Chapter 687: Put Him in Another Woman's Bed

Little Nathan was awake. “Nathan, are you okay? Don’t be afraid. I’m here. Mom’s here; no one can hurt you.” Olive hugged the little boy and reassured him. Nathan nodded. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Clara smiled. “Olive, do you know where we found the Augustine little prince? In the children’s playground. He was sitting, staring at a woman and her son playing on the seesaw, laughing and talking. He seemed very jealous.”

Olive’s heart pounded. Nathan already knew his background and was jealous of other children because his mother hadn’t been with him. Olive held Nathan’s face, looked into his large black eyes, and said, word by word, “Nathan, I’m so sorry. I’m three years late.”

Nathan’s eyes quickly filled with tears. “Mom, I miss you so much.”

“Yeah, I know. I miss you so much too, Nathan. But for the past three years, I’ve been sick and couldn’t come home.”

“Really?” Nathan immediately expressed concern. “Mom, what’s wrong with you? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’ll always come back for you, Nathan. You need to know that I love you so much. I love you more than my life.”

Little Nathan hugged Olive tightly, burying his face in her chest and inhaling her scent. He’d been afraid she only liked Levi and Ivy, but now he knew she loved him too.

“Olive, it’s fine. I’ve let you and your son be together for a while. Now, do me a favor,” Clara urged impatiently.

Olive let go of Nathan. “Nathan, don’t be afraid. Rest here. I’ll pick you up when it’s over, okay?”

“Yes, Mom. Go ahead,” Nathan nodded obediently.

Olive left the room. Clara closed the door, then felt a cold gaze upon her. She saw Nathan watching her. He sat quietly on the bed, calm but with cold, sharp eyes—a look too intense for his age. Clara felt a shiver run down her spine. The three-year-old who had just wanted a hug had transformed, frightening her. The young Augustine prince was known to be exceptionally intelligent, and Clara felt a sudden, unpleasant premonition.

Olive looked at Clara. “Clara, tell me. What do you want me to do?”

Clara’s anger stemmed from the annual meeting party. The real and fake Olive situation had felt like a prank orchestrated by Elvis and Olive. She was no longer willing to be passive; she wanted to take the initiative.

“Very simple. I’ll let you and the little prince leave safely, but you must bring Elvis to my bed. Tonight, I must be his wife!”

Olive’s eyelashes fluttered; she had largely anticipated this.

“What, Olive? Don’t you want to?” Clara raised an eyebrow.

Olive met Clara’s gaze. “Okay, I accept it.”

Clara was surprised. “Olive, what are you trying to do?”

Olive pursed her lips. “Clara, you shouldn’t doubt me. If you’d kindly invited me to your ‘game,’ I would have complied, but now you’re suspicious? Don’t tell me…you can’t afford it.”

“Who says I can’t afford it? Olive, when I’m with Elvis, you’ll be crying!”

The Dearly Hotel, presidential suite. Olive texted, “Come to my room tonight, 8806.” The message was sent. Olive stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, her long, butterfly-like eyelashes drooping.

Half an hour later, a knock—strong and calm. Olive opened the door to find Elvis. He wore a handmade black shirt and trousers, exuding an air of cold indifference, majesty, and nobility. The dim light illuminated his handsome face. Elvis narrowed his eyes, his gaze deep. Olive felt a strange intensity in his eyes, a burning passion beneath the surface. He’d been cruel last night, saying he couldn’t go back with her, but now…?

“Come in,” Olive said.

Elvis’s gaze fell upon her. She was in a white, knee-length nightgown, her long legs visible, her bare feet white against the carpet. Noticing his gaze, her toes curled, revealing a hint of pink. She stepped aside. Elvis entered and closed the door.

“Want something to drink?” Olive asked, turning.

But Elvis grabbed her waist, pulling her back against the wall. Olive looked at him, surprised. “What’s wrong with you?”

Elvis squeezed her waist, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. “You invite me to your room at night and ask that? What are you doing?” He smiled softly, his voice deep and masculine. Olive pressed against his chest, trying to push him away. Elvis untied her hair. Her long, black hair cascaded down her shoulders, her face flushed, her eyes like the blue autumn lake water.