Chapter 425: Elvis Restored His Memory

The villa was eerily silent, a stifling, frustrating quiet. Jean watched Amelia, slowly sipping his water. Amelia’s face was impassive, betraying no emotion. She disposed of the bloody fruit knife, then meticulously cleaned the blood from the floor, leaving no trace. Daniel, stabbed through the bone, was en route to the hospital; his survival uncertain. Yet, they remained unnervingly calm.

Jean set down his glass, stepped closer, and gently pinched Amelia’s jaw, forcing her to look at him. Her gaze was unwavering. This eighteen-year-old girl possessed a chilling composure, devoid of warmth. Her spine was ramrod straight; her youth at odds with the steely determination in her almond-shaped eyes. Jean saw the ruthless intent that had allowed her to stab Daniel without hesitation when he attempted to rape her.

He curled his lips into a thin smile, asking, “Who sent you? Olive Hart? No, Olive wouldn't offer a girl to me. Elvis Augustine?”

Amelia remained silent.

“Wrong guess? I merely require a maid. Everyone knows Daniel’s lechery; you're a perfect fit. Elvis used Daniel to send you here. What’s your next move? Stealing my One Snap recipe?”

Amelia’s expression remained unchanged as she observed Jean's condescending, mocking smile. His blue eyes gleamed with a disturbing light, revealing his amusement at her actions. He had figured it out, anticipating her next move.

She disengaged herself from his grip, washed her hands, and began undressing before him. She removed the torn black T-shirt, revealing a white halter top beneath. Despite the circumstances, she proceeded to prepare three dishes and a soup, placing a bowl of rice on the table.

Having completed the task, she looked at Jean. He remained motionless, leaning against a dimly lit wall, one hand in his pocket, his blue eyes fixed on her. His gaze traveled from her halter top, down her flat stomach, and along her slender legs. Unfazed by her stare, he focused on her face, asking, “Why the silence, little mute?”

Amelia said nothing, leaving the room and retrieving her black shirt. Her slender figure melted into the night at 11:54.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Interesting!” he mused, tasting her cooking. It was unexpectedly delicious.

At Augustine Corporation, Elvis reviewed documents in his office. Peterson reported softly, “Young Master, Jean knows Amelia’s identity.”

Elvis signed the document, his voice low, “Unsurprising. Jean would discover it.”

“Young Master, what’s your intention?”

Elvis glanced at Peterson. “My only concern is acquiring The Old Lady's recipe. I have no interest in anything else.”

Peterson fell silent. The clash between Jean and his young master promised to be compelling.

The office door opened, revealing Dr. Kellerman, a world-renowned hypnotherapist.

“President Augustine,” Kellerman greeted.

Elvis rose, escorting Kellerman to his clinic to begin his memory restoration.

In the clinic, Elvis lay on a rattan chair. Kellerman examined him. “Mr. Augustine, you have lost a portion of your memory. I suspect you were hypnotized; those memories extracted.”

Kellerman’s words confirmed Elvis’ suspicions. Who had taken his memories? Olive’s face flashed in his mind. He knew the answer: Olive.

Elvis’ lips thinned. “I want my memories back.”

“Master Augustine, I can help, but those memories may contain joy and considerable pain. Are you certain?” Dr. Kellerman asked gravely.

Elvis nodded without hesitation. He was resolute.

Dr. Kellerman produced pen and paper. “President Augustine, this may take two hours. Check the time.”

Elvis consulted his watch, closed his eyes, and was immediately plunged into a long, dark dream. He wandered aimlessly, until a voice cut through the haze, “I am the bride about to marry into the Red Villa!”

He spun around, finding himself on a train. Before him stood a veiled girl—the substitute bride—her eyes clear and familiar. He recognized Olive.

The scenes that followed unfolded rapidly, a fast-forward film. They married, then fell in love, their life initially filled with sweetness. He lifted her veil, his belt catching on her freshly manicured nails. “Once you raise those eyebrows,” she said, “I’ll unfasten your belt.” He pulled her to a frosted glass door, panting, kissing her lips. “Not yet. I’ll wait till you're older.” She announced to the media her wish for two children with Mr. Augustine…

The image abruptly shifted. He saw himself swallowing sleeping pills. A doctor's cold voice echoed, “Sorry, Mr. Augustine, your insomnia is incurable.”