Violet is the daughter of my father's first love. After her parents died, my father took her in, homeless and alone. I vowed to make her life miserable. Until I realized my hypocritical father was looking at her with increasingly strange eyes every day. 1 Violet looks a lot like her mother. I've seen her mother's photo, hidden in the lining of my dad's wallet. When I was eight, my mom cheated with her personal trainer. After a huge fight with my dad, she pulled out his wallet, threw that photo in his face, and said: "Don't judge me. You've always had someone else in your heart. We're even." Later, when they were physically fighting, I picked up the photo and glanced at it. Those fox-like eyes, brimming with a smile, seemed to come alive from the photo. The memory was so vivid that the moment I saw Violet, I knew whose daughter she was. It was an ordinary afternoon. I came home from school and saw Violet sitting properly on the sofa in our living room, wearing a white dress. I didn't actually see her face at first, only Richard sitting eagerly opposite her, holding a bowl of washed strawberries and asking with a flattering smile: "Violet, do you like strawberries?" My parents had been divorced for three years by then. The reason, of course, had nothing to do with Violet's mom. My mom ran off with her trainer, and Richard fooled around outside. Every woman wanted to be my stepmother. So before seeing Violet's face, I thought she was just another mistress my dad brought home. I slammed the door shut with a dark face. Violet, sitting on the sofa, looked up at me. That was when I realized she was just a girl about my age. Twelve-year-old Violet's eyes were exactly like her mother's. A pointed chin and a pair of fox eyes that, although not fully matured, already showed hints of soul-hooking charm. Unlike her mother who was always smiling, she had a cold aura that kept people away. Richard looked at me awkwardly, stood up, and said: "Aria, this is... this is Violet. From now on, we are family. Get along well, okay?" My response was a cold sneer at Violet, then looking at Richard, I said rudely: "Are you addicted to picking up trash? Bringing any stray cat or dog home." Richard's face darkened, scolding me: "Watch your mouth!" I turned my gaze to Violet. She sat on the sofa with her head down, her jet-black hair falling like a waterfall covering half her face, her shoulders thin and frail. As if she hadn't heard my insults at all. I scoffed and slammed the door as I left. 2 Violet's father died early, and her mother committed suicide by charcoal burning, leaving her an orphan. My dad took her in. My dad is a businessman, a profiteer. The sentence he taught me most often was: "Aria, never suffer a loss, understand?" Taking in Violet out of kindness wasn't because he was good-hearted, but because Violet's mother was his first love. Every successful middle-aged man, no matter how polished by society, always keeps a clean spot in his heart for the "white moonlight" of his youth. A dead white moonlight is even more powerful because that moon will hang high in the sky forever, never setting. So he took care of his first love's daughter even more attentively than his own. He spent a lot of effort transferring Violet to my school. My school is the top private school in the state, with strict requirements for transfer students, including entrance exams and past academic rankings. I graded her entrance exam because I was the favorite disciple of the "Demon Queen" of the honors class, like Zhou Zhiruo to Miejue Shitai. I saw Violet's answers. She messed up even the simplest equations. Looking at the red crosses all over the paper and the miserable score of "35," I thought, she really is like her mother, a brainless vase. However, she still got in smoothly. It's not hard to imagine how much money Richard spent on her. The day before she transferred, Richard ordered me: "Aria, tomorrow is Violet's first day. Take good care of her, understand?" I looked up at Violet standing silently behind him and sneered: "With your care, she'll be fine. Is there anything money can't solve?" After saying that, I left because I had a mental arithmetic competition with a classmate. 3 I rarely interacted with Violet. I didn't like her, but there was no need to target her. To me, she was like a parasite in the house, an eyesore but insignificant. Richard asked me to take care of her. I sneered internally. Not bullying her was already my generosity. Not long after Violet settled in, Richard returned to his old ways, never home day or night. Socializing, business, mistresses. To him, daughters just need to be alive, not cared for. So for a long time, only Violet and I were home. Probably knowing I didn't like her, Violet was very sensible. She was like a ghost in this house, appearing only when necessary. The balance was broken because I got a fever. That day I came back from a hike with friends. I probably didn't dress warmly enough and caught a chill. My throat was itchy when I got back at night, and I couldn't help coughing. Violet looked at me quietly then. Later, I went to my room to rest. In the middle of the night, I started running a fever. I knew I was feverish in my groggy sleep, but I thought I could tough it out. By the second half of the night, it was unbearable. I wanted to get out of bed to drink some hot water. As soon as I got out of bed, my legs went soft. Thud. I fell to the floor, hitting my head on the nightstand with a loud noise. I couldn't get up for a long time. The soundproofing in the house is actually quite good, but in my daze, I heard knocking. Three polite knocks, followed by Violet's cold inquiry: "Aria, are you okay?" I passed out. When I woke up, I was in my room. My hand was hooked up to an IV. Violet must have called a private doctor. She was sitting by my bed on the sofa, staring blankly at my IV bottle, lost in thought. I saw the curve of her long eyelashes from the side, curled and thick. Her profile was also very beautiful. I stared at her for a long time until she snapped back to reality and noticed my gaze. She paused, then explained softly: "You had a fever of 104 last night. I heard a fall and was worried, so I came in without your permission." This was the first sentence she said to me after entering this house. I'm not ungrateful. If she hadn't meddled, I'd either be a corpse or brain-damaged today. I said thank you with a hoarse voice. She looked at me and suddenly smiled fleetingly for some reason. I realized my voice sounded like a dying duck. Maybe thinking I didn't like her in my room, she quickly and quietly left. We used to have a nanny, but she quit to take care of her grandson. I have a cold personality, mature for my age, and don't like strangers walking in and out of the house. Building new relationships takes a lot of time, so I told Richard I didn't need a nanny. He didn't hire a new one for me. While on the IV, I thought I might need to hire an hourly worker just in case. But when I went out after the IV was done, I dismissed that idea. Violet had already gone to school. On the dining table was thick porridge she made and refreshing side dishes, along with a note she left: [I've already asked for leave for you. Drink the porridge while it's hot, and take the medicine on the table on time.] I held that note, shifting my gaze from the porridge to the medicine beside it, pausing while pouring warm water into the glass. 4 My cold healed quickly. I'm not a child craving fatherly love, nor am I jealous that Richard spends much more time and energy caring for Violet than me. So I owed Violet a favor. We maintained a delicate balance of peace. I once wondered if Violet was trying to please me, but except for that night, she never tried to curry favor or brought up that incident. She remained cold and quiet, living in this house like a ghost. Until I found out she was being sexually harassed. She was in the same grade as me. Her class was full of rich kids who paid to get in. Naturally, they weren't easy to get along with. Poor grades, poor character. So it was called the "Parasite Class." I met Violet in the school's volleyball equipment room. A boy had cornered her, hands wandering. I stood at the door watching. The boy's hand was reaching for Violet's face. She stood there coldly. If not for the disgust in her eyes and her tightly furrowed brows, I would have thought she was in a relationship. I threw the volleyball in my hand over and said: "Hey." The boy was annoyed at the interruption. His furious face quickly dissipated when he turned and saw me, becoming intrigued. He said: "Aria? A top-tier student like you meddling in other people's business?" He knew me. Well, there are plenty of people in school who know me but whom I don't know. I ignored his playfulness, coldly extending my index finger: "I'll count to three. Get lost." "1, 2—" As soon as "2" dropped, the boy made a surrender gesture, backing away repeatedly: "Okay, okay, I'm going." After he left, I got angry at Violet. The angrier I am, the calmer my tone. I looked at Violet, who was quietly watching me, and said calmly: "Are you a pig? Can't refuse or fight back when harassed?" She stood there in her uniform. I had never seen anyone wear a uniform so beautifully. Like a scene from a K-drama I once glimpsed, where a character in a red sweater looked down from a balcony. I will always remember the stunning feeling of that glance. Violet didn't look like that star, but the temperament was identical. She pointed to the ceiling at my question and said: "There's a surveillance camera here. I was planning to take the footage to the Dean." She paused, adding, "Fighting back... would cause trouble for you... for your family." I didn't speak, turned and left. 5 I only found out not long after that Violet was being bullied. She took the harassment video to the teacher. The boy's parents were called. Losing face and having some money, he became angry and started targeting Violet. There were also girls in her class. The campus back then wasn't like now, where pretty girls were called "queen." Beauty was an original sin in school. Jealousy, suspicion, rumors, malicious scrutiny. All kinds of gazes and bad intentions fell on the beauty, wanting to drag her into the mud. So they could righteously say to others: "I told you she was a slut, and you didn't believe me." That day Violet came back an hour later than usual. I was making instant noodles—ever since Violet arrived, she did the cooking. Her cooking was excellent, making simple stir-fries look and taste amazing, which was one reason I tolerated her. Hearing the door open, I looked up from the steam of the noodles and saw Violet with hair messy as a bird's nest. She stood at the door with that messy hair, a bright slap mark on her face, and bruises and blood clots on her exposed skin. From these injuries, one could imagine how badly she was beaten. I frowned slightly. Her expression remained cold. Her gaze fell on the noodle cup in my hand, not mentioning her injuries at all. Pausing, she spoke in her usual tone as if nothing happened: "Instant noodles aren't healthy. I'll make you some noodles." I didn't speak. I don't know if I ever said this, but what I liked most was Violet's hair. I put down the fork, looking her up and down. Luckily her clothes were intact. I looked at her with a very, very calm face. I even felt myself smile. I asked her calmly: "Who did it?" When I was very young, before my parents divorced, my mom took me to get manicures with her friends. She once complained about me with a look of disdain: "This girl, I don't know who she takes after. So young but always holding her breath, silent, not like a kid at all..." "Like a wolf. Her territorial instinct is incredibly strong. Once I accidentally threw away one of her figures, she stared at me coldly without a word. Scared me to death..." I do have a strong territorial instinct. Things I mark as mine are in my protected zone. Whether I like or dislike the object, anyone else touching it is offending me. Violet lives in my house, so she is mine. And I hate being offended the most.
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