Chapter 426
The people he loved most were all there. Elvis opened his eyes, slowly regaining consciousness from the hypnotic state. “Mr. Augustine, are you alright?” Dr. Kellerman asked with concern. Cold sweat beaded on Elvis’s forehead. His handsome face was pale, bloodless, and his chest heaved rapidly.
Dr. Kellerman frowned. “Mr. Augustine, half your memories have been restored. This half contains all the happy moments between you two, but the other half, containing your painful past, has been suppressed. The memory recovery forced the interruption of the hypnotic session. This process is dangerous. Do you wish to continue?”
Elvis’s will was strong. He tried to wake himself, a feat even Dr. Kellerman couldn’t prevent. Further hypnotherapy would be beneficial but excruciatingly painful. He lay on the rattan chair, quickly closing his beautiful eyes and regulating his breathing. He remembered half: Olive, daughter of the Hart family, married him, becoming Mrs. Augustine. Her ex-husband? Him. Los Angeles held the record of their sweet past. No wonder, upon returning to Imperial, he’d felt a profound emptiness, unaware of what he’d lost, his life as calm and uneventful as still water. Until she came to Imperial, attracting him, captivating him. She was his Mrs. Augustine.
“Mr. Augustine… Mr. Augustine!” Dr. Kellerman called. Elvis focused on Dr. Kellerman’s face, then heard the question: “Mr. Augustine, would you like to continue with the second half of your memory?”
Elvis hurriedly rose from the bed, his thin lips pursed. He said hoarsely, “I haven’t decided. Let’s stop here today.” Then he strode away.
He left the company, driving his luxury Rolls-Royce Phantom home. His melodious phone ringtone interrupted the drive; it was Andrew, his personal secretary. Elvis answered. Andrew’s deferential voice filled the car. “President, where are you? The annual high-level meeting begins in ten minutes; all senior executives await in the VIP hall.”
Elvis looked ahead, the bright neon lights reflecting off the glossy window onto his handsome face. He said, “Cancel it.”
Andrew was startled. The meeting was scheduled. He didn’t understand his president’s sudden cancellation, but quickly replied, “Yes, President.”
Elvis hung up, his large hands on the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to go home to his Mrs. Augustine.
The streets bustled; it was Christmas. Couples strolled hand-in-hand; boyfriends paused at florists. Elvis parked, exited his car, and instantly became the most striking figure on the street. In his black suit and thin wool coat, emerging from his luxury car, he was impeccably handsome and elegant, a model posing on a London street. Girls' eyes lit up. “God, that man is so handsome!” one exclaimed.
Unfazed, Elvis approached a little girl selling flowers, squatting down. “Little girl, I want all these flowers.”
The little girl, with wide black eyes, replied in a clear voice, “Uncle, you want so many roses? For your girlfriend?”
Elvis touched her head. “No, for my wife.”
Gasps rippled through the street. He was so handsome, yet already taken. A good man always belonged to someone else.
The Red Villa. Elvis parked his Rolls-Royce Phantom on the lawn. The villa glowed warmly, its door open. Two large Christmas trees, adorned with twinkling lights, stood on the lawn. A slender figure, Olive, came into view. In a long white dress and dark red cardigan, her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was more beautiful than the purest roses.
Fireworks lay scattered on the lawn. Olive, holding two, pulled the old lady and Betty from the villa. “Grandma, Betty, let’s not stay inside. It’s Christmas! Let’s set off fireworks!”
Olive lit the fireworks for the old lady and Betty, who, unfamiliar with them, looked comical, their hands like they held hot potatoes. Olive giggled.
Elvis watched, motionless. The people he loved were there. A feeling swelled in his chest; his heart softened, indescribably so. He gazed at Olive’s graceful figure. In the fireworks' light, her face was vividly beautiful, her laughter like silver bells, making his heart pound.
He suddenly felt grateful. God, after all this time, had brought Olive back to him. This little girl, the bride his mother had chosen, had returned twenty years later, his wife. She belonged to him, completely. She was his.
The old lady and Betty, after initial surprise, joined in the fun. They set off fireworks, playing with Olive. She felt immense joy, dancing with the fireworks, when, amidst the sparkling display, her eyes met his—deep, burning black eyes. He stood before her, watching her.