Chapter 460

Are you leaving? What were they going to do? Crystal, having cut her wrist before, was terrified by the sight of a blade. “Who are you? Let me go!” she struggled, trying to break free. She looked at Elvis, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. Something felt strange; he was different from the man she’d been with moments ago, less enthusiastic. “Elvis, I’m your wife now. Are you going to let them hurt me?” Before she finished, a sharp pain shot through her wrist. The bodyguards had cut it open, placing a small white bottle beneath to collect the blood. Her earlier defiance vanished. She struggled, but they held her firmly. Soon, the bottle was full. Elvis needed only a drop, but he’d let them continue, wanting to hurt her.

After taking her blood, the men shoved her to the ground. Elvis appeared, his black leather shoes gleaming. He knelt, a cold sneer on his handsome face. “Crystal, this game has just begun.” He stood and left. Crystal, panting heavily, felt a chilling wave of realization. She’d been naive. Elvis was far more cunning—a devil, capable of countless torments. She’d fallen into a conspiracy, all because of Olive. Her resentment surged. Weak from blood loss, she felt abandoned, like a discarded pet. She pulled out her phone, a video of her and Elvis still fresh in the memory. She sent it to Olive.

Olive returned to her apartment, a professor's residence she rarely used. She looked in the mirror; the pain was gone, replaced by wrinkles. A message arrived. It was a video—a dark room, a man and woman making love. She recognized Elvis's back. Crystal’s voice, coquettish and clinging, filled the room. Then another message: “Tonight, Elvis satisfied me. I’ve given you my blood. Use it to save your life.”

Olive’s pupils constricted. Pain ripped through her heart. She put down the phone. Elvis was no longer her Mr. Augustine. A knock at the door. “Olly, it’s me,” a familiar voice called. It was Elvis. He pleaded to be let in, but Olive covered her ears, refusing to open the door. He persisted, but she remained motionless. Finally, his bodyguards opened the door. The apartment was silent. He searched, finding her gone. He spotted her, curled on the windowsill, her face hidden in her hair.

Elvis approached cautiously. Her skin was icy. “Olive, it’s alright, I’m here,” he murmured. She didn’t look up. “Elvis, let go. We won’t meet again. I’ll cure myself. I still have things to do. I haven’t found my mother yet.” His heart ached. “Olive, do you want to go home?”