Chapter 18 Ex-Fiancé Won't Leave Her Alone

The girl wore a black off-the-shoulder gown, its lace-cutout design accentuating her collarbones, where the delicate beauty of her clavicle peeked through—captivating. The high slit revealed legs so long and slender they rivaled those of a top international supermodel. Her skin, pale as snow, contrasted vividly with the black fabric, making her appear like a white lotus blooming in the night. She wasn't just perfectly proportioned and stunningly curvaceous—her face was flawlessly beautiful, so much so that it bordered on dangerous. Every glance, every smile, seemed capable of sealing a man's fate. Wesley Merritt found himself rising to his feet, his gaze locked on the girl descending the staircase. He knew she was beautiful, but she'd always dressed casually and rarely wore makeup. He'd never imagined that when she made an effort, she'd be this stunning. Violet Leach reached Wesley's side and twirled once, lifting her skirt. "Well? Am I beautiful?" Wesley gave a small nod. "Beautiful." Violet's eyes sparkled, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Now I can help you properly teach them a lesson." Wesley didn't care about saving face—after all, the Cooper heiress meant nothing to him. "Time's up. Let's go." With that, Violet grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Wesley started to follow, but Oscar Merritt grabbed his arm. "Brother." Seeing Violet had already walked ahead, Wesley frowned. "What is it?" Noticing the brothers wanted to talk, Violet didn't wait and walked off alone. "Brother, don't let Violet's looks deceive you," Oscar said, though he felt a twinge of guilt—he'd been stunned himself when he saw her. "Even if she didn't attack Irene Bexley, I still think she has ulterior motives," he added, uneasy. "I understand. I'm not that superficial," Wesley replied. Hearing this, Oscar relaxed slightly. Just then, a pained cry came from the entrance. "Ouch—" "It hurts, it hurts—" Wesley instantly turned from Oscar to Violet. Violet was leaning against the wall, one hand massaging her foot. Had she twisted her ankle? Without thinking, Wesley strode over. "What happened?" "I'm not used to such high heels. I twisted it slightly. Probably not serious," Violet said, examining her foot. "Let me see." Wesley crouched and gently touched her ankle. Oscar watched the scene, his expression twisting into something indescribable. His brother—actually crouching before Violet, personally checking her foot? Wasn't he the one who claimed to "have self-control"? Was this self-control? Look at that look of concern—like he wanted to cradle her in his arms. Could it be? Had his brother truly fallen for her? The thought made Oscar deeply anxious. No! He had to expose Violet's true, dark nature—before his brother was completely enchanted. Wesley carefully examined her foot. Confirming no serious injury, he finally exhaled. "It's really fine. Let's go," Violet said, pulling her foot back. A woman's foot and a man's head were sacred—having hers held in his hands made her cheeks flush. Fortunately, no one noticed. Not even Wesley. Wesley had no time to notice—he was grappling with his own racing pulse. Behind his back, he rubbed the fingers that had touched her, brow faintly furrowed. "Can you walk?" No—he could carry her. "It's okay, just a little numb," Violet said. To prove it, she stomped her foot in front of him. Seeing she was truly fine, Wesley pressed his lips together, frown deepening. Violet quietly observed his reaction. Sharp as she was, she sensed his displeasure. Was he annoyed she was troublesome? That she twisted her ankle in heels? Or did he suspect she was faking—thinking she was one of those scheming women playing weak to win his sympathy? She also noticed Wesley had hidden his hands behind his back. Was he disgusted? This level of fastidiousness was extreme. As Violet wondered, Wesley turned to Ethan Foster. "Get a pair of lower-heeled shoes. Quickly." "No need. These are pretty. I like them," Violet said—she didn't want to annoy this CEO. "You really don't want to change? Didn't you just say you're not used to high heels?" Wesley asked, puzzled. "Everyone has a first time. I'll get used to it," Violet said, quickly opening the car door and getting in, then waving at him. "Hurry up." Wesley looked at her hand—feeling as if she were beckoning his soul—and climbed in without hesitation. Oscar, in his wheelchair, reached the entrance and stared after the car until it vanished. He made a decision: starting tomorrow, he'd follow Violet—personally and with hired help. He refused to believe he couldn't catch her in the act. If not, he'd tell his mother. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the hotel hosting Mr. Cooper's birthday banquet. "Finally here!" Violet pushed open the car door. "I need the restroom—I'm going in!" She lifted her dress and ran into the hotel. Afterward, she stepped out, refreshed—only to collide with someone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." "Is that you?" A familiar voice came from above. She looked up—Brian Mosley. As she looked at him, he stared back, eyes wide with astonishment. He knew she was beautiful—she'd been stunning since childhood—but now she was utterly transformed. Before, she dressed modestly, conservatively, always with straight hair and bangs—a sweet, innocent girl next door. Now, her bangs were gone, revealing a smooth, pale forehead that showcased her delicate features. Her hair was curled, half-pinned, with two soft curls framing her temples—adding playfulness and allure. Paired with the black off-the-shoulder gown, she looked like a nocturnal enchantress—mesmerizing. Truthfully, compared to her former innocent look, this style suited her better. But no matter how beautiful, a woman with a venomous heart—he could never love her. "Violet Leach, you're truly two-faced! Saying you've cut ties, yet now that you've heard I'm at Mr. Cooper's banquet, you come chasing after me?" Brian sneered. Violet rolled her eyes. "You're so narcissistic. Me chasing you? I was blind before—am I still blind now? Let me be clear—I'm married. I came here with my husband." Brian didn't believe her. The old Violet had loved him desperately—how could she just let go? They'd grown up together. The reason they'd fallen apart? Entirely her fault. "Don't pretend. You're only testing my reaction—to see if I still care?" Violet scoffed. "I admit, I once loved you so much I'd give my life. But when you heartlessly had me bled, I already gave you my life once. I'm utterly disappointed. I won't die for you again—you're not worthy." Brian recalled the wedding day—when he'd ordered men to drag her to the hospital to draw blood. She'd wept, begging, explaining she hadn't pushed Evelyn Conrad. If Evelyn had truly been pregnant, he wouldn't have believed her. But she'd faked it—so who knew? Still, he'd never blamed Evelyn. He understood—watching the man she loved marry another, she'd panicked. But even if Violet was innocent that day, the cruel things she'd done to Evelyn before—he'd seen them with his own eyes. "Yes, disappointed—that's exactly how I feel," Brian said, staring at her with cold disappointment. Violet shook her head, inwardly mocking—wasn't he the one fooled by Evelyn? "Move aside. My husband's waiting." She pushed past. But as she stepped forward, Brian grabbed her arm. Violet frowned. "Let go." Brian held tight, turning to face her. "You know why you're here. Whether you admit it or not, it's for me. Evelyn's unwell. I need a companion tonight. Stay with me—it'll make up for having you bled."