Chapter 7 Violet's Bold Kiss

Wesley Merritt's expression darkened. She had added him on WeChat just to transfer money to him. As the head of the Merritt Group, did he need this kind of money? Wesley didn't accept the transfer. Instead, he multiplied her amount by a thousand. "This is for medical expenses." Violet was momentarily stunned. "Your brother just said it right—I agreed to treat his leg, and you agreed to register our marriage with me. Beyond that, we're even. You don't need to send me more money." This sum was huge, but she didn't lack money. In her past life, her wealth was enough to last several lifetimes. After dying and being reborn, she'd decided to spend every last cent. Because this experience had taught her deeply: money couldn't be taken into the next life or brought from the previous one. If not used, it was just wasted. "Take it," Wesley said in a tone that allowed no refusal. "Treatment is treatment. Medicine is expensive. I'll cover the cost. Use only the best." Hearing this, Violet understood why he was giving her the money. He was worried she might cut corners to save money, using inferior herbs to treat Oscar Merritt's leg. "That's true. Medicine is expensive. And you've probably already investigated my family situation. Though I'm my father's biological daughter, I'm treated worse than the daughter of his mistress. I barely get any living allowance." As she spoke, Violet inwardly sighed with relief—hadn't it been for Wesley's money, she might have forgotten the reality of this body. Her mother died young, she had no father's love, and her daily expenses were meager. Oscar's leg required many rare and expensive herbs. While costly, these were mere pocket change compared to her wealth in her previous life. She was infiltrating Wesley's side to obtain something specific. If he found out she was wealthy, he'd surely grow suspicious, making her mission impossible. Lost in thought, Violet was startled when Wesley's deep, husky voice suddenly rumbled in her ear. "This weekend, I'm attending the Cooper family's banquet. You're coming with me." "The Coopers?" Violet recalled the woman she'd met today—Jade Cooper. "Yes. Originally, she was supposed to register the marriage with me yesterday," Wesley replied. Ah, so it was that Cooper family. "She stood you up. Why still go?" "This weekend is Mr. Cooper's seventieth birthday banquet. My late grandmother and Mr. Cooper were old friends. Whether the Cooper heiress stood me up is her affair. It has nothing to do with me. Besides, I've already received the invitation. Not going would be inappropriate." "Oh, then go by yourself. I won't go." Violet calculated in her mind: while Wesley attended the banquet, she could start her operation—search for that item. Once found, she could leave. Her plan seemed perfect. But reality refused to follow her script. "You must come with me." Wesley fixed her with his deep, dark eyes. "Why? I really don't want to go." Violet refused. At this, Oscar couldn't help but interrupt. "If my brother tells you to go, just go. Why do you have so many questions?" "Adults are talking. Kids shouldn't interrupt." Violet shot Oscar a glance. Oscar nearly choked on his anger. "You're the kid! I'm older than you, you know!" "So what? I'm your sister-in-law." Violet raised an eyebrow defiantly. Oscar fumed. "You should be able to guess why I'm bringing you." Wesley's words successfully redirected Violet's attention from Oscar back to himself. "Hmm…" Violet tapped her chin, pondered for two seconds, then analyzed: "You want to tell the Coopers you're already married. And since Jade Cooper broke the engagement, this banquet marks the end of relations between your families?" She really was brilliant. Wait— Suddenly, Wesley realized something. "How do you know the Cooper heiress's name?" Before Violet could answer, Oscar interrupted again. "I told you! This woman has ulterior motives. ‘Coincidentally dumped at the registry office'? ‘Both of us down on our luck'? All excuses! She's been secretly investigating you, trying to climb into the Merritt family like a phoenix!" Oscar glared at Violet with a look that said *I've seen right through you*. "Brother, remember when she came back with us yesterday and saw our estate—she didn't react at all! If she hadn't already known your identity, I'd never believe it!" Violet feigned innocence. "You've got it wrong. I *did* react—I was too shocked to react properly. I never imagined the random husband I picked up at the civil registry would live in such luxury. My family is also considered wealthy—we live in a villa—but compared to this place, it's like a slum." "You expect me to believe that?" Oscar rolled his eyes dramatically. Violet shrugged. "You're not my husband. Why should I care whether you believe me? As long as *he* believes me, that's enough." She said the last sentence while looking directly at Wesley. Though Wesley sat there eating with no visible expression, the chili in his mouth suddenly tasted sweet. "Brother! Don't be fooled by her! This woman is—" "I'm done eating." Violet stood up, dead serious as she looked at Oscar. "Don't assume every woman wants to latch onto power and wealth. I admit most women love a good sugar daddy. But I don't. So like I said before—I have zero romantic interest in you. Yes, your brother is handsome, but he's just not my type." *Crack—crack—* Wesley's chopsticks creaked from the tight grip. Hearing the sound, Violet turned to look at him. His face was stormy, like a typhoon about to hit. Angry? After all her explanations, he was still angry? This man was truly narcissistic. And his brother too—both assumed she had ulterior motives. "Fine, I'll go to the banquet with you. Happy now? Why won't you believe me? I said I don't like you!" The more she explained, the darker his expression became. Forget it. She shouldn't have explained at all from the start. There was truth in that saying: explanation is concealment; concealment is the beginning of error. Could she just go back, take a shower, and sleep? Violet took one step forward—then tripped over the table leg. The incident happened too suddenly. Before she could react, she flew forward, straight toward Wesley, and crashed onto him, knocking him flat on his back. Thanks to him as a cushion, she didn't hurt at all. No pain, yes—but the man was rock-solid. Her nose even ached from the impact. Rubbing her nose, Violet looked down and found Wesley staring up at her with dark, inscrutable eyes. The usual calm in his gaze was gone, replaced by something indescribable—something that stirred an unfamiliar sensation in her chest. "Get off my brother now!" Oscar shouted at her. Violet had been about to get up, but now, hearing Oscar's commanding tone, she felt a surge of defiance. "What if I don't?" she said, deliberately staying on top of Wesley, pinning him down. Oscar nearly jumped out of his wheelchair, ready to teach this wicked woman a lesson. "One last chance! If you don't get up, I'll make you regret it!" Violet arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Is that so? Just for saying that, I'm not getting up today." "You—you—you—" Oscar was so furious he could barely speak. He looked down at his older brother, motionless beneath Violet. Strange. Why was his brother letting this wicked woman pin him down without a word? Had he hit his head during the fall? Yes! That must be it. Otherwise, his brother would never lie there silently. He must be in pain, unable to move or speak. "Violet Leach! You still deny you have ulterior motives toward my brother? You're clearly lusting after his looks and fortune!" Violet massaged her temples in frustration. These two brothers were unbelievable. No matter how she explained, they wouldn't believe her. Fine. Let them not believe. "Since you say so, I might as well not be falsely accused. Yes, I *am* lusting after your brother's good looks." She leaned down, giving Wesley a deliberately lecherous grin. "Sweetheart, don't move. Let your man have a taste." "You dare!" Oscar squirmed like an ant on a hot pan. "Watch me." Violet lowered her head, moving toward Wesley's lips. Wesley's hands, resting at his sides, clenched into fists. He lay still, tense, waiting.