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?"

Violet hadn’t spoken loudly, but after the explosion, her appearance had already drawn everyone’s attention. Her words caused a stir. After all, everyone knew Duncan favored Ella.

"Could it be true? Did Director Morris really throw Violet under the bus to protect his girlfriend?"

The whispers grew louder—a rising symphony of doubt and speculation—but she pushed forward, keeping her voice steady. "This has nothing to do with me. I could never—"

Duncan cut her off, his tone measured. "I know my concern for Ella over the years has built up resentment in you, but that’s between us. If you want to yell at me or hit me, do it in private. But Ella is still young. Can you really live with yourself if you throw her under the bus? When you noticed the equipment malfunction, you hurried out and tricked Ella into going in to check the records. Did you think that would make everyone blame her?"

His words landed like a physical blow. Each accusation was more absurd than the last. Duncan pressed on. "You think you can save face by blaming her? But someone saw everything."

Panic washed over her as her defenses crumbled under his accusations. How far would Duncan go to pin this disaster on her? She had never imagined how much effort he would put into making the blame stick to her.

Duncan sighed in defeat and stepped forward. "These details should’ve stayed private, but your unfounded accusations leave me no choice, Violet. I can’t stand by and let you go astray."

He turned away and walked toward Ella, who had been waiting at the end of the corridor for some time. Violet wanted to shout that it wasn’t true, that this was all a twisted lie, but her voice was gone—like her throat had been stuffed with cotton. She wanted to run after Duncan.

Suddenly, a shout cut through the crowd. "Violet Morris, I’ll kill you!"

Instinct kicked in. She turned just in time to see an unfamiliar man rushing past Duncan toward her with a knife. The blade found its mark in her abdomen.

In that searing moment, as pain tore through her, she saw it clearly: Duncan shielding Ella, not even sparing her a second glance. As she hit the ground, Ella glanced back over her shoulder with a smug grin—one meant only for her.

When Violet woke up, her abdomen was wrapped in layers of bandages. Any movement sent sharp waves of pain through her body, but she struggled out of bed, desperate to see whether her mother had regained consciousness.

A young nurse approached and urged her to stay in bed, but she grabbed her hand, desperation threading through her voice. "Did my mom wake up?"

The nurse hesitated, sadness flickering across her face. "Miss Morris, the surgery was unsuccessful. Your mother has lost all will to live. The doctors... they tried everything. I’m so sorry."

The strength drained from her limbs, and she collapsed onto the floor. "Did she... leave any message for me?"

The nurse shook her head gently. "You’re severely injured. Focus on healing; it’s the best thing you can do."

Violet let the nurse help her back into bed. Her chest ached with grief, but she couldn’t shed a single tear. A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Her mother had fiercely opposed her marriage to Duncan, insisting he wasn’t right for her. Yet in the end, her mother had trusted Duncan and believed his nonsense.

How could Violet tell her mother the truth? That she wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death—not even her brother Rohan’s?

She dug her nails into her palms. Only after she spat out a mouthful of blood did her head clear for a moment. She had to divorce Duncan. She had to report the true events to the organization. There was no time to waste.