Chapter 503: I Don’t Want Your New Mistress to Be My Mom
The ashtray crashed into the floor-to-ceiling window with immense force. Glass shattered and flew everywhere. Mrs. Samantha paled, staring at Elvis and whispering, “Elvis…” “Old lady, what happened?” The commotion drew attention from outside; the office door burst open, and Peterson and Betty nervously inquired.
Elvis's face was grim, his narrow, deep eyes flashing a fierce, blood-red as he heard the name Olive. Peterson and Betty, sensing the shift in his demeanor, stood silently, barely breathing. Mrs. Samantha watched him with anguish. Three years had passed, yet Olive's name remained a taboo, triggering an uncontrollable, aggressive, and paranoid rage within him.
Elvis braced his hands on the table, his chest heaving, before closing his eyes to regain control. When he opened them, the redness had subsided, leaving only a deep indifference. “Grandma, clean this up. I’ll take Nathan home.” He strode out, his tall figure disappearing. Mrs. Samantha sighed, her face flushed.
Betty entered, beginning to clean the mess. “Old lady, did you mention Olive to the young master?” Mrs. Samantha wearily replied, “Yes. Every time, he loses his temper, unable to control his violent urges. It worries me. These three peaceful years have only deepened his depression. I fear… when Olive returns, he'll explode. I'm afraid he'll hurt her; I'm even afraid he won't let her go.”
Betty sighed. “He truly hates Olive. His love has turned to such intense hatred. Fortunately, he has little Master Nathan.” At the mention of Nathan, a satisfied smile touched Mrs. Samantha's face. Lil’ Nathan was Elvis’s spitting image. Olive had stabbed Elvis three years prior. After his recovery, Alpha, his father, used his genes and a surrogate to conceive Lil’ Nathan. While Elvis hadn’t wanted a son, the Augustine family needed an heir. The world speculated about Nathan’s mother, but he was, in fact, born via surrogacy.
Mrs. Samantha smiled fondly. “Elvis didn’t like him at first, but Nathan has beautiful, clear eyes, just like Olive.” Betty agreed, “Perhaps it’s fate. I remember the day the young master visited; Nathan opened his eyes, looked at his father, and the young master seemed stunned. Perhaps Nathan reminded him of the child he and Olive lost. Since then, he’s raised Nathan himself.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Samantha chuckled, “Nathan is three now. Elvis has raised him for three years. We worried he wouldn't be able to cope, but Nathan had a high fever once, and Elvis stayed with him, never closing his eyes for seven days. He was a good father.”
“But still,” Mrs. Samantha anxiously added, “Nathan remains withdrawn, never playing with other children, never speaking. It frightens me. Sometimes I think Olive’s gone, and we’ve all ruined ourselves.” Betty comforted her, “Old lady, it will be alright.”
Elvis reached Nathan’s door, his composure restored. He knocked loudly. “Nathan, three seconds. Open the door. One, two…” Before he reached three, the door clicked open, revealing Nathan, a tiny figure. He was Elvis’s son, inheriting his father’s refined features. He was milky-skinned and handsome, with soft, wavy hair and strikingly clear eyes. Despite his angelic appearance, he was cold and aloof, just like his father, controllable only by Elvis. He was both father and mother to the boy.
Elvis looked down at his son, whose height barely reached his knees. “Why are you worrying everyone?” Nathan presented a pen and paper: “I’m not sick.” Elvis glanced at the words, then at Nathan’s face, those grape-like eyes holding a quiet determination, stubbornness, and innocence. These eyes… mirrored those in his memory.
Elvis’s heart softened. He bent, scooping Nathan into his arms. “Let’s go home, son.” Nathan, still clinging to his father, produced another note: “I don’t like your new mistress. I don’t want her to be my mom!”