Ch32 - Perfect partner

Two days later, Violet officially reported to Edward’s studio in Tribeca.

The front area doubled as a reception and display space, with a large glass cabinet showcasing Edward’s watches and restored pieces. Behind that, separated by the glass, was the main workshop.

The receptionist led Violet through.

Four big workbenches were arranged in two rows, close enough that people could talk without raising their voices. Aside from Edward, there were four others in the room, each bent over their own projects. Precision tools, magnifying lamps, and trays of tiny screws covered every table.

The air smelled faintly of metal and oil—an odd mix that Violet, strangely, found comforting. She inhaled a little deeper. Some people just liked smells others couldn’t stand.

“Mr. Hale, Miss Violet’s here,” the receptionist called out.

Edward immediately looked up from a pile of sketches, his face lighting up. “AH, perfect timing—welcome! Come, let me introduce you.”

He gave her a quick tour around the workshop, introducing everyone: a senior craftsman in his fifties, two younger local technicians who worked on movements, a soft-spoken admin assistant, and the receptionist she’d already met.

After the brief hellos, Edward led her to an empty workstation. It was covered with tools and parts, neatly arranged but clearly used often. He moved a few things aside and smiled.

“Here—it’s all yours from now on.”

Violet took it in with quiet awe. Everything here was at least a hundred times more precise than the tools she had at home. She reached out to touch one of the small movements, fingertips brushing the cool metal.

“Eager already, huh?” Edward said with a grin. “But you’ll have to give me a bit to finish this piece first. Once I’m done, we’ll start your training.”

“Can I watch while you work?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

An hour later, the real lesson began. As Edward suspected, Violet picked up the terminology and parts layout instantly. She handled tweezers, cloths, and screws with surprising dexterity—only needing a few small corrections on grip and posture.

By midday, Edward stood behind her, silently observing as she examined a stopped watch. He wanted to see how she diagnosed issues on her own—and to his surprise, she pointed out a bent wheel shaft without hesitation.

Holy hell. He’d hit the jackpot.

“Let me guess,” he asked, intrigued, “you’ve been tinkering with your family’s old watches for years, haven’t you?”

Violet’s hands paused. “No… actually, I’ve only been doing this for a little over a month. I’ve always been interested, though. Just recently had the chance to really try it.”

Only a month? Edward blinked. 

That didn’t sound like someone from a wealthy family—no formal training, no expensive tools, yet she already had an instinct for it. Maybe her family didn’t approve of her hobby? 

He considered asking, then stopped himself. A prodigy was a prodigy; origins didn’t matter.

He’d gone to that exhibition expecting nothing, worrying over how to find new blood for his craft—and here she was, like a rare gem falling right into his lap.

With her focus and natural touch, she might not even need five or six years—maybe less—to become a fully fledged watchmaker.

“You’ve got talent,” he said sincerely. “Keep at it and you’ll make a name for yourself in this field.”

Violet smiled faintly. “I hope so.”

For the next couple of hours, Edward let her work solo on a lightly damaged watch. From time to time, he glanced her way—she was quiet, composed, and remarkably patient.

When it was about time to wrap up, he pulled over a chair and sat beside her. “Let’s see how it’s coming along.”

He used a fine-tipped tool to point at the dial. “This section here—you can refine that angle a little more…”

Violet watched intently, following every motion of his hand. After he finished explaining, she silently repeated each step in her head, memorizing it.

Even after he’d stopped talking, her gaze stayed fixed—completely absorbed in thought.

When Edward turned his head, he suddenly found her face inches from his—delicate features, soft skin, not a single hair out of place. The tidy updo only made her oval face more striking.

The next words he’d planned to say caught in his throat and never made it out.

In that moment, Edward caught himself wondering—how perfect would it be if his future partner were someone who loved watches as much as he did…

“Edward?” Violet’s voice pulled him back to earth.

He blinked, cleared his throat. “Ah—right. Next, you’ll record the time deviation.”

He pointed toward a white timing machine beside her, about the size of a game controller, with a small built-in screen.

“Dylan will show you how to use it in a sec,” Edward said, giving quick instructions before heading out of the room.

Dylan, the senior craftsman who’d been with Edward since their days in England, strolled over with the device in hand. “Huh. I always thought that guy only got soft around gears and screws. Didn’t think he had it in him for people too.”

Violet let out a quiet, unsure laugh. “The first time I saw him, I honestly thought he was a university professor.”

Dylan smirked. “Oh, he’d love that. He’s stricter than any professor I’ve met, trust me.”

After a few jokes, Dylan began showing her how to calibrate and read the machine. Once she got the hang of it, the day was nearly over. Julian had told her she was free most days—he only needed her around for evening events.

Edward asked her to clean and return the tools to their trays before heading out.

The following week passed in the same rhythm—quiet mornings, the soft tick of gears, the metallic scent of oil, and the occasional smile from Edward when she did something right.

Then, one evening after work, her phone buzzed. A message from Julian:

“Jacuzzis party. Driver’s on the way. Clothes are here—just bring yourself.”

The party was being held at a private villa on the outskirts of the city. Late autumn had brought a chill, hot-tub parties were suddenly back in trend—people soaking in steaming water under neon lights, pretending it was still summer.

Before the car even reached the gate, Violet could already hear the heavy bass thumping from inside, laughter and clinking glasses blending with it. Orange and white lights flashed in sync with the beat.

When the car rolled up to the entrance, a guard stepped forward and held out a hand. “Sorry, parking’s full. No more cars inside.”

The driver leaned out the window. “We’re from Ashford.”

The guard didn’t budge. If anything, his tone hardened. “Doesn’t matter who it is. You’ll have to get out here.”

The driver frowned. “What? There’s plenty of space in there—look!”

“It’s fine,” Violet interrupted softly. “I’ll get out here.”

The driver circled around to open the door for her. As she stepped out, a shiver ran down her spine. The air was cold and sharp; her jacket was too thin for the temperature.

She followed a neatly trimmed path lined with shrubs and trees. To her right, a lineup of flashy cars gleamed under the lights—Ferraris, Bentleys, McLaren, other sport cars she couldn’t named—and, ironically, several empty parking spots.

Violet lowered her gaze and followed a housemaid toward the entrance.

“Hi, Violet!”

She looked up. Lydia stood at the doorway, wrapped in a robe over a blue bikini, a wide grin on her face and arms open in exaggerated welcome.

“Welcome to my villa!”