Chapter 274: Olive, a Beautiful Chef

The next morning, Elvis woke later than usual. His restlessness had kept him tossing and turning, prompting several nighttime showers, leaving him feeling quite tired. He went to his grandmother's room, but found the bed empty. His pupils constricted, his lips pressing into a thin white line. Where had Grandma gone? For the past three months, she hadn't left her room.

"Betty, where's Grandma?" He strode downstairs, stopping in the living room. He saw her in the kitchen, sitting in her wheelchair, her feet covered by a thin blanket. The warm morning sun streamed through the window, bathing her in its light. A huge weight lifted from Elvis's chest; he'd feared something had happened to her. He was surprised to see her out of her room.

The old woman smiled. "Olive, are you still angry with me?"

A soft voice replied, "Hey, Grandma, I'm ignoring you!" Elvis's throat tightened. It was Olive. He'd felt her presence in his bed last night, disturbing his sleep. He'd thought she was gone.

He stepped into the kitchen, seeing her slender figure. She wore a soft, grass-green sweater—a dolman style, reaching her knees—paired with long black pants that showed her delicate ankles. The outfit was youthful and feminine.

She wore an apron, stirring millet porridge at the counter. Her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, one side tucked behind her ear. He saw her profile as she frowned. "And Betty! This time, Grandma, you both lied to me!"

Betty, washing fruit, quickly smiled. "Olive, last night… I was mistaken and led you to the wrong room. The old lady didn't instruct me." The old lady hadn't given explicit instructions, only subtle suggestions that Betty, after decades of companionship, understood immediately.

"Meow," Phoebe, the cat, meowed twice, nestled at Olive's feet. The kitchen was filled with the joyful sounds and the aroma of the porridge. Elvis, tall and handsome, stood stunned. For three months, his grandmother's illness had cast a pall over the house. He'd grown accustomed to the quiet despair, but now… the sunlit kitchen, the laughter, Olive's charming anger—it was a dramatic change. His heart softened, unbelievably so. His gaze fixed on Olive Hart's delicate beauty. Was this all because of her? Why did everyone seem to adore her? Grandma, Phoebe, even Betty—all distant toward Crystal, yet so fond of Olive.

Grandma turned, seeing Elvis at the doorway. "Elvis, awake? You slept late. Up late last night?"

Elvis entered. Olive looked up, their eyes met. Remembering last night, she quickly looked away. He went to his grandmother. "Grandma, why are you sunbathing? You never come down, even when asked."

The old woman patted his hand. "Olive said it's good for my health. And I haven't introduced you: this is Olive Hart. You can call her Olive."

Betty chimed in, "Olive's a pretty little chef, isn't she, young master?"

Elvis's gaze returned to Olive. He knew she'd been in his bed, but hadn't expected her to cook. He also knew Crystal hadn't cooked last night, bringing a meal prepared by Betty. Olive looked barely twenty; girls her age rarely knew how to cook. And her beauty… it was striking. Was she trying to seduce him?

He pursed his lips. "Grandma, you can keep her if you like."

The old woman beamed. "Elvis, don't forget to pay Olive! She's also a skilled doctor; she gave me an injection last night, and I feel wonderful. Let her be our doctor and chef, and pay her the highest salary in the world!"

Elvis nodded. "I understand."

"Betty, let's go outside for some fresh air," Grandma said. They left.

Elvis approached Olive, hand in his pocket. "I don't know what tricks you used on my grandma and Betty, but don't try anything with me. If I find out you're playing games, you'll disappear. Understand?"

Olive looked up, her eyes shining. "What do you want? Last night, I said I wouldn't seduce you anymore. Stop bothering me."