Chapter 512
Elvis, do you still love me? Elvis’s eyes darkened. The surrounding bosses laughed. “Mr. Augustine, you’re truly powerful! You’ve scared the little beauty.” One suggested, “Little beauty, to avoid a crushing defeat, admit it to Mr. Augustine. Say, ‘I lost.’ Your voice is beautiful; it would sound even better saying those words.” Another chimed in, “Mr. Augustine brought his new favorite, Hazel, a singer with a lovely voice. Where does that leave Miss Hazel? She’ll be jealous.” A final suggestion emerged: “Let’s have Little Beauty and Miss Hazel compare voices—see who’s better.” The bosses grew increasingly unscrupulous, their boisterous chatter filling the room.
Olive picked up her cue. “Thank you for your kindness, but I won’t concede defeat. Let’s see who wins at the end!” She pointed her cue at the colored ball, a crucial shot. Hitting the center would secure her victory over Elvis. Seeing her determined focus on the ball—a loose strand of hair falling around her rosy neck—Elvis was captivated by her intense concentration.
He strode towards her, hatred simmering within him. Uncontrollably, he slapped her backside. A sharp “Bam!” echoed through the room, silencing everyone. No one expected Elvis to strike Olive. She was defenseless; the burning pain brought tears to her eyes, eliciting a startled, "Ah!" His slap was cruel, and Olive glared at him, her eyes blazing.
Elvis, enjoying her distress, smirked, his raised eyebrows revealing a self-satisfied glint. “I’ve tested it for you; her voice is actually better than Hazel’s,” he said hoarsely. The CEOs, shrewd men, instantly understood Elvis’s intentions. His blatant display of possessiveness, evident in the slap, showed his deep feelings for Olive. They had initially intended to make Olive their mistress, but Elvis’s aggressive intervention left them with no choice but to withdraw. “Mr. Augustine first, please!” one conceded.
Olive’s face flushed, then paled. She perceived Elvis’s vanity—his handmade suit, luxury watch, and expensive belt, all worth over a million dollars, symbols of his status and wealth. Yet, he behaved like a scoundrel, a polished brute no different from the other bosses who saw her as mere entertainment. She felt humiliated and disrespected. “President Augustine, what do you mean?” she demanded.
Elvis closed the distance, taking her hand as if teaching her to play pool. Olive, irritated, writhed in his grasp, twisting like a water snake. “Let go of me!” she hissed. Though three years had passed, she remembered his embrace. His physique had grown more imposing, yet his touch lacked warmth; his body felt cold and hard. She didn’t want to be held, humiliated again.
He pulled her forcefully against his chest, his lips near her ear. “Are you moving again?” he warned in a low voice. A blush spread across her earlobes—a reaction to the closeness after three years of abstinence. “Elvis, what exactly do you want?” she asked. Her scent, so familiar, reached him, and he felt a surge of desire.
With a cruel smile, he whispered, “I give you two choices: sleep with me tonight, or sleep with them.” Her eyes widened, the blush vanishing, replaced by stark pallor. She understood his meaning. “Elvis, do you still… love me?” she asked softly.
He found the question ironic. He recalled her cold words three years prior: “Elvis, you’d better stop loving me. As long as I see a little love on your face, I’ll laugh at you!” “I don’t love you anymore,” he stated flatly. “Now, I just hate you.”
Olive already knew his answer but needed closure. “You don’t love me anymore, why do you still want to sleep with me?” she pressed.
He chuckled coldly. “Olive, you’re naive. Even if I don’t love you, I have desires. If not you, it will be another woman. You surpass them all; why shouldn't you serve me? Three years ago, you discarded me like trash. Now, you’ll submit voluntarily—isn’t that perfect?”
The irony wasn’t lost on her: the intimacy reserved for lovers, now fueled by hatred. He merely sought to torture, humiliate, and possess her. She pushed him away, her lips firm. “President Augustine, I won’t choose either option. I won’t sleep with any of you.”