Chapter 3 Getting Married to Wesley

Marrying Wesley Merritt and becoming part of the Merritt family—she refused to believe she couldn't accomplish her mission. Wesley's dark, icy eyes swept over Violet Leach. Her face was a garish mess of smeared makeup, grotesque to behold. Her wedding dress hung in tatters, splattered with glaring bloodstains. She looked as if she'd just survived a robbery. "Who are you?" "Violet Leach, from the Leach family," she stated. "And you expect me to believe that?" Wesley asked, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Believe it or not, you'll verify it anyway," Violet said, stepping closer. At that, Wesley's sharp eyes flickered with intrigue. "No time to waste. You've been abandoned at the altar, and I've just been cheated on by my fiancé at our wedding. Two souls adrift in misfortune—why not pair up and get married on the spot?" Violet proposed. Wesley now grasped her motive. She'd come to him to retaliate against her cheating fiancé. Was she really using him as a pawn in her revenge? Did she take him for some ordinary man? "Find someone else." Wesley turned his wheelchair and started to leave. "Wait!" Violet called out, blocking his path. She looked down at Oscar Merritt in the wheelchair. "What if I told you I could heal his legs?" What?! Both Wesley and Oscar froze, staring at her in disbelief. "Don't just gawk at me. Give me a straight answer—if I can heal him, will you still marry me?" Violet challenged. Wesley's eyes darkened. After a pause, his voice cut through the silence. "Fine. If you can heal him, I'll marry you." "Brother! How can you agree? This woman's origins are unknown—she must have ulterior motives!" Oscar protested. Wesley laid a calming hand on Oscar's shoulder—stay silent, observe. "How?" Wesley asked, eyes locked on Violet. "Let me examine him first," she said, reaching for the blanket over Oscar's legs. "Don't touch me!" Oscar clutched the fabric tighter. "You think I've got X-ray vision? Can I heal through wool?" Violet shot back. "I don't believe you can heal my legs!" Oscar glared, certain she had hidden intentions. Violet rolled her eyes. If it weren't for her mission, she wouldn't waste her time. In her past life, people had moved mountains—and emptied vaults—just to beg her to heal them. Then, Wesley pulled the blanket away. "Brother! She's a fraud!" "Let her look." Wesley stood close, ready to strike if Violet made a wrong move. Oscar fell silent, turning away, fists clenched. His legs—withered from years in a wheelchair—were deformed, ugly. Violet pressed her fingers along his limbs, quickly diagnosing. "Not congenital, but six or seven years, I'd say." Both men stared, stunned. Exactly six or seven years since the accident. She could tell just by touching? Before they could react, Violet curled her fingers into hooks and pressed into the twisted flesh. Twist. Adjust. Pull. "Hnn—" Oscar grunted. A reaction! Wesley's pupils contracted. His heart raced. Oscar's legs had been dead for years—no doctor, no remedy had ever stirred them. Yet this girl, barely over twenty, made him cry out with a few presses. Could she truly be that skilled? Violet pulled back, frowning. "It's severe." "Can it be cured?" Wesley pressed. She nodded. "It can be cured—but it'll take at least three or four months." She was lying. She could have him walking with crutches in a month. But she couldn't say that. That would expose her as the Divine Physician. Still, even three or four months left Wesley and Oscar astounded. "Hey, handsome, I just made your brother's leg react. Now, don't you think you should keep your promise and go get that license?" Violet said, smiling. "All right," Wesley nodded. "Brother!" Oscar grabbed his arm. "I didn't feel pain! My leg didn't react—she's lying! Don't marry her!" Violet turned, sweetly. "No pain, huh?" She cracked her knuckles, yanked off the blanket, and her fingers danced across Oscar's legs—pressing, probing, jabbing. "Ahh—nn—s—hnn!" Oscar's face flushed crimson, then he screamed. Violet stopped, tucked a loose strand behind her ear, and looked at Wesley. "Let's go." Soon, Violet held the red marriage certificate, stamped and official. Staring at the photo, she mused: life was full of twists. The man beside her was meant to be Brian Mosley—half a day, and he was replaced. Gazing at the breathtakingly handsome man beside her, Violet's brows lifted. She was in high spirits. Wesley was far more striking than Brian. No loss at all. Back at the villa, Violet went straight to her room and showered. Sweat, blood, smeared makeup—sticky, unbearable. She needed to wash it all away. Afterward, she stood before the mirror, gazing at her reflection—and was instantly struck by her own beauty. Skin like fine jade, flawless. Brows arched naturally, lips a perfect rose, nose delicate and proportionate. "Tsk tsk tsk—good family background, beauty beyond reason, yet ended up nearly bled to death by her fiancé. What a waste of a perfect hand!" Downstairs, Wesley answered his assistant's call. "Boss, I've confirmed it. Violet Leach—eldest daughter of the Leach family. Today was her wedding to Brian Mosley of the Mosley Group, but his mistress stormed in and interrupted..." Now certain of her identity, Wesley no longer doubted. He'd been right—she'd married him to get back at her cheating fiancé. "I'm sorry, Brother. Because of me, you had to marry such an ugly woman," Oscar said, guilt-stricken. Wesley returned to the present, looking at Oscar. "Don't blame yourself. To me, marriage is just fulfilling Grandmother's final wish—finding a nominal wife. It doesn't matter who she is." As he finished speaking, a sound came from upstairs—she must have finished showering. He looked up—and his pupils widened in surprise.