A colleague shook Violet awake, their face etched with grief.

“Violet, your brother… he didn’t survive the explosion,” they said.

She shot upright, her gaze locking onto the small, charred form beside her—still clutching the lucky charm she’d given him. Her mind spiraled back to her brother—frightened, helpless, clutching that charm and calling out, “Sis, help me—I’m scared.”

A crushing pain seized her chest, like a vise clamping around her heart.

She reached out with trembling fingers, almost touching his small, soot-covered face, when her mother’s voice cut through the air. In an instant, her mother was beside her, her voice shaking.

“Where is your brother? Where’s your brother?” she demanded, her eyes wild.

Violet turned her dazed eyes to the charred remains on the floor. Her mother screamed in terror and slapped her across the face.

“You’re lying! That’s not your brother. Violet Morris, bring me my son—bring him back!”

Tears streamed down her face, but before she could speak, her mother fainted.

At the hospital, her mother was rushed into surgery. Violet stood in the hallway, watching colleagues being wheeled in and out—injured, bruised. Despair loomed over her, threatening to swallow her whole. These were the colleagues she’d fought hard to bring onto the project. Now that disaster had struck, how would she face their families? And her brother—how would she ever face her mother?

Lost in thought, she barely registered Duncan calling her name from behind.

“The institute’s in chaos. How can you just show up at the hospital?” He stopped in front of her, his eyes widening at the abrasions on her neck and arms.

“How did you get hurt?” he asked, reaching out to comfort her. She pulled away, and Duncan frowned.

“The institute is already in enough disarray. Are you really going to pick a fight with me right now?” Frustration sharpened his voice.

“You know how Ella is—sensitive and timid. She’s been through a lot. Without immediate care and reassurance, this could leave a lasting impact,” he continued. “I need to stay with her; I can’t leave. I need you to keep an eye on things at the institute for me.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “So why I’m at the hospital doesn’t even matter to you?” she said. “Duncan, who is your wife, really?”

“Violet!” Duncan’s face darkened.

“If it weren’t for Mr. Young’s sacrifice, the institute would never have been founded. Your project wouldn’t have gotten funding. You should be grateful,” he said. “Since you’re the project lead, you should take full responsibility for this explosion.”

“What did you just say?” she asked, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

She stared at him with despair, as though he were a stranger. Four years ago, Ella’s father—a chauffeur—had driven Duncan to secure approval for the new research institute. On the way, a car accident took his life—but not before he saved Duncan. The officials were moved, admiring their dedication to scientific progress, and promptly granted the funding.

After that, Duncan brought Ella—sixteen at the time—into their home and made sure she was cared for. Back then, Violet was so consumed by the institute’s construction and their projects that she didn’t pay attention. By the time she realized something was wrong, Duncan’s heart already belonged to Ella.

Afraid Ella would be bored, Duncan insisted on putting her on Violet’s research team. One day she lost a file, and Duncan Morris said she was young and needed more understanding. The next day she broke a piece of equipment, and Duncan said she needed hands-on practice to learn. Then she leaked data, and he said her innocence was the rarest quality in society. No matter what chaos she caused, Duncan always defended Ella—and left Violet to pick up the pieces.

Violet was the one staying up all night to recreate missing documents, repair broken instruments, and recalculate parameters without rest. For the project’s success, she endured it over and over. But now, after such a devastating disaster, was she supposed to carry this burden too?

Her heart sank with despair as she got ready to refuse, when a young nurse hurried over. "Director Morris, Ms. Young is having another emotional episode. She’s asking to see you. Please, come quickly."

Duncan turned immediately, pausing only to glance back at her, as if he’d just remembered she was there. "Go back and deal with the aftermath. Also, write a five-thousand-word reflection and apologize publicly at tomorrow’s meeting." With that, he walked off without looking back, his hurried steps betraying just how rushed he was.

"Oh wow, Ms. Young just had a little scare, and Director Morris is already so worried. What a knight in shining armor!" someone gushed.

"Shh, his wife is right there. Keep your voice down," another whispered.

"What’s the big deal? Violet Morris always looks so stern, like everyone owes her something. She’s all about work and has no feminine charm. If I were Director Morris, I’d prefer someone as lively and sweet as Ms. Young too."

Violet kept her head down, chuckling bitterly as their gossip faded into the background. No one knew she’d been the one to turn down the marriage at first—that he’d been the one who pursued her relentlessly. Never mind. Once all this was sorted out, she’d talk to Duncan about a divorce.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed her mother being wheeled out of the operating room. "The surgery was successful, but she remains unconscious and will need close monitoring for twenty-four hours," the doctor told them.

Holding her mother’s cold hand, she was overwhelmed with grief. Just the day before, her mother and brother had come by to drop off a new outfit, as a good-luck gesture for the experiment. Her brother hadn’t wanted to leave, and Violet had agreed to let him stay, promising to take good care of him. Now she couldn’t bear to think about it, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She gently wiped her mother’s hands and face, massaging them and talking to her until she slowly woke the next morning. Her first words were, "Where is Rohan? I want to see Rohan."

She closed her eyes. "Mom, he’s gone."

A hard slap landed across her face. "Is this how you took care of him? He was only five, Violet Morris. Only five."

Her mother wept bitterly, her emotions eventually calming. "Tell me the truth. Was it your mistake that caused the lab explosion?"

She shook her head hard, but before she could explain, a crowd burst into the room, raining punches and kicks on her and cursing the whole time.

"Murderer, give me back my family!"

"If you hadn’t dragged my husband into your research, this never would have happened."

"The data was flawed, but you pushed for the experiment anyway. Were you that desperate for fame?"

She tried desperately to explain. She insisted the data was sound—that even she still didn’t know what caused the explosion—but no one listened.

"Director Morris has already released the accident report. Stop arguing!"

"It wasn’t me, I swear..."

But her pleas were drowned out by the noise as a thermos shattered. Her mother pointed a trembling finger at her. "Violet Morris, you did kill Rohan!"

"How many families have you ruined for your research? And now, for a title and a little glory, you let others perish with you! Violet Morris, you’re no daughter of mine."

She shook her head over and over, her voice hoarse and choked. "Mom, it’s not like that. It’s not."

Years ago, when her mother’s best friend, Mrs. Smith, wanted to rush home to see her critically ill husband, Violet had refused to let Mrs. Smith leave, begging her to stay two more days because the experiment was at a critical stage. In those two days, her husband passed away. She never got to see him one last time, and Mrs. Smith was consumed by grief, dying shortly after. Violet’s mother held on to that resentment for a long time, seeing her as lost to the madness of science, devoid of humanity. Their relationship had only begun to heal last year.

But her denials were futile. With her mother’s accusations further fueling the crowd’s anger, the blows became more brutal. From crouching defensively on the floor to lying helplessly on the ground, she shielded her head, biting her lip to stifle any cries.

A familiar pair of shoes—a signature style of Duncan’s—appeared in the room, halting the chaos. She looked up through bloodied eyes, seeking him with a silent plea. "Duncan, tell my mother I had no part in this."

He approached slowly, crouching beside her and gently stroking her head. "Violet, it’s okay to make mistakes. I’ll stand by you to face them together."

A buzzing filled Violet’s head, as though her mind had exploded. She let out a bitter laugh of despair. The beating must have knocked all sense out of her for her to expect Duncan Morris to clear her name. The laugh cracked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Pain flickered through Duncan's eyes as he leaned closer and whispered, "Violet, you're indispensable to the country's research projects. Even if you've made a mistake, the fallout won't be dire. That way, the institute can be saved too."

"Think about the long game. I promise, once all this is behind us, I'll send Ella away," he said. Before she could answer, Duncan stood abruptly and turned to the restless crowd with a slight bow. "Violet and I see you all as family, and we'll make sure you're taken care of. If you run into trouble down the line, come to us."

"Violet is my wife, and this mess has taken a toll on her, too. I'm asking you all to give her some peace. In three days, I'll compensate everyone double."

As director of the research institute, Duncan commanded real authority. His words cut through the uproar, and the crowd slowly dispersed. Once they were gone, only the three of them remained in the room. At the blank, dazed look on her mother's face, she pleaded one more time.

"Duncan, I don't care what you tell everyone else, but please—just tell my mom the explosion wasn't my fault, and that Rohan's death wasn't my doing."

Duncan went still, disbelief threading through his voice. "Rohan... is gone?"

She nodded, pain twisting sharply inside her. "I'm begging you. Please tell her."

Sorrow clouded his eyes. He nodded, lips pressed into a grim line. Then he said the words that hit her like a sucker punch.

"Mom," he said softly, "Violet didn't intend for any of this to happen. We'll take good care of you from now on."

With a resounding crash, her mother hurled a thermos at her. "Get out! I never want to see you again, Violet Morris. From now on, we are no longer family."

Scalding water splashed over her, but she felt like she’d fallen into an icy abyss.

"Mom! Why won't you believe me?" she cried out.

Her mother sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. "Believe you? When your brother was burning up with a fever and fell unconscious, you were so wrapped up in your research that you ignored us. Duncan was the one who rushed Rohan to the doctor and paid for his medicine."

"And that year, just before New Year, a fire burned our home to the ground. On New Year’s Eve, I sat with your brother with nothing but cold water to drink. Duncan brought dumplings and meat and spent the holiday with us."

"You're consumed by your work, blinded by obsession, while he's human enough to care. Who should I trust? Get out! I've got nothing more to say to you, Violet Morris. Leave!"

With one last, tormented cry, her mother lost consciousness again. Doctors rushed to her aid and ushered Duncan and her out of the ward.

Outside the emergency room, Duncan let out an exasperated sigh. "Violet, is now really the time to argue with her? You're acting childish."

"Let's go apologize to the institute's leaders. Once they decide on your punishment, I'll come back and help with your mom," he insisted, reaching for her hand. She yanked it away.

"Duncan, who gave you the right to decide for me—or to make me the scapegoat for Ella?" she snapped.

"Her unauthorized use of the electronic equipment caused the lab explosion. She could go to prison for that. Aren't you afraid you'll be charged for covering for her?"