir. But once his sleep disorder develops into a mental illness, he won't be able to control the dark, irritable, pathological creature within him," Olive explained, leaving Henry pale.

Olive pushed open the door and entered. In the study, Elvis saw her return. He furrowed his brow and yelled, "Get out! Don't let me say it a third time!"

Olive stepped forward, a bright smile in her dark eyes. "Mr. Hart, what if you say it a third time?"

Elvis felt a surge of heat. Veins bulged on his forehead. His body was losing control. He didn't want to hurt her! Reaching out, he clasped Olive's arm and yelled, "Get the fuck out!"

He released her. She lost her balance, falling to the ground, her forehead hitting the sharp edge of the table. Olive groaned in pain, covering the wound with her hands as blood flowed through her fingers.