Faces and Peach Blossoms in Long Memory – “I’ve decided,” Violet said, leaning against the doorframe of the Asher family’s old mansion, a mocking curve on her lips. “I’ll marry Thomas. The vegetable.” The cigar in Asher’s hand nearly tumbled onto the priceless Persian rug. He jerked upright from his leather armchair, the wrinkles at his eyes smoothing with relief. “You’ve come around, Violet? Excellent! Thomas’s family is pressing hard. You need to be in Southport within two weeks. What style of wedding dress do you prefer? I’ll have one commissioned—” “That’s it?” Her laugh was cold. “I’m marrying into that disaster for the sake of your precious secret daughter, and that’s all you have to say?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Asher’s face darkened. “Mind your tone.
What ‘secret daughter’? She is your sister.” “Sisters share a mother.” Her light laugh held shards of ice. “She is the product of your affair. I will never acknowledge her.” A vein throbbed at his temple, but he swallowed the anger before it erupted. He took a slow breath, ash drifting from his cigar. “What do you want?” “Ten billion.” The words fell coolly from her lips. “And after I’m married, reassign Martin. Let him guard your treasured little secret.” Asher’s expression froze. He stared at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Have you gone insane? Ten billion would wipe out all my liquid assets! And Martin? Wasn’t he your favorite? You used to throw fits about marrying him! Now you’re getting married and you don’t want to take him?” “Just answer the question.” Impatience edged her voice as she turned to leave.
“Fine!” He slammed a hand on the desk and stood. “The day you leave for Southport, both conditions will be met.” He didn’t care to probe further. He just wanted it settled. Years ago, when Thomas—the sole heir of his family—was at the peak of his youth and promise, Asher had rushed to secure the engagement. He had always planned to marry Jada off later, securing a comfortable future for his younger daughter. Who could have predicted the accident that left the Thomas heir in a vegetative state? He couldn’t bear to sacrifice Jada to that fate. Only then had he remembered that Violet was also his daughter… She gave a dismissive wave behind her back. The click of her heels on the marble was sharp, crisp—like a slap across the face. Just as her hand closed on the doorknob, his voice came again.
“I understand wanting the money. But weren’t you infatuated with Martin? How can you bear to hand him to Jada?” Violet’s fingers stiffened. She didn’t turn, but her eyes burned. That name was a thorn driven deep into the softest part of her heart. She shoved the door open violently, shutting Asher and his question behind her. By the time she returned to the villa, the night was deep. Violet climbed the stairs in her heels. Passing Martin’s room, she caught a low, strained sound. The door wasn’t fully closed. Lifting her gaze, she saw with crystal clarity the scene inside— Martin was half-reclined against the headboard, a photograph held between his long fingers. His eyes were closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A rough, husky whisper escaped him. “Jada… baby… so good…” It was a photo of Jada. Taken at last year’s birthday party.
She wore a simple white dress, her smile pure and innocent. Violet’s nails dug half-moon crescents into the strap of her Hermès bag. Finally, she answered Asher’s question silently. *Because he’s just like you. He only has eyes for Jada.* The answer churned inside her, a searing pain that felt as if it were burning her from the inside out. Three years ago, she had first seen Martin on the day she was choosing a bodyguard. Among a lineup of tall, imposing men, her eyes had locked onto him instantly. The reason was simple. He was impossibly, outrageously handsome. Six-foot-two, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, features sharp as a blade. Especially those dark eyes—cold as splintered ice. Violet was notorious in their circles as a little temptress. She’d intended to flirt with him, just for amusement. But over three years— She’d pretended to be drunk, collapsing into his arms. He’d simply hooked a hand under the back of her neck and set her back on the sofa, as though putting down a misbehaving cat. She’d knocked on his door in the dead of night wearing a silk slip. He’d wrapped her entirely in his suit jacket and escorted her, with perfect formality, back to her own room. She’d even faked drowning in the pool.
He’d jumped in to save her but hadn’t so much as touched her waist. No matter how she flirted, he remained unmoved, always maintaining a strict, respectful distance, always calling her “Miss Violet.” And yet, she’d fallen for him anyway. She didn’t know how her heart had gotten involved. Perhaps it was because, ever since her mother died, her life had been unbearably lonely. When she was seven, Asher had his affair and brought home a secret daughter. Her name was Jada, only three months younger than Violet. It turned out that during his ten-year marriage, he’d been unfaithful for nine of them. That day, the family she’d believed was happy and secure shattered completely. Back then, her mother was pregnant with Asher’s second child, nine months along, mere days from delivery. Daphne had loved Asher desperately. She’d screamed and raged at him, crying until she nearly passed out. That very night, the distress sent her into early labor. Rushed to the hospital, she never made it to the operating room.
She died, the unborn child with her. From that day on, Violet hated Asher. She hated Jada. She moved out of the main Asher estate. She went to school alone, ate meals alone, grew up alone. Only when her looks began attracting too much unwanted attention from the spoiled young heirs in their circle—their harassment becoming a genuine nuisance—did she consider getting a bodyguard. Martin was her first. After that, she wasn’t alone anymore. Whatever she did, Martin was there. Her feelings for him shifted from appreciation, to playful teasing, to something real. But three years—over a thousand days and nights—passed without his eyelashes so much as fluttering for her. She thought he was just cold by nature. Until the day she caught him with Jada’s photo, pleasuring himself. And then, watched as, after he’d finished, he answered a call— “Martin, how long are you going to keep playing this bodyguard game? You’re the heir of Northgate. You could have any woman you want. If it’s love at first sight with Jada, why not just take her? Why be so… pure about it? Playing guard dog for her older sister just to catch glimpses of her?” Martin’s tone was cool. “I looked into it. Jada had a hard childhood as the secret daughter. She lacks security. Rushing her would scare her off. I want to take it slow.” “Alright, alright. How did the Martin family produce a lovesick fool like you? I thought with that Miss Violet flirting with you day in and day out, you might cave. Let me tell you, she’s the famous little temptress of our circle. The line of guys who’d like a shot with her could stretch from here to Paris…” Martin seemed to let out a soft laugh, but the words that followed plunged Violet into an icy abyss. “Is that so? Not interested. She isn’t fit to compare to a single strand of Jada’s hair.” Every syllable was a knife, stabbing deep into her heart. In that instant, she stopped liking him too. Inside the room now, the scene dragged on. For some reason today, Martin seemed unable to find his release.