Chapter 48: Olive, I believe in you!

Elvis didn't look at Crystal. “Elvis, what I said is true. Olive did all of this. In the bathroom, she even stole my phone and called someone!” Crystal insisted emotionally. Elvis remained impassive. He looked at Olive and asked, “Who did you call?” Olive calmly shook her head. “I didn’t call anyone.” “Liar! Elvis, don’t believe her; she’s lying to you!”

Elvis held Olive’s cold hands. “Olive, I still believe you.” Crystal stared in disbelief as Elvis declared his trust. “Elvis, what kind of love poison did Olive give you? She killed your child with her own hands! How can you still believe her?”

Elvis kicked a wooden chair, shattering it. He swiftly drew a gun from Peterson’s waist and pressed it against Crystal’s forehead. Crystal froze, terrified—a stark contrast to her privileged upbringing. The gun’s cold barrel was inches from her life. “Elvis? Please, don’t shoot!” she pleaded.

Crystal trembled, unsure what she’d done wrong. While she knew Elvis was grieving, his lack of outward emotion usually masked his feelings, making this reaction unexpected. She realized his distress stemmed from the loss of his unborn child. Elvis glared at her. “From now on, you’d better keep your mouth shut. Or I can help you go mute forever.” “Elvis, please,” Crystal whispered, disbelief etched on her face.

Then, Olive’s calm voice cut through the tension. “I’m tired. Let her go.” Crystal felt the gun move away. Elvis released her. “Take her out of here,” he ordered. Peterson escorted Crystal out. Before leaving, Crystal met Olive’s cold, indifferent gaze. She felt a chill—this was only the beginning.

Alone in the ward, Olive curled into a ball. Elvis approached, gently kissing her forehead. “Olive, go to sleep.” Olive closed her eyes. Later, she awoke to the touch of something cold in her palm: three porcelain figures—Olive, Elvis, and a small baby representing his imagined son. “This is for you. Always wear it,” Elvis murmured, tucking her under the blanket. “Good night.”

Olive examined the figurines, her hand resting on her flat abdomen. Her eyes held a mother's tenderness and a hint of joy. That night, Olive slept restlessly, knowing Elvis lay awake, watching her. In the early morning, Elvis left for the resort.

Peterson reported, “Young Master, the surveillance footage is ready.” Elvis, a cigarette between his fingers, was driven by the need for the truth. Peterson replayed the video, showing Olive and Crystal at the top of the stairs.

“Master, Crystal seems to have pushed Miss Hart. But Miss Hart held onto Crystal's hand as she fell, suggesting she may have fallen herself.”

Elvis repeatedly reviewed the moment of Olive's fall, his fingers trembling as he struggled to light another cigarette. The dim light concealed his emotions, but the scene held him captive.