Chapter 17 Are You Falling for Me?

The moment Wesley Merritt spoke, Ethan Foster broke into a cold sweat. Violet Leach, too, was momentarily stunned, unable to grasp why Wesley had suddenly said such a thing. Before she could recover, Wesley had already risen, poured a cup of hot water, and returned to hand it to her. After drinking, Violet studied Wesley with a searching gaze. "What are you looking at?" Wesley asked, puzzled. "Didn't expect you to care so much about me," Violet said. Then, suddenly, she leaned in—her face inches from his. With a playful smile, she looked straight into his eyes and teased, "Are you falling for me?" Hearing her say that, Wesley felt a flicker of barely perceptible fluster. If not for his masterful composure, he might have revealed his inner chaos. "You're overthinking," Wesley said flatly, then stood. "Rest well. Once you're better, treat Oscar's leg." Violet pouted. Of course—it was all for his brother. After Wesley left the room, he dropped his guard. His brows, usually as still as distant mountains veiled in mist, now betrayed unmistakable panic. His heartbeat quickened uncontrollably, laced with an indescribable flutter. Ethan Foster stepped out as well, watching his boss with quiet amusement. *Never thought the boss was such a tsundere—clearly smitten with Mrs. Leach, yet still denying it. If it were me, I'd have stayed and slept with her already.* Stomachaches weren't serious. As the saying went, it wasn't a disease—but when it struck, it was deadly. After a night's rest, Violet had fully recovered. "Knock knock knock—" The tapping was followed by the man's low, mellow voice. "How are you feeling? If you're still unwell, you don't need to come with me tonight." "I'm fine. I'm putting on makeup now, just a moment," Violet replied. To win more of Wesley's trust and favor, she absolutely had to attend. The more she helped him today, the easier it would be to act later. Wesley came downstairs and sat on the sofa to wait. With nothing else to do, he opened his laptop and began handling tomorrow's work. "Brother, are you really taking her?" Oscar Merritt didn't want Violet alone with his brother. "Hmm," Wesley replied coolly. "But don't you think she's too much of a green tea girl? I heard about yesterday. She actually slapped Irene Bexley and claimed her stomach pain was Irene's fault. That's outrageous! Such behavior is despicable. Brother, how can you tolerate this?" Oscar said through gritted teeth. No sooner had Oscar finished than Wesley looked up sharply. "Who told you this?" Oscar, seeing his brother's darkening expression, sensed trouble. "The housemaids mentioned it." Wesley narrowed his eyes, a cold glint flashing beneath. "Ethan, tell them: this is their last chance. If it happens again, they're gone." "Yes, Boss," Ethan replied, then left. Wesley's reaction left Oscar even more confused. "Brother, what's going on?" "Violet never said Irene caused her stomach pain. She kept saying it had nothing to do with her," Wesley said. "What?" Oscar blinked, glancing toward Violet's room. "But… she could be pretending. Isn't that what green tea girls do? They hurt someone, then act innocent, even defending the victim—just to look kind." "Are you saying my judgment is that shallow?" Wesley asked. Oscar stared at his brother. His brother wasn't ordinary—he could read people like no one else. "But… didn't Irene get slapped? I heard her face was swollen. Could she have done it herself?" Wesley closed his laptop. "I don't know the full story. All I know is, when I walked in, Violet was eating an orange—peeling it, chewing it." Oscar began to reconsider. Could he have misjudged her? Was Irene the real schemer? Unlikely. Though he didn't like Irene, a wealthy heiress wouldn't slap herself just to frame Violet, would she? Just as he pondered, he heard movement upstairs. He looked up—and froze. Wesley, noticing Oscar's stunned reaction, turned. In that instant, his obsidian eyes shimmered with unmistakable awe.