Chapter 15 The Sweet Moment

"Mm," Violet replied honestly. "What exactly happened? Why would Brian Mosley apologize to me?" From Brian's expression, it seemed he hadn't done it willingly—more like he'd been forced. Could Ah Yu actually have the power to pressure the CEO of the Mosley Group? "Brother, it's a long story. I was just lucky—I once helped Hacker J, so..." Violet gave Caleb Leach a brief summary. They exchanged a few more casual words before she hung up. Violet stood by the window, gazing outside. She'd been in this villa for several days. With Wesley out and Oscar away, she finally had a chance to explore and gather information. That was the plan—until she stepped out of her room and an uninvited guest arrived. "So this is the woman who married Wesley?" A girl in a designer gown glared at Violet. "Yes, Irene Bexley," the maid replied. Irene Bexley? That name rang a bell. The maids had mentioned her before. "Who are you?" Violet asked, feigning ignorance. She'd researched Wesley thoroughly—all for the mission. This Irene Bexley was Irene Bexley, the adopted daughter of Yana Merritt. She and Wesley had grown up together. Irene stepped toward Violet, tilting her chin up with disdain, radiating superiority. "I'm Irene Bexley. Wesley and I are childhood friends. He loves me, and I love him. But then that Cooper heiress had to interfere. I finally got my chance when Jade Cooper broke her promise—only for you to barge in." At that moment, Violet understood. "No wonder Wesley, despite being devastatingly handsome, is rumored to be a hideous freak. Now I get it—you spread those rumors on purpose to drive the Cooper girl away." "I didn't think you'd be so sharp," Irene admitted, genuinely surprised. "Then again, if you weren't clever, you wouldn't have tricked Oscar into letting you marry my Wesley." "Flattery. You're not exactly slow yourself." Violet's gaze drifted to the oranges on the table. She picked one up, peeled it slowly. Not bad—this variety actually tasted quite good. Irene's face darkened—whether from Violet's words or her casual demeanor, hard to say. Probably both. After a pause, she glanced at her bodyguard. The guard understood, placing a black briefcase in front of Violet. He opened it—thick bundles of fresh red bills. "Twenty thousand. Take it and leave—leave Wesley." Irene stood over her, looking down like she was tossing coins to a beggar. Violet's eyes barely flickered over the case. Twenty thousand? Not even enough for two designer outfits. "Take it back. I don't need it." Too little? Irene signaled again. The guard brought out a second briefcase. "Forty thousand total. Should keep you going for a long time." Violet ignored them, continuing to eat her orange. This attitude infuriated Irene. "Don't get greedy. You're leaving today, one way or another. What, you think you can heal Oscar's legs? Wesley's just worried and temporarily fooled. But we see clearly. You think you can play us for fools? Hmph! You're seriously overestimating yourself!" "Are you done? You're not tired, but I'm getting annoyed." Violet frowned. This endless chatter was ruining her orange. She was here for the mission—not to fight with Wesley's childhood sweetheart. "Don't push your luck!" Irene snapped. Just then, a maid rushed in. "Irene Bexley, Mr. Merritt is back!" "Wesley's back?" Irene turned toward the door, hearing footsteps drawing near. A flash of inspiration. She raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the face, then stumbled backward, finally collapsing right at Wesley's feet as he entered. "You… you hit me?" Irene pointed at Violet, tears brimming in her eyes. Violet calmly continued eating her orange, thinking how much Irene resembled Evelyn Conrad—the two were practically twins when it came to scheming. Honestly, she suspected they were sisters. But now wasn't the time to complain. Based on her understanding of Wesley, though he wasn't as blind as Brian, Irene was still his adopted sister and childhood companion. She couldn't afford to be passive. So what if it came to playing the victim? The old Violet wouldn't have known how, but the new her had no trouble acting. Just as Violet prepared to feign distress, a sharp pain tore through her stomach. "Ugh—ah!" She clutched her abdomen and sank to her knees on the sofa. Damn it! How could she have forgotten? This body suffered from severe gastritis. She'd just eaten too many cold-natured oranges—no wonder it triggered an attack. Wesley had just helped Irene up when he looked up and saw Violet, doubled over in agony, clutching her stomach. Without hesitation, he dropped Irene's arm and rushed to Violet in three quick strides. Irene was furious! Wesley had abandoned her for another woman! And then—worse. "What's wrong?" Wesley asked, concerned. Violet wanted to vanish into a mouse hole. Could she really say she'd eaten too much and triggered her stomach condition? "I'm… I'm fine." Fine? Wesley's brows furrowed as he studied her face. Her complexion was pale, lips bloodless, sweat beading on her forehead. And this was fine? A sudden thought struck him. He turned to Irene. "Did you have someone do this?" "No! Wesley, you're mistaken! I—" Irene hadn't finished when Wesley cut her off. "I'm asking her." Irene could see Wesley was angry and dared not speak further. Violet glanced at Irene. Funny how things worked—she had meant to fake suffering, but now she was genuinely in pain. If she blamed Irene, it might be exposed later. Better to be honest. "It wasn't her. It's me. I'm just unwell." Wesley narrowed his deep, oceanic eyes, his expression darkening with suspicion. Unwell? Convenient timing. Did he really believe that? "Can you stand?" "Yes." Violet bit her lip, gripping the sofa to rise. But she overexerted herself—pain surged, making her dizzy and unsteady. Just as she was about to collapse, a firm grip tightened around her waist. The man bent down, slid his arm beneath her knees, and swept her into a princess carry.