Chapter 70: Elvis is Here

Olive returned to North's apartment. North, engrossed in a phone call, called out, "Olive, Gwen just made a post online. Do you want to take a look?"

"Let me see," Olive replied, grabbing North's phone from the coffee table and connecting to Wi-Fi. Gwen's post was the first to appear: "'Olive wants to enter the Ivory Council without a college degree. Lol.'" Olive read aloud with a scoff.

Although Gwen lacked Pamela's massive online following, as an up-and-coming actress, her post quickly trended. Comments poured in:

"The important thing is that our lovely Pamela has been accepted into the Ivory Council." "Let's be rational; Olive is nineteen. It'll take her eight years to graduate from medical school—she'll be twenty-seven by then." "Lol, that's funny." "Let's all bet on whether Olive can get into the Ivory Council."

Olive gasped when she checked her homepage. Her eight hundred thousand followers had ballooned to eight million.

North snapped her fingers. "Don't get too happy; most of your new fans are enemies. Check the trending searches. The netizens are tearing you apart—betting against you." She raised an eyebrow. "Olive, you're a celebrity now."

Olive scrolled through her timeline, realizing North had also posted, openly siding with her and sparking a feud with Pamela. Online, their fans engaged in a heated back-and-forth.

Olive hugged North's arm affectionately. "North, you're the best! You always have my back. It's us against the world."

"I don't care about society. We'll be friends forever," North replied.

Olive laughed. North nudged her, whispering, "Olive, getting into the council seems difficult. If you need help, let me know."

Olive pursed her lips. "North, don't worry. Just wait and see them eat their words."

After their conversation, Olive showered. Emerging from the bathroom, North thrust her phone forward. "Olive, is this your grandma's account?"

Olive saw the online onslaught, but her grandmother's account, unlike most, was defending her, engaging in spirited banter with her detractors.

"Olive, this lady is amazing. Who wouldn't want a fan like this?" North teased with an envious grin.

Olive was speechless, overwhelmed by her grandmother's unexpected support.

"Olive, I'm going to shower. Take care," North said, disappearing into the bathroom.

The doorbell rang. Olive grabbed a black fringed scarf, then opened the door to find a tall, handsome figure: Elvis.

He'd just left work, wearing a thin black coat over a crisp white shirt and tie. He looked younger and more handsome than in a suit—elegant and wealthy. His gaze fell upon Olive, her face partially hidden by a mask, her eyes bright, and pink flip-flops on her feet—homey yet pretty.

"Olive, I came to see you."

"You've seen me. You can go home now," Olive began to close the door, but he was quicker, bracing his knee against it. "Wait a minute, I got something for you."

He handed her a bag containing a cake from her favorite bakery.

Olive hesitated, then murmured, "Thank you, Mr. Augustine."

Elvis gently pulled her into his arms, his strong embrace surrounding her waist. He lifted her.

Olive blushed, hitting his chest. "Mr. Augustine, put me down!"

"No more trouble, okay?" he whispered, gently lowering her.

Olive stared at his handsome, severe face, her body momentarily still. She grabbed his neck. "What can you do if I make more trouble?"

Elvis's expression darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "If you make more trouble, I'll hit you."

"Hit me? Try it. I'll sue you for domestic violence."

Elvis's hand swiftly moved, spanking her bottom.