Chapter 214: Flashback – The Birth of a Lie

Author’s POV (23 Years Ago)

Morgan sat frozen in the driver’s seat, his eyes glued to Violet as she entered the house and shut the door behind her. A profound silence enveloped him, broken only by the sound of his own erratic breathing.

His fingers moved instinctively to touch his lips; he could still feel the lingering heat of hers, unable to grasp the reality that he had just kissed her.

Just as he was about to turn the key in the ignition, the passenger door swung open. Violet leaned in through the window, her voice ringing with a newfound, sharp confidence. "Save my number." Morgan went still, hardly believing his ears.

Was she giving it to him just like that? He scrambled to punch the digits into his phone as she recited them in a low, melodic tone. The second he finished, she slammed the door and vanished back inside the house.

Inside, Meredith leaned her back against the door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a war drum. She was in a daze, unable to comprehend what had just come over her or how she had surrendered to that moment.

She stumbled up the stairs toward her room, ignoring her mother’s repeated calls. Her mind was a whirlwind, filled only with the taste of that kiss and the way her body had ignited under Morgan’s touch.

Standing before the mirror, she stared at her reflection with haunted eyes. Suddenly, she raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap to her own face.

The crack echoed through the room. She let out a muffled whimper, clutching her reddened cheek as she whispered to herself in pure self-loathing, "Yes... I deserve that. I’m engaged... how could I kiss a stranger?"

Bitter self-reproach began to consume her, not just because of the kiss, but because she was drowning in the lie of her identity. She had told him she was Violet when she was Meredith. "You are Meredith, not Violet," she hissed at her reflection.

Yet, a strange euphoria surged through her veins; being "Violet" made her feel, for the first time, like she had worth like she was beautiful and desired in the eyes of men. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

She recalled bitterly how she once thought her sister had survived that rapist by a miracle, but today she discovered the truth: fate always favored Violet, granting her "guardian angels" to save her. That was why Violet had stayed out and lied about being at the university while she was actually at a hotel.

Meredith’s features twisted with venom. "That damn Violet... it’s because of her that Stewart is in prison." Stewart had gone to the restaurant that fateful night after Thomas, Morgan, and Violet had left, only to find the owner’s lifeless corpse.

Because of a tip-off about a gunshot, the police raided the place and found him there. He was the only suspect, and they hauled him away.

Meredith sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the duvet as she plotted. The only way to save her fiancé, Stewart, was to keep playing the part of Violet for Morgan. "Yes... I will just act," she whispered with cold resolve.

She refused to admit there was another motive that deep down, she had always wanted to be her.

She ripped the metal bracelet from her wrist the one with her name clearly engraved and shoved it into the bedside drawer with a violence that felt like shedding her old skin. She didn’t want to be Meredith anymore; she would only be "Violet."

Suddenly, her bedroom door burst open. Her mother walked in, looking exhausted and frustrated. "Meredith, didn’t you hear me calling you?"

Meredith turned to her with icy indifference. "What is it?"

"Your sister Violet is sick; she has a high fever," her mother said, wiping sweat from her brow. "I’m staying with her in her room. Get up and go prepare dinner."

Meredith’s brow furrowed in annoyance. "What? Is she a child that you have to stay in her room?"

"Move it, Meredith! I won’t tell you twice!" her mother shouted before disappearing.

Left alone, Meredith gripped the edge of the bed so hard her knuckles turned white. Every ounce of attention given to Violet added fuel to the fire burning inside her, making her feel as though the entire world was conspiring to keep her as a mere shadow of her sister.

On the other side of town, Morgan was in a state of intoxication he had never known. He was walking on air. A kiss and a phone number in a single day! It exceeded his wildest dreams.

He snatched his phone and dialed with frantic urgency. When the call connected, he spoke with a voice vibrating with power. "Lorenzo, listen. There’s a man named Stewart Michael, a suspect in a murder... I want him out of prison immediately. I’ll send you one of our men to confess to the crime."

"Consider it done, Mr. Morgan," Lorenzo replied with professional ease.

Morgan hung up and leaned back against the leather seat with a triumphant smirk.

He began to think of his friend Thomas. "Oh, Thomas..." he mused, watching the city lights reflect on the glass. "If only you knew that the Violet who stole your mind has chosen me... what would you do then?"

Meredith entered the kitchen, seething from within. She gripped a knife tightly and began chopping carrots and potatoes with a violent, hateful force, slamming the blade against the wooden board as if she were hacking Violet to pieces. "That bitch..." she hissed, her voice a low venomous rasp. "Why didn’t that bastard rape her? Why?"

Her breath hitched as she obsessed over the failure of her plan. She had orchestrated everything with lethal precision; Violet was supposed to be violated just as she had been, her life shattered beyond repair. She had sent her to that place to avenge herself against both her sister and the mother who consistently favored her.

Meredith pressed the knife down harder, her voice thick with bitterness. "Yes... and Mother comes to tell me she has a fever! Let her die so we can finally have peace. That would be better." A primal urge to stab her sister with that very knife surged through her. Violet knew Stewart was innocent, yet she chose silence over testifying.

Meredith tightened her grip, her eyes dark with a vow of vengeance. "Fine, Violet... I know exactly how I’ll get back at you."

In the other room, Violet lay on her bed, her body racked with shivers from the fever. Her mother sat beside her, tenderly wetting cold compresses and placing them on her forehead. "Violet, honey..." her mother asked, her voice laced with worry as she touched her daughter’s heat-flushed cheek.

"Should I take you to the hospital?"

"No, Mother..." Violet whispered, her voice so faint it was barely audible. "It’s just a fever. It’ll pass."

Her mother sighed, her tone one of gentle reproach. "All because you stayed at the university... Why didn’t you come home, my little one?"

Violet closed her eyes wearily, her strength failing. "Enough, Mother..."

Deep down, Violet knew this fire burning through her body was nothing more than a physical reaction to the horrors she had faced two days ago. Her body jolted as she imagined what would have happened if Thomas and Morgan hadn’t saved her from that rapist.

At the same time, a gnawing guilt was eating at her soul. She knew with absolute certainty that Stewart was no killer, yet she didn’t dare speak the truth. Every time she thought of his innocence and her own silence, she felt the fever spike, burning her from the inside out.