Chapter 705: Playing with Fire

Elvis’s phone rang; it was Olive. His thin lips curved upward, deep, narrow eyes softening with joy and love. He answered, “Hello.”

“Mr. Augustine, good morning!” Olive’s sweet voice chirped.

“Morning. Why the early call?” Elvis replied, his tone suggesting flattery.

“Mr. Augustine, your parents have a divorce appointment at the Civil Affairs Bureau today. Aunt Annabelle is already with your father.”

Elvis’s handsome eyebrows furrowed. He was silent for a moment.

“Mr. Augustine, I don’t think this is a good day. This divorce seems impossible. I’m worried. Should I go over?”

Elvis pursed his lips. “Okay, I’ll pick you up later.”

“Alright, thanks,” Olive said, ending the call.

Elvis hung up. He heard footsteps above; a girl descended the stairs. She wore a white dress he'd provided, a stark contrast to her wet clothes from the previous day. Delicate and beautiful, she resembled a fragile butterfly, inspiring a protective instinct.

She entered the dining room, her large, watery eyes fixed on Elvis. Her small hands clutched her skirt. “Sir, thank you for saving me last night.” Her voice was soft and tender.

Elvis remained seated, his narrow eyes assessing her. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Naomi Scott.”

“Where did you get that necklace?”

Naomi quickly raised a hand, clutching the necklace. “This… this was given to me by an older brother…”

Elvis recalled a memory from years past: the icy snow, his fading strength, and a voice urging him on. “Big brother, you must live! Big brother!”

Naomi gazed at his handsome face, appearing frail and timid under his powerful presence.

Elvis’s expression remained unchanged. “Where are you going? I’ll send a driver.”

“No need, I’ll take the bus. Thank you, sir,” Naomi said, nodding slightly before turning to leave.

“This is my contact information. If you need anything, call me,” Elvis said suddenly.

Peterson approached, handing Naomi a note with Elvis’s number. Naomi hesitated, then accepted it, glancing back at Elvis before departing.

Peterson approached Elvis. “Master, bringing Naomi home and giving her your number…if Miss Hart finds out, it won’t end well.”

Elvis’s gaze fell on his financial newspaper. “Then don’t let Olive know about Naomi. Understand?”

Peterson knew his master was playing with fire; Olive wasn't easily fooled.

After breakfast, Elvis left the villa in his Rolls-Royce Phantom. Peterson drove him to meet Olive. Elvis texted Olive, informing her of his imminent arrival. Her swift reply promised she’d be downstairs soon. The thought of her whispering in his ear, nestled in his arms, sent a shiver down his spine.

“They’ve gone to the Civil Affairs Bureau. Why don’t we follow them and get our marriage certificate?” he typed, wanting to legally claim her for every night and morning.

Before sending, his phone rang. Naomi’s panicked cry filled the line. “Save me… Save me…”

Elvis’s expressionless face held no emotion. His low, magnetic voice was devoid of feeling. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Avenue Express Hotel,” Naomi sobbed, her tender voice difficult to ignore.

Elvis ended the call, looking at Peterson, who had overheard the exchange. His master was changing course to rescue a damsel in distress. Peterson had reservations, but turned the wheel, the Phantom altering its course.

Olive waited downstairs, but Elvis never arrived. She wondered where he was, especially after his promise of an imminent arrival. Then, his call came.

Olive answered, “Hello, Mr. Augustine, where are you? I haven’t seen you.”

“Olive, I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry. I can’t pick you up.”

“Mr. Augustine, what’s wrong? Can I help?”

“No need, it’s company business.”

Olive agreed, “Okay. I’ll go alone.”

The hotel door burst open. A cold wind rushed in, followed by a group of bodyguards who surrounded the area. The hotel owner, losing a slipper in his haste, rushed over. “Who are you? We’re a legitimate business!”

Elvis arrived, his tall, handsome figure imposing. His deep, narrow eyes landed on the manager. “Which room is Naomi in?”

The manager, intimidated by Elvis’s aura, stammered, “Room 302. I… I’ll take you there.”