Chapter 641

He hugged her, calling, “Olive.” A slim body fell into his arms. Elvis lowered his eyes, seeing a familiar little face now streaked with crystal-clear tears. It was Olive. She was crying. Olive hadn't expected to be discovered so quickly. Before she could wipe away the tears, he pulled her close, and she bumped into his lap again. She raised her wet, transparent eyes to meet his. Elvis saw her slender, butterfly-like eyelashes quiver with panic. Her teary eyes, extremely pure and seductive, violently shook his heart.

He asked in his deep voice, “Why are you here? What are you doing?” When wronged, a simple greeting is impossible. Her grievances magnified the crystal tears that fell like pearls. The more she cried, the more Elvis felt his heart squeezed by an immense hand, an excruciating pain. He looked outside, asking, “Did someone bully you? Did your mistress make things difficult?” Everly stood aside, recognizing Olive—the little maid. Olive and Elvis stood together, a noticeable height difference between them. Elvis, his handsome eyes drooping, whispered to her, his voice laced with softness and charm. Olive just cried, shedding tears before the man.

Everly felt a strange detachment, as if the two were in their own world, inaccessible. She was shocked. She'd seen Elvis flirt countless times, but never this gentle when comforting a girl. He could be gentle, but only for her. Seeing Olive still crying, Elvis raised a large hand, wiping the tears from her face with his rough fingertips. He said, “Don’t cry, or… don’t be a little maid anymore.” Olive laughed, charmed by his clumsy words. He'd thought she cried because Clara had bullied her. Olive looked at his flawless face, then reached out, wrapping her small hands around his waist. She knew. She knew everything. She’d finally found him. The fragrance of his chest was soft as jade; Elvis stiffened. He slowly raised a hand, wanting to embrace her, but his fingers curled, his hand falling to his side.

Elvis pursed his thin lips. “Let go. Someone will see us soon.” She refused! Olive hugged him tighter, burying her face in his arms, nuzzling him like a kitten seducing its master. Elvis’s body softened, his senses overwhelmed. He slowly closed his beautiful eyes, thinking, “Elvis, admit it. You’ve fallen for this little girl.” Everything about her felt familiar, compatible with his soul, irresistible. Olive stood on tiptoe, boldly kissing his handsome cheek. She kissed him again, then both cheeks, claiming him as hers. She winked mischievously, looking at him with a gentle brightness. Elvis found her incomparable, arching his thin lips.

Everly had watched the entire scene. The two were oblivious to her existence, yet she witnessed their intimacy, a thousand arrows piercing her heart. She’d never kissed Elvis before; he didn't allow closeness, wouldn't let women he disliked touch him. Now this? Everly knew she’d lost—not to anyone but Elvis. She ran away, eyes red. Olive watched her go, wanting to chase away any woman who tempted him, vowing never to relinquish him. Olive wrapped her small arms around Elvis’ neck, tiptoeing shyly to kiss his thin lips. She kept her eyes open, observing his reaction. Elvis, too, kept his handsome eyes open, neither avoiding nor initiating; he simply let her kiss him. Olive, inexperienced, blushed, then slowly pulled back. But the next second, her slender waist tightened. Elvis’s strong arm pulled her violently into his lap. He lowered his eyes, kissing her red lips. Olive’s eyes widened, surprised and frightened. This time, he closed his eyes, his kiss far more intense. Olive’s small hands clung to his strong arm, feeling his muscles tense. Soon, she felt her breath stolen. He'd taken all her air. Elvis’ long, narrow eyes were now shadowed by crimson lust. The girl in his arms made him unable to let go, gradually captivating him. His thin lips fell to her small, snow-white earlobes. He whispered a name, “Olive…”

The girl in his arms froze. Elvis stopped kissing. He opened his eyes, seeing her surprised gaze. He quickly pursed his lips, unsure why he’d called her “Olive.” The one he loved, wanted, and desired was always his Olive. The melting feeling made him feel Olive’s presence. But his feelings were swept away when Clara’s voice rang out, “Elvis, where are you? Elvis!” Clara had come looking for him. Elvis quickly released Olive, his voice hoarse. “Sorry,” he said, turning and leaving. Olive stood there, bewildered, watching him go. He'd hugged her and called her “Olive,” signifying the breaking of the mermaid's bell charm, the recognition of her true identity. Greenland’s ancestor hadn't escaped the seductive technique, but she believed Elvis would. Olive turned to leave as well.