I don't believe there is no parting sorrow in the world
Violet and Vincent’s daughter, Sophie, had been diagnosed with a severe heart condition. Only an organ transplant could save her.
Desperate, Vincent brought home his “godsister”—and her son.
“Violet,” he explained, “Nancy’s boy was born with a congenital heart defect. He doesn’t have long. She’s agreed to let Charles and Sophie… swap hearts.”
“Her only wish is for me to act as Charles’s father—to give him some happiness in his final days.”
For her daughter’s sake, Violet agreed to a pretend divorce.
Soon after, Vincent held a lavish wedding with his first love, Nancy, and they became the picture of a devoted couple.
Not long after that, Sophie and Charles were wheeled into the operating room together.
In the end, Sophie didn’t survive the rejection period. Charles, however, miraculously pulled through.
Violet had believed it was fate—that she couldn’t blame anyone.
Until an anonymous letter arrived, containing all of Sophie’s medical records.
Her daughter had never been sick at all!
The one who needed the transplant was Charles!
Violet’s world shattered.
In the end, the divorce was real.
It was his love that had been the sham.
She needed answers—now.
Clutching the medical report, Violet rushed straight to Vincent’s company.
On the way, she called her mother, Piper, and told her everything.
She expected shared grief and fury, but the other end of the line fell into an unusual silence.
“Mom?” Violet asked, confused. “Are you okay?”
Her mother’s voice came through, eerily calm: *“Violet, where are you right now?”*
Violet should have sensed something wrong, but her mind was chaos. She answered without thinking.
*“Don’t do anything rash. Wait right there.”*
Violet thought her mother was coming to confront Vincent with her. Trying to calm herself, she went to wait at the designated intersection, just as asked.
Her mother never came.
Instead, several burly men appeared. They grabbed her, dragged her, shoved her into a car.
They locked her in a dark, damp basement.
For seven whole days, they tormented her in every way imaginable.
The beatings, the denial of food and water—those were the gentler methods.
They deliberately deprived her of sleep.
Whenever she was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, someone would bring an electric prod and shock her back to agonizing consciousness.
The pain was unbearable. If not for the hatred burning inside her, she would never have survived until the day she was rescued.
When Vincent finally broke down the door and swept her into his arms,
a pathetic flicker of gratitude stirred in Violet’s heart, softening it against her will.
She felt the warmth of his embrace, and a flood of memories washed over her.
They’d grown up together, from school uniforms to wedding gowns.
He knew her likes and dislikes, remembered her favorite foods, was familiar with every private detail.
For her, he’d lit up half the city with fireworks, planted an entire estate with tulips, slid a diamond engagement ring onto her finger under the Northern Lights…
She had never once imagined he could stop loving her.
Could it be… he had some unavoidable, desperate reason?
Violet wanted to give Vincent a chance to explain.
But her head was splitting with pain, and she was so weak she couldn’t even lift a finger.
Though Vincent called her name again and again, she couldn’t muster a response.
Then she heard his voice turn cold:
“She’s unconscious. Take her to the mental institution now. Get a psychiatric evaluation done in front of the press, then release a statement: kidnapped, suffered irreversible psychological trauma.”
In that instant, Violet’s heart nearly stopped.
The hand Vincent had placed on her arm suddenly felt like a block of ice.
His assistant’s voice chimed in: “Sir, today’s evaluation report is already arranged. But if the… if Mrs Vincent’s mental state is actually fine, and she goes for other tests later, won’t the truth come out?”
Vincent replied lightly, “Then continue the electroshock. Use some drug stimulation too. She was pampered since childhood; she couldn’t possibly have that strong a will.”
His fingers gradually tightened, pressing into Violet’s wounds:
“She’s always been willful, and she cared about Sophie more than anything. Now that she knows the truth about the heart swap, she’ll never let it go.”
“I’m doing this to protect Nancy and Charles.”
“As long as she’s declared mentally unstable, no one will believe anything she says. No matter what.”
“Go inform Violet’s mother as well. Tell her to focus on taking care of Violet these next few days and not contact Nancy’s side. If Violet finds out Nancy is her parents’ real biological daughter, I’m afraid she might take her own life.”
Every word from Vincent was a dagger, brutally hammered into Violet’s mind.
So that was it!
Not only had her lover abandoned her—her own flesh and blood had too!
The pain was so intense Violet felt she was going mad.
In comparison, the seven days of elect
The man was still on the call with Vincent.
A cold, detached voice came through the speaker:
【Forty minutes. Once time’s up, the reporters arrive. They’re broadcasting live. You’ll tell them you were performing a standard examination on Violet when she suddenly snapped.】
【You can touch her—but keep your hands to yourself. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. If I find out you overstepped, I’ll cut your hands off.】
“Understood, Mr. Vincent. Absolutely understood.”
The call ended. The man’s subservient tone vanished, replaced by a contemptuous sneer.
“What an idiot. Capable of a scheme this vicious, yet still pretending to care. Tsk. A real beast.”
“But with all the cameras disabled… who’s to stop me from having a little fun?”
Violet cracked her eyelids open—just a slit.
Vincent’s man was leaning over her.
The smell of antiseptic mixed with stale tobacco washed over her senses.
“Heh. Vincent really has all the luck. Both his wives are such lookers…”
His voice dropped to a whisper, a disgusting chuckle grating in his throat.
Violet fought back nausea. Through blurred vision, she spotted it: a small stun gun tucked in his shirt pocket.
Her heart hammered. She forced her breathing to stay even.
His fingers were already undoing the first button of her hospital gown.
Her stomach churned.
Memories of that rainy night in middle school flooded back. The dark alley. Hands tearing at her uniform. That suffocating despair.
A psychological wound she’d never fully overcome.
Once, she believed she’d never recover.
Now, she was forcing herself to endure it.
Sophie was waiting.
If she was declared mentally incompetent, nothing she said would ever be trusted again.
For Sophie, she had to overcome this. No matter what.
Violet’s eyes snapped open. Her right hand shot toward his pocket.
He hadn’t expected her to wake up—froze for a full second before reacting.
But a second was all she needed. She yanked the stun gun free and jammed it hard against his neck.
*Zzzt.*
A flash of electricity. His eyes rolled back. His body convulsed, then collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.
Violet scrambled off the bed, ignoring the pain screaming through her body. A quick pat-down—and she pulled a phone from his pocket.
“Please still work.”
Biting her lip, she punched in a number she hadn’t dialed in seven years. One she’d never forgotten.
The call connected almost instantly.
A deep, authoritative voice answered. 【Yes?】
Violet’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if you remember me—”
【Ms. Violet.】
He said her name. Just like that.
Tears welled up. No time to wonder how he knew. She hurried through an explanation, words tumbling out in the fastest way she could manage.
From the other end: the scrape of a chair, followed by rapid commands issued in another language.
A few seconds later, his voice returned to her. 【Protect yourself. Wait for me.】
After hanging up, Violet felt a sliver of calm—even as her headache intensified.
But there was no time to rest.
She stripped the man of his clothes, used the phone to take several compromising photos of his naked, unconscious form.
Then, she pressed the stun gun to his neck and shocked him awake.
“You fucking—”
“Shh.” Violet held the phone screen in front of his face. “Make one sound, and these photos go viral tomorrow.”
“And don’t think about grabbing this phone to destroy the evidence. It’s all uploaded to a cloud drive with a timed release. If I don’t cancel it… Dr. Lowe, was it? Are you sure you can handle the fallout?”
The man’s face went sheet-white. “What do you want?”
Violet looked utterly composed. “First, get me a phone. My own phone. Second, you’re going to help me put on a show.”
Right then, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the rapid *click-click-click* of camera shutters.
The reporters had arrived.
