Chapter 427

Elvis was back! Olive blinked her slender eyelashes, unsure of his return or the reason for his intense gaze. It seemed… as if he coveted her. Mrs. Samantha and Betty, noticing Elvis, asked, “Elvis, you’re back?” “Yep,” he nodded, his gaze fixed on Olive’s face. He extended a finger, beckoning her. “Come here.”

Olive found his gesture disrespectful—like he was calling a puppy! She glared, then approached. “What do you want?”

Elvis handed her car keys. “I bought this; it’s in the trunk. Bring it upstairs.”

Olive looked at her hands. “…Where are your hands?”

Elvis hastily supported his right arm with his left. “My arm is useless; I can’t lift heavy things. This is to save you, you know?”

Olive, remembering his injury, frowned with a pained expression. “You haven’t recovered yet? I’ll check on you tonight. Rest. I’ll help you.”

Elvis, seeing her belief, pursed his lips. This girl was easily fooled.

Olive opened the trunk, startled. Instead of the expected item, it was filled with ribbons, balloons, and a magnificent bouquet of roses adorned with sparkling crystal lights. Stunned, she momentarily forgot herself.

A deep, magnetic laugh reached her ears. “Why the surprise? Do you like it?”

Olive turned to his handsome face. “Why are you giving me… roses?”

Elvis placed the bouquet in her lap. “Why do men give roses to women? Think for yourself.” The sheer number of roses nearly obscured her face. He left the interpretation to her. A blush crept onto her cheeks. Men giving roses… it was flirting.

Betty had prepared a sumptuous dinner. Afterward, Elvis reviewed urgent documents in his office. Emerging, he saw Olive downstairs, sitting on the soft carpet, her legs folded, smiling slightly as she pruned roses with scissors. She meticulously cared for his gift, chatting and laughing with her grandmother.

Later, while Betty happily washed dishes, Elvis had an epiphany. Their illnesses upon returning to Imperial, especially his grandmother's, stemmed from losing this girl.

Upstairs, he texted Olive: “When you’re done, go to my room.”

Olive’s face flushed. The embarrassing message shocked her. What did he want? She had shame, he clearly didn't. Her eyes, however, held a mischievous glint, like a child caught misbehaving.

Elvis watched her panic and hide her phone, a smile playing on his lips. He suspected deliberate seduction, lacking any proof. He sent another text: “I’ll be waiting for you in my room.”

The blush spread to her earlobes; her whole body felt hot. Elvis, barely able to contain himself at her deer-caught-in-headlights reaction, longed to tease her.

He returned to his room, but Olive remained downstairs. It wasn't about impropriety, but his unpleasant nature. She didn't want to go to him.

Betty, finishing kitchen chores, hung Elvis's freshly ironed clothes. The sound of running water indicated Elvis was bathing. Then, his deep voice boomed: “Olive, come in.”

Betty, her face reddening, said, “Young master, it’s me. Should I call Olive?”

A pause. Then, urgently, “Quickly call her up!”

Betty quickly left. Olive was still arranging flowers. Betty relayed the message. Olive’s eyelashes trembled; her mind reeled. He'd made Betty call her!

Her grandmother, her eyes twinkling, took the scissors. “Olive, Elvis called. Hurry up.”

Olive longed to disappear. Her grandmother and Betty… they understood. What would they think? How could she face them?

Flushing, she ran upstairs, determined to confront Elvis. She burst into his room, finding it empty. “Elvis!” No answer. She opened the bathroom door. A large hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside.

“Ah!” she cried, her back pressed against the door as Elvis pulled her into his arms.