Camilla set her own cup aside with practiced nonchalance, though her luminous gaze flickered toward the doorway with undisguised interest.
Within moments, a willowy figure draped in soft lotus-root silk glided into view.
The woman carried herself with porcelain-doll perfection—pearly teeth gleaming between rosebud lips, her complexion like freshly fallen snow.
Her long hair was casually tied back, exuding a mature and gentle aura.
A classic beauty, graceful and refined.
This was Camilla’s first impression of Violet.
While Camilla observed Violet, the latter was also sizing her up.
Dressed in a pristine white floor-length gown, her chestnut-colored curls cascaded softly down her back.
Her features were delicate, her face breathtakingly beautiful.
Even in the simplest attire, she radiated such brilliance that it was impossible to look away.
Her cool, enchanting gaze shimmered like rippling water when she met someone’s eyes.
Elegant yet untouchable, like a white rose perched high on a branch—stunning beyond compare.
A pang of inexplicable pain twisted in Violet’s heart.
It wasn’t hard to guess the identity of a woman who could appear in the Taylor family and be alone with Taylor.
Seated on the sofa, Taylor’s dark eyes took in every flicker of Violet’s expression.
A trace of mockery flashed in his lowered gaze.
Then, he reached for the teapot beside him, refilling Camilla’s cup.
His clear, soothing voice carried a gentleness that was rare for him.
"The temperature’s just right now. Have some."
Camilla noticed Taylor’s unusual demeanor almost immediately.
She frowned slightly but nodded in agreement nonetheless.
After setting down the teapot, Taylor turned his gaze toward Violet, who stood by the door.
His tone was icy, detached.
"Miss Violet, you insisted on seeing me.
Is there something you need?"
The unfamiliar chill in his voice made Song Weilan want to turn and leave.
But she bit her lip, forcing herself to stay.
She knew all too well—if she walked away now, seeing Taylor again would be next to impossible.
"I... I have something to discuss with you.
Camilla realized she wasn’t meant to be part of this conversation.
With a tactful smile, she started to rise.
"I was just about to take a stroll in the garden, so you two—"
"You don’t have to leave."
Taylor’s eyes, usually warm, darkened as they settled on Violet—deep, unreadable.
"Say it here," he said flatly.
"She’s not an outsider."
She couldn’t be more of an outsider.
Camilla nearly choked on her tea.
Reading Taylor’s implication, she had no choice but to awkwardly sit back down.
Bowing her head and sipping her tea was the only thing she could do now.
Violet felt as though an invisible hand had clenched around her heart, making every breath a struggle.
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her clothes, her red lips pressed into a thin line.
Whatever words were lodged in her throat seemed too painful to voice.
"If Miss Violet hasn’t figured out how to phrase it yet, perhaps you should go home and think it over more carefully," Taylor said with a faint smirk, his gaze lingering on Violet as he spoke slowly.
"Uncle Marvin, see our guest out."
His tone remained as gentle as ever, yet it carried an inexplicable chill.
The Taylor family’s butler stepped forward, giving Violet a slight bow.
"Miss Violet, this way—"
"I need money," Miss Violet blurted out, as though she had mustered every ounce of courage within her.
Her throat tightened as she forced the words out, her eyes fixed on Taylor.
"Taylor... could you lend me some money?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, laced with unmistakable shame.
Camilla’s eyes flickered with surprise This wasn’t what she had expected.
Taylor didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.
After exhaling a slow, curling plume of pale gray smoke, he finally lifted his gaze.
A faint, mocking smile played on his lips as he regarded Violet with detached amusement.
"Miss Violet hasn’t changed a bit over the years."
Though the words were spoken softly, Violet detected the unmistakable edge of mockery beneath them.
Her chest tightened as if gripped by an invisible hand, and her face gradually paled. "I’ll pay you back."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling yet defiant—her last stand.
Taylor’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze shifting to the butler.
"Take Miss Violet to the bank.
Let her withdraw whatever amount she needs."
*Whatever amount she needs.*
Coming from Taylor, those words carried undeniable weight.
Violet tried to read his expression, but the haze of smoke obscured his features, leaving only an unreadable silhouette.
Her throat burned with unspoken words, yet nothing came out.
Taylor said nothing more, merely flicking the ash from his spent cigarette with an indifferent flick of his fingers.
His sharp profile betrayed no emotion.
The butler, understanding the unspoken command, stepped forward with practiced courtesy.
"Miss Violet, I’ll arrange for someone to escort you to the bank immediately.
Her heart ached as if pierced by needles.
With one last lingering look at the man lounging on the sofa, she forced out her final words—slow, deliberate, and heavy with unspoken sorrow.
Before the words had fully left her lips, she was already following the butler out the door.
A closer look would reveal that Violet’s downcast eyes were faintly rimmed with red.
After the two departed, the living room plunged into absolute silence.
Taylor stood motionless, his narrowed eyes fixed on the door for a long while.
"You’re not fully recovered yet. You should cut back on smoking."
Camilla’s tone was casual, slicing through the suffocating tension in the air.
Taylor snapped out of his thoughts and stubbed out the cigarette in his hand.
Camilla knew he was referring to using her as a shield.
But this was Taylor’s personal matter, and it wasn’t her place to pry.
Just as she was about to bring up the acupuncture treatment, the butler returned, ushering in a kindly old woman.
Her clothes were simple, yet both wrists were adorned with intricate jewelry.
Taylor’s face broke into his usual refined smile—the picture of a perfect gentleman.
Camilla’s beautiful eyes narrowed slightly as she looked over.
This must be the sorceress Taylor had invited.
Grandma Porter settled into the reserved armchair and turned to Camilla with a smile.
"Mr. Taylor, is this the young lady who asked you to summon me?"
Calvin reached for the tea leaves beside him, preparing to brew a fresh pot for Grandma Porter.
Camilla interjected, smoothly taking over with practiced grace.
Taylor exchanged a glance with the butler before speaking gently to both women.
"I’ll leave you to talk.
Excuse me for a moment."
Camilla gave a slight nod.
Taylor stepped out, the butler following closely behind.