Chapter 466: My Husband

Olive froze, quickly retracting when she saw Crystal beside the doctor. It wasn't Olive who was summoned, but Crystal, now Mrs. Augustine. Olive hid in a corner.

Crystal rushed over, asking the doctor, “Doctor, how is my husband? Why is he still in a coma?”

The doctor replied, “Mrs. Augustine, the wound infection caused a festering wound and high fever. We’ve done our best. I believe President Augustine will wake up soon.”

“You mean you don’t know when my husband will wake up? You’re a quack! If anything happens to him, this city will be unbearable for you!” she threatened.

The doctor, nervously, responded, “We’ll do our best, Mrs. Augustine.”

Crystal entered the VIP ward. Olive pressed herself against the cold wall, waiting for everyone to leave before cautiously approaching the ward door. Through the small window, she saw Elvis lying quietly, dressed in a blue and white hospital gown.

In just a day, he seemed to have lost considerable weight. His pale lips were cracked and dry. Accustomed to elegance and power, he looked unusually thin and frail. Olive's eyes welled up. She gently traced the glass with her fingertips, softly brushing his handsome face, caressing the center of his furrowed brow. Even unconscious, his expression held a hint of his usual authority.

“What is he dreaming about?” she wondered.

Crystal entered, filling a bucket with hot water to wipe Elvis’s face with a warm towel. A shadow crossed Olive’s eyes; there was clearly no place for her beside him. She was, in her own mind, just another woman.

“Elvis, get well soon,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand and leaving.

In the VIP ward, Elvis awoke, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He’d dreamt Olive was with him.

“My husband, are you awake?” a pleasant voice asked.

Elvis was startled. Olive had shyly and tenderly called him "my husband" in Los Angeles. His pupils cleared, and he looked at the woman beside him. Disappointment flickered in his eyes; it was Crystal, who also addressed him as "my husband." Crystal beamed. The light in Elvis's eyes dimmed; it was only a dream. Olive hadn't come.

Elvis sat up.

“My husband, let me help you,” Crystal offered, reaching out.

Elvis turned away, ignoring her. He removed the IV needle himself.

“Hubby, where are you going? You can’t leave! Your fever’s just broken; you need observation,” Crystal protested, grabbing his sleeve.

Elvis glared at her hand, then at her coldly. “Let go,” he ordered harshly. His aura was chilling. Crystal recoiled.

Despite his hospital gown, Elvis walked steadily.

“My husband, where are you going?!” Crystal called out.

He stopped, his cold gaze on Crystal. “Has Olive been here?”

Olive again! The first person he asked about after forty-eight hours in a coma.

Crystal's expression soured. “No, Olive didn’t come. I didn’t see her.”

Elvis’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he walked on.

“My husband, are you going to look for Olive? You’re not allowed! You’re my husband! Why are you still entangled with her?”

Elvis stopped, turning to her. “What did you call me?”

“My husband,” Crystal replied, confused.

“This should be the last time,” Elvis warned.

Crystal faltered. “Why?”

“‘My husband’ isn’t a name you can call me. I hope this is the last time. If you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. You wouldn't want another bloody lesson,” Elvis’s cold gaze fell upon her wrist wound.

Crystal, who believed she'd controlled Olive's fate, recoiled in fear. She hated pain and the sight of blood.

“No, I don’t want to…”

Elvis left without another glance.

Crystal stamped her foot. She’d become Mrs. Augustine, but Elvis’s heart remained with Olive. Then, an idea struck her. She touched her flat stomach. On their wedding night, she’d taken a pregnancy activation pill provided by her father. She’d been passionate with Elvis that night and was certain she was pregnant. A pregnancy test in a few days would confirm it. The Augustine family’s first grandson, Elvis's first child—that would surely win his attention. How could Olive compete with that?