Chapter 22
Violet's POV
I took a deep breath and pushed the card back across the table to Julian, completely untouched.
"Mr. Hall, I accept your apology." I looked directly into his deep gray eyes, voice quiet but without hesitation. "But I can't take your money. I'm sitting here today only to thank you for helping me secure the orchestra audition opportunity. That's all."
Julian looked at the black card pushed back, brow moving almost imperceptibly.
Those eyes accustomed to controlling everything flashed with extremely complex emotion. No anger at being refused—instead, a deeper scrutiny.
He didn't insist further, very naturally returning the card to his suit's inner pocket.
"Alright." He responded quietly, tone calm yet carrying a composure and respect unique to those in power. "I respect your decision."
For the remainder of the meal, we didn't bring up topics of compensation or debt again.
Julian's manner maintained restrained gentlemanly conduct throughout. Even holding that cheap fast-food burger, he remained so elegant as if seated in a Michelin three-star private room.
After dinner, the Maybach drove smoothly through Brooklyn's streets in the night, finally stopping below my shabby apartment building.
I pushed open the car door, about to say goodbye.
"Violet." Julian suddenly called out.
I turned back to see him pull an extremely high-quality black business card from the storage box and hand it to me.
The card bore no complex titles—only a line of gold-embossed private number.
"Take it." His gaze in the dim cabin seemed especially deep, voice low and certain. "If Ethan dares trouble you again, or does anything crossing the line, call this number anytime. I'll handle him personally."
I looked at the card. That taut string in my heart was gently plucked.
This time, I didn't refuse. I reached out to accept the card, carefully tucking it into my pocket.
"Thank you, Mr. Hall. Good night."
He nodded slightly. The window slowly rose.
Watching the Maybach disappear at the street's end, I tightened my coat and turned into the dim stairwell.
The next morning, Manhattan's sky was overcast, seemingly brewing an autumn rain.
I carried that dark red violin case, walking through the academy's tree-lined path as usual.
Just reaching the teaching building steps, my phone suddenly vibrated wildly in my pocket.
The caller ID showed my freshman year roommate, Lily.
Since I'd moved out of the dorm, we rarely contacted each other.
I answered with confusion: "Lily? Good morning, what's wrong?"
"Good Lord, Violet! You finally answered!" Lily's voice in the receiver was extremely anxious, even carrying some suppressed excitement. "Go check the academy's internal forum now! It's full of posts about you! What's with that photo? Is it real?"
"What photo?" I was completely baffled, brow furrowing tightly.
"Just look yourself! I'm sending you the link!"
After hanging up, a message from Lily immediately appeared at the top of the screen.
I clicked the link. The page jumped to the music academy's gossip forum.
The post pinned at the very top, already marked "explosive," had an extremely glaring title:
《Shocking! Ice Queen or Gold Digger? String Section's Violet Kane's Late-Night Rendezvous with Sugar Daddy at Cheap Diner!》
My head buzzed. Blood instantly rushed to the top of my head.
I clicked open the post with trembling fingers. Inside was an extremely clear photo.
The photo was obviously taken secretly from outside the restaurant through glass.
The background was precisely last night's "Mary's Diner."
In the photo, I sat in the red booth, head slightly lowered, eyes reddened, looking as if crying.
The man sitting across from me—though only his broad shoulders and half a side profile were captured, that expensive navy haute couture suit on his body and the priceless Patek Philippe on his wrist stood out extremely jarringly against the shabby diner background.
The poster even specially circled that watch's model in red, adding an extremely vicious caption below:
"No wonder our Violet isn't afraid of bankruptcy anymore—turns out she's hooked a big sugar daddy. Heard she miraculously got a supplementary slot with the city symphony yesterday. Now it's clear how that slot really came about, right? A future bought with her body—truly disgusting."
Comments below had already reached hundreds of floors, all filled with unbearable mockery and abuse.
I stared hard at the screen, fingertips ice-cold.
Panic spread through my chest, but I quickly forced myself to calm down.
I carefully enlarged the photo, examining it thoroughly.
Fortunately.
The photo's angle was tricky, partially blocked by the neon sign on the window.
Julian's face was completely hidden in shadow. No one could recognize the mighty Hall family power holder through this photo.
I let out a long breath of relief.
If because of my dinner I'd dragged Julian into this kind of low, vile campus scandal, I'd truly be guilty beyond redemption.
But I absolutely couldn't let this filthy water be poured over my head.
I'd just gotten the orchestra position. I couldn't let this baseless rumor destroy my reputation.
I immediately stood in place, opened email, and quickly sent a sternly worded message to the teacher managing the forum, demanding immediate deletion of this privacy-invading, defamatory post.
Then I directly used my real-name account to reply at the bottom of the post.
"The person in the photo is an elder who once helped me. Last night was just an ordinary thank-you dinner. Regarding the symphony orchestra slot, I earned it through formal audition performance. Stop spreading rumors immediately, or I'll directly contact lawyers to pursue the poster's legal responsibility."
After clicking send, I closed my phone, took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and walked into the teaching building.
The first morning class was Western Music History.
When I pushed open the lecture hall door, the somewhat noisy classroom instantly quieted for a second.
Countless gazes like spotlights fell on me in unison.
Those eyes held inquiry, disdain, and undisguised schadenfreude.
Several girls I normally had no interaction with huddled together, pointing at me and whispering. Their hushed voices seemed especially jarring in the quiet classroom.
"Look, that's her..."
"Really couldn't tell. Usually acts so high and mighty..."
I gripped my canvas bag strap tightly, nails digging into my palms, but I showed no retreat whatsoever.
I walked straight down the aisle without looking aside, took an empty seat in the back row, sat down, pulled out notebook and pen from my bag, and calmly waited for the professor to begin class.