Chapter 741 Go to the Hotel

Mrs. Annabelle? Hearing this name, Marvin’s handsome eyelids flickered. As a young child, he’d seen Annabelle’s portrait in his father’s study. His mother, Lily, and Annabelle bore a striking resemblance, yet he’d instantly perceived a difference between them. The sight had shocked him. He’d raised a small hand, drawn to caress the woman in the painting, as if an unseen force compelled him closer. Before his fingers touched the canvas, however, his father burst into the study, his expression frosty. In a deep voice, he commanded, “Get out! And remember, never touch that painting!”

His aunt had just arrived home. Marvin stood outside, overhearing their heated argument. From that early age, he understood his father had loved only one woman: Annabelle. As his mother’s son, he was neither cherished by her nor accepted by his father; he didn't even merit a touch of Annabelle’s painted likeness. His mother often reminded him of his Augustine lineage, yet he felt he possessed nothing. In truth, it wasn't that he lacked anything, but that he desired something he could never have: his father’s love. He was a doctor, yet for years, he had been his own patient.

Elvis, he reflected, was far luckier. Elvis had found Olive, a woman who offered redemption and love. Marvin knew he'd arrived too late for Olive. The youthful thrills and heartbeats of his past were now profound regrets. Perhaps someday he'd marry, have children, become a husband and father. But no woman could ever replace her. Four years had passed, and he hadn't forgotten her, constantly thinking of her in the underground medical research base. Loving her, he’d declared, was the best decision of his life. Her kindness had shown him a gentler world, encouraging him towards tolerance, relief, and letting go. She'd looked forward to a better him, she'd said.

“No, I’m not acquainted with her; there’s no need to meet,” Marvin calmly told Phil.

Meanwhile, on the road, Elvis embraced Olive, who’d slipped from behind him. His warm breath tickled her skin. Olive smiled, teasing, “Mr. Augustine, you’re far too old. Leave me alone.”

Elvis grasped her soft waist. “Let’s be realistic. Where have you been spending your time? I need to take action before you forget all about me.”

Olive turned, her bright eyes meeting his handsome features. “Mr. Augustine, isn’t Naomi always with you? You shouldn’t be bored.”

“Are you jealous?” Elvis raised an eyebrow, his mood lightening.

“I am not,” Olive replied, turning to flee.

But Elvis caught her shoulders, pinning her against a wall. “Olive, I have plenty of ‘food’ for you tonight. Consider that proof of my innocence.”

Olive understood immediately. “Mr. Augustine, have some shame!” To her, his actions were utterly shameless. Without a word, he lowered his head and kissed her lips.

It was the early hours; the street was deserted. He held her close, kissing her passionately. Olive passively endured, her fingers lightly touching his body, wanting to push him away, but his muscles were taut and hot, his body temperature almost burning; it was as if he hadn't touched a woman in a long time. She tried to pull back, but Elvis caught her hand, drawing it lower. Olive resisted, but he nuzzled her nose, calling her in a hoarse voice, “Olive…”

Olive quickly closed her eyes, her face burning. How could she not think him a terrible man? Her resistance finally faded.

Elvis’s throat worked. He didn’t want to take her home, nor to her apartment; he couldn’t wait. Spotting a hotel, he pulled her along.

“Mr. Augustine, where are we going?”

“To the hotel.”

Olive shivered. Elvis’s decisions were immutable. He held her with one hand, tapping a sharp rhythm on the hotel counter with the other.

The receptionist looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of Elvis. “Sir, may I help you?” In a small hotel like this, she’d never encountered a man of Elvis’s caliber.

Elvis’s expression remained impassive. “Yes, a room, please.”

“Certainly,” the receptionist replied, glancing quickly at Olive.