Chapter 501
Clara, raised in a harem since childhood, was no ordinary girl. She possessed exceptional vision, never truly noticing Elvis's other admirers. Her plan was to slowly capture his heart before sharing his glory. Though he didn't attend her birthday party, sending his personal secretary, Andrew, was already a significant gesture, leaving Clara overjoyed. Understanding that men dislike greed, she aimed for easy contentment. Andrew's mention of a gift from Elvis touched her deeply, her eyes lighting up. With a twenty-year-old's sweet smile, she inquired, “Really? What present did Mr. Augustine prepare for me?”
Andrew, also twenty, saw a familiar image in Clara. Over the past three years, she'd become increasingly like that person—her speech, frowns, and smiles mirroring that person's delicate charm. The resemblance was striking, even causing Andrew a moment of dizziness. Three years had washed away the events of that year, leaving that person seemingly vanished overnight, forgotten by most. Yet, she lingered in the depths of memory, her name now taboo.
Elvis's gift announcement prompted excited gasps. Andrew subtly retreated as two men in black stepped forward. With a snap of their fingers, the lights extinguished, plunging the party into tense darkness. A “pop,” another snap, and fireworks erupted like a meteor shower, forming a large “C” culminating in a princess tiara—a birthday wish for Princess Clara. The romantic spectacle, reminiscent of an idol movie, captivated her.
As the lights returned, the assembled ladies gasped, their envy evident. “Princess Clara, Mr. Augustine is so romantic!” one exclaimed. “Only Princess Clara could inspire such a celebration!” another chimed in. “Princess Clara, good news is surely coming!” a third added.
Clara blushed, surprised by the fireworks. Wealthy men usually showered her with jewels—a gesture she considered careless and tasteless. Elvis's display, however, resonated deeply. Her heart pounded; her vision had been correct. From their first meeting three years prior, she had recognized his inherent elegance, decency, good taste, and seductive charm. Maintaining her persona as a pure and charming girl, she covered her flushed face, then gracefully addressed the onlookers, “Oh, you’re all laughing at me. I’m leaving now.”
Clara fled, the laughter of her companions following her. “Princess Clara, where are you going? To call President Augustine, perhaps?” they teased.
Alone in the hallway, she dialed a familiar number. A warm, magnetic voice answered, “Hello.” It was Elvis. In a sweet voice, Clara replied, “Mr. Augustine—”
Meanwhile, at the airport, Elvis's private jet, marked with a golden “A,” landed. A crowd, adorned with green passes, waited reverently for his arrival. After three years, Elvis, at thirty-two, was even more striking. His features, refined by time, possessed a captivating depth. He was impeccably dressed in a handcrafted black suit and wool coat. As he disembarked, phone in hand, his imposing figure and confident gait commanded attention.
Clara's voice reached him. “Mr. Augustine—”
His steps faltered. The familiar voice—sweet, gentle, and delicate—was a favorite. The scene fell silent as Peterson approached. “Young master, what’s wrong?”
Elvis, his composure unyielding, closed his eyes briefly. “Nothing.” Stepping into the hall, he said into the phone, “Did you get your birthday present?”
“Yes, Mr. Augustine, thank you for the fireworks. I really liked them. It was a wonderful courtesy. I've prepared a gift for Little Prince Augustine as well. He’ll definitely like it.”