Spoiled by Eight Uncles (Lily) novel Chapter 996

Chapter 996 Unintentional Slap in the Face

Violet passed restlessly, tossing and turning, feeling restless all night.

In the morning, she got up listlessly, like a sleepwalker, and made some milk and toast.

While browsing through her phone, the hot search was still about the wedding of Anthony and Lisa, which made her mood even worse.

Suddenly, her yawn froze on her face, and her eyes widened.

Under the hot search for Crawford's wedding, there was another hot search, "A woman wanted to pursue Mr. Anthony at the wedding scene and was pinned down for an hour."

The woman in the picture looked disheveled and seemingly mentally ill. Wasn't that her?!

Violet looked at her disheveled self, trembling with anger.

Who took this photo?

This was a violation of her privacy.

After reading the comments, all of them were asking, "Who is this girl? Which one is she? Can someone please expose her?"

Suddenly, Violet felt relieved.

Luckily, her makeup was so messy that no one could recognize her.

Violet clicked on the photo and zoomed in, but the quality became even blurrier. A passerby must have taken it.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Because the photo was so blurry, no one could recognize her.

Thank goodness.

Violet was relieved that her makeup was ruined and no one could recognize her.

But in the next second, she just refreshed the page.

A new headline suddenly popped up.

"Shocking! The World's Youngest Genius Painter, Violet, Causes Chaos at the Wedding of the Crawford Group's CEO!"

Her face was magnified in high definition.

The photo was so blurry a moment ago that she could not recognize herself.

Who took such a high-definition photo now?!

Not only were there high-definition photos, but also high-definition videos.

In the footage, that crazy woman was struggling like a lunatic, being restrained by security guards.

After the Crawford family members had left, she still ran after them, stomping and throwing her bag on the ground.

In the end, she reluctantly picked it up and left in embarrassment.

Violet felt embarrassed when she saw netizens' derogatory comments in the comment section.

Someone commented, "So it's her. I couldn't find her online. Someone said she's a globally famous painter."

Elisha replied, "Globally famous? Sorry, I'm a foreign netizen. I've never heard of her."

Someone replied, "I took a look. This woman's tags are unexpected, including being a gentle, intellectual, independent modern woman, a once-in-a-century genius painter, and a talented woman. Do independent women like this still want to be mistresses?"

Another commented, "Don't talk nonsense! Mr. Anthony has nothing to do with her, not even a single hair on their legs!"

Another replied, "Trash, get lost. Bitch."

She had no choice but to subconsciously thought of Lawrence.

Yes, her master.

Violet immediately pretended to be forced to post on Twitter. "I'm helpless. Nowadays, netizens are so good at fabricating stories. How could I, as the proudest student of Mr. Lambert, do something that would ruin my future? Besides, even if I wanted to, my teacher wouldn't allow it! You all have misunderstood me."

Netizens were all amazed.

She thought they were blind.

The comparison photos were posted together. Even a three-year-old could tell they were the same person.

She was stubborn.

However, something even more exciting happened. Just as Violet posted, almost at the same time, Lawrence posted a statement. "Starting today, I am cutting off my mentor-student relationship with Violet."

When netizens saw it, they burst into laughter.

Violet posted at 11.59 pm, and Lawrence's statement was released at 11.59 pm.

This meant that Lawrence probably did not know about Violet's previous post.

It was an unintentional slap in the face, which was the most fatal.

Violet was so angry that she almost spat blood. It was the second time. Her master must have done it on purpose.

How can he do this?

She was the proudest student in his life. How could he bear to sever ties with her? He was proud of her.

Without me, how can his art be passed down? How can his ideas be immortalized for generations to come?