He Framed Me To Protect His Apprentice

Afraid Ella would be bored, Duncan insisted on putting her on Violet’s research team. One day she lost a file, and Duncan Morris said she was young and needed more understanding. The next day she broke a piece of equipment, and Duncan said she needed hands-on practice to learn. Then she leaked data, and he said her innocence was the rarest quality in society. No matter what chaos she caused, Duncan always defended Ella—and left Violet to pick up the pieces.

Violet was the one staying up all night to recreate missing documents, repair broken instruments, and recalculate parameters without rest. For the project’s success, she endured it over and over. But now, after such a devastating disaster, was she supposed to carry this burden too?

Her heart sank with despair as she got ready to refuse, when a young nurse hurried over. "Director Morris, Ms. Young is having another emotional episode. She’s asking to see you. Please, come quickly."

Duncan turned immediately, pausing only to glance back at her, as if he’d just remembered she was there. "Go back and deal with the aftermath. Also, write a five-thousand-word reflection and apologize publicly at tomorrow’s meeting." With that, he walked off without looking back, his hurried steps betraying just how rushed he was.

"Oh wow, Ms. Young just had a little scare, and Director Morris is already so worried. What a knight in shining armor!" someone gushed.

"Shh, his wife is right there. Keep your voice down," another whispered.

"What’s the big deal? Violet Morris always looks so stern, like everyone owes her something. She’s all about work and has no feminine charm. If I were Director Morris, I’d prefer someone as lively and sweet as Ms. Young too."

Violet kept her head down, chuckling bitterly as their gossip faded into the background. No one knew she’d been the one to turn down the marriage at first—that he’d been the one who pursued her relentlessly. Never mind. Once all this was sorted out, she’d talk to Duncan about a divorce.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed her mother being wheeled out of the operating room. "The surgery was successful, but she remains unconscious and will need close monitoring for twenty-four hours," the doctor told them.

Holding her mother’s cold hand, she was overwhelmed with grief. Just the day before, her mother and brother had come by to drop off a new outfit, as a good-luck gesture for the experiment. Her brother hadn’t wanted to leave, and Violet had agreed to let him stay, promising to take good care of him. Now she couldn’t bear to think about it, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She gently wiped her mother’s hands and face, massaging them and talking to her until she slowly woke the next morning. Her first words were, "Where is Rohan? I want to see Rohan."

She closed her eyes. "Mom, he’s gone."

A hard slap landed across her face. "Is this how you took care of him? He was only five, Violet Morris. Only five."

Her mother wept bitterly, her emotions eventually calming. "Tell me the truth. Was it your mistake that caused the lab explosion?"

She shook her head hard, but before she could explain, a crowd burst into the room, raining punches and kicks on her and cursing the whole time.

"Murderer, give me back my family!"

"If you hadn’t dragged my husband into your research, this never would have happened."

"The data was flawed, but you pushed for the experiment anyway. Were you that desperate for fame?"

She tried desperately to explain. She insisted the data was sound—that even she still didn’t know what caused the explosion—but no one listened.

"Director Morris has already released the accident report. Stop arguing!"

"It wasn’t me, I swear..."

But her pleas were drowned out by the noise as a thermos shattered. Her mother pointed a trembling finger at her. "Violet Morris, you did kill Rohan!"

"How many families have you ruined for your research? And now, for a title and a little glory, you let others perish with you! Violet Morris, you’re no daughter of mine."

She shook her head over and over, her voice hoarse and choked. "Mom, it’s not like that. It’s not."

Years ago, when her mother’s best friend, Mrs. Smith, wanted to rush home to see her critically ill husband, Violet had refused to let Mrs. Smith leave, begging her to stay two more days because the experiment was at a critical stage. In those two days, her husband passed away. She never got to see him one last time, and Mrs. Smith was consumed by grief, dying shortly after. Violet’s mother held on to that resentment for a long time, seeing her as lost to the madness of science, devoid of humanity. Their relationship had only begun to heal last year.

But her denials were futile. With her mother’s accusations further fueling the crowd’s anger, the blows became more brutal. From crouching defensively on the floor to lying helplessly on the ground, she shielded her head, biting her lip to stifle any cries.

A familiar pair of shoes—a signature style of Duncan’s—appeared in the room, halting the chaos. She looked up through bloodied eyes, seeking him with a silent plea. "Duncan, tell my mother I had no part in this."

He approached slowly, crouching beside her and gently stroking her head. "Violet, it’s okay to make mistakes. I’ll stand by you to face them together."