Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regret. “Well that’s just.. Unexpected..” Wonka’s voice quivered, much like a child's, eyes shimmering all shades of blue and violet that expressed an unreadable mix of emotions. Regret tinged his features most, followed by surprise? Dismay? Violet shifted uncomfortably in her mother’s tight grip, unnerved by the disarmed chocolatier. The atmosphere grew tense in the quiet room, silence punctured only by a constant fizzing and bubbling sound that surrounded them.

“I- um, s’pose that means you’ve won?” Momentarily forgetting the events that had just passed, Violet grinned up at her mother, searching for indications of approval on her face. Her mother’s piercing gaze was trained on Wonka.

“Oh, how wonderful! Violet, you’ve won! So what’s this prize, Mr. Wonka?” Her voice was slightly breathless with greed. His eyes did not leave Violet.

“My entire factory.” Came a weak voice. Another toothy grin, chomping down on a squishy piece of gum that sounded similar to the squeaking of Wonka’s gloves as he nervously fidgeted.

“I told ya I would win the special prize at the end! So, what, I’m the new owner? How’s this thing gonna work?” He crouched down so that he was level with her. Violet seized up once again as Wonka’s eyes met hers. They were the type of eyes that made her want to shrink further into her mother’s arms. The type that made her believe he was looking through all of her thoughts, picking out all the rotten ones.

“Are you really gonna leave everything behind and come live with me at the factory?” There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘everything’. Wonka hadn’t planned for her to be the winner. He hadn’t planned for Charlie and his goshdarn grandfather to ‘help themselves’ to the fizzy lifting drinks and get themselves trapped on the ceiling. He had planned for her to take the gum, not for her to listen to him. Although he recognized certain parts of her that would undoubtedly be good for business, she was far from what he’d imagined would one day take over the factory. That slight emphasis was his way of giving her the option to leave if she wanted to.

“Live with you?” Squish. Squish. Nose wrinkled and eyes wide as she chewed her gum.

“Yah.”

“Mother?” Violet looked up to her grown doppelganger, a frantic expression on her features.

“Uh, little girl.. your mother is included on the list of things you hafta leave behind.” Ms. Beauregard's smile dropped briefly, but it picked up again after a split second.

“Oh, Violet! How wonderful! Of course..” Nudge. “..She will come and live with you.”

“..Marvellous.” Came another weak response. “Well, we best move along. Lotsa stuff to do before the day’s out.”

“This is your new room..” Wonka’s hands fluttered around the side of his hair again. “Do you like it?”

Violet walked in, scanning the room. There really had been a lot to do before the day was out. Forms to sign, things to prepare and finally a mother to say goodbye to. A mother who looked strangely content to be leaving her daughter in a strange country with a strange man in a strange factory all alone. The bedroom was a child’s dream come true. A bed on top of a platformed structure sat in the centre of the room, with a ladder to go up and a slide to go down. Underneath the platform was an ‘office’ type area with a desk, whiteboards and a fluffy purple couch. Toys and teddy bears were arranged around the room. Large bookcases that went from the ceiling to the floor, and a chessboard next to them. Full length windows, half covered by thick curtains. In one corner of the room, there was a telescope to look out at all the stars. Hesitantly, Violet walked in further and cleared her throat. She had barely uttered a single word since she'd found out what she was in for.

“Wonka?” She asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yah?” He answered too quickly. Violet turned around to look at him, tilting her head to the side as she looked over the strange chocolatier standing in the door frame. “

Why didn’t Charlie have a song?” There was a pause. It was probably only a second or two, but it felt far too long for the both of them. Violet's shoulders were tense. She'd sensed something wasn't quite right throughout the tour, but now that she'd had time to think about it, it didn't make sense. All the others had a song, but him. Her gaze meets his, and he almost looks like he's been caught out before he covers with one of his signature giggles.

“Oh, that. I dunno, guess the Oompa Loompas didn’t really think anything was wrong with him. Who knows?” His words were pointed, and Violet immediately felt the point as if it were jabbed into her chest. A flash of something unsure crossed the girl's face for a split second, but she caught it and turned to glare at him defensively.

“I’m not stupid, you really think I’d believe that?”

“Maybe. If you’re not stupid, then you can go ahead and figure it out for yourself then.” His grin widened, somehow showing even more teeth. Violet felt a thrill of fear, she thought he looked like an alligator right before it snatched up and chomped down on its prey.

“Hungry?”

“No.” Violet felt sick.

“Too bad, kiddo. I’ve already organised a congratulatory dinner. Let’s not waste it.” The way his teeth bared as he finished his sentence sent a shiver down her spine. The two made their way to the dining room in the Wonkavator. The room was well-lit, with huge windows that overlooked the vast expanse of emptiness that sat behind the factory. A long table sat in the middle of the room, with one chair on each end.

Wonka sat on one end, and Violet sat on the other. An Oompa Loompa came out and whispered in the Chocolatier’s ear, who nodded in response, and then scurried away. Violet would still have to get used to the sight of tiny little humanoid figures. Wonka rested his elbows on the table, fingertips resting on each other. He watched Violet without any actual expression, though his eyes were sharp with curiosity. The young girl’s throat tightened as the realisation that she was really and truly alone with him. The lack of any distractions and dialogue drummed that into her, and she shrank into her seat and squeezed her eyes shut.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

The thought repeated in her head, as if it would come true if she said it enough. Click her heels three times, and be magically transported home where it smelt of citrus chemicals and fresh linen instead of that overwhelming cloying, sweet scent that bore down on her. She thought it was pleasant when she first arrived at the factory, but somewhere between the inventing room and the television room it had become sickly. She wasn’t exactly sure when, just that by the time the lights switched off and Wonka removed his sunglasses to ask how many children were left, her stomach was churning.

She opened her eyes. Nope, she was definitely not home. The chocolatier across from her was now looking down at his plate, cutting up the food in front of him.

“I’m not your enemy, Violet. You’re free to stay, or leave, as you please. Remember that.” He said that almost offhandedly, the tone conversational, but his words seemed carefully chosen. Violet inhaled deeply. She couldn’t leave. She knew she couldn’t. Not on his account, but her own. She was far too proud for a bit of fear to get to her.

“I’ll stay.” She said, her tone certain, as she began cutting into her own meal.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, starshine!” 

She rolled over, pulling the new-smelling, stiff covers over her head. 

She heard footsteps, loud heels echoing on the tiled floor. 

“C’mon now, little girl. Lotsa stuff to do today.” Wonka’s voice was a sweet falsetto, struggling to mask annoyance. “I thought the alarm was already set up, I’ll get onto that.”

“I’m tired. I wanna sleep in.” Came a muffled, groggy voice. She was tired, she’d barely slept a few hours. The small amount of sleep she did manage to get was dreadful. Her dreams were too vivid, the colours too bright and the scents too strong, and she was caught in a state of tossing and turning before slipping into another bizarre dream for most of the night.

“I’ll tip a bucket of water on you if you don’t get up. You’re the new heir to the factory, Violet. That means no dillying or dallying! Kay?”

Violet threw off the covers, and glared down at Wonka over the side of the bed. 

“Fine.” 

Violet met Wonka outside of her room once she was showered and changed. He began walking immediately down the corridor and into the waiting glass elevator, idly chatting about some of his new inventions. Violet sullenly followed the bubbly man, simultaneously taking in too much and nothing at all. 

“Why'd you say yes?” That question startled Violet out of her thoughts. She hesitated. 

“You don't want to be here, so why'd you say yes?” He continued. 

“I- I don't know. My mother wanted me to. And, I’m tryna embrace more opportunities...”

“You don't seem like the kind of gal that does what people say even when ya don't like it.”

“I'm not, and I don't! But it's my mother, and nothing I could ever do would make her as proud as this would..”

“Why do you care how proud she is? The only reason I'm in this factory is because I didn-” He stopped himself abruptly, lips pursing and brows furrowing. “Uh, let’s not go there. I just don’t see why you should care about that.”

“By saying yes I would be the perfect daughter in her eyes. I’d be a winner. I’d be famous. I’d be successful. And I’d be out of her hair.” Violet said quietly, dropping off into a sigh at the end. 

“She doesn’t want you around?” He asked, glancing back at her curiously as they walked.

“No, I don’t think so.” She replied with pursed lips. She could have continued, but decided it was far too complicated to explain- or even understand in the first place. Their relationship had always been weird. It gave the impression of glamour and success, the impression of closeness. Every outfit Violet had, her mother had a similar one to match with. She wasn’t sure if it were to give the impression of closeness, or to get closer to her achievements, but it was a front. 

“Well, consider that a bonus. You can’t run a chocolate factory with a family hanging over you like an old, dead goose. So you shouldn’t want her around either. A chocolatier has to run free and solo! They have to follow their dreams. Gosh darn the consequences! Ah-look at me, I had no family, and I’m a giant success!” Wonka paused, glancing back again. Violet had stopped walking, and was now looking at the ground with a pensive expression.

“Consider this your very first lesson. In fact, this will be your most important lesson. You answer to one person only. You are only concerned about one person being proud. Only this person’s opinions matter. You must rely on this person alone. Do you know who that is, Violet?”

“You?”

There was a flicker of surprise in Wonka’s eyes. “Oh, no. I meant you.”

“Oh.” Violets eyebrows raised. “Me?”

“Mhm. It's all you.” He turned quickly and resumed walking, motioning her to follow behind him, pensiveness now permeating his own expression that was hidden from the girl. He hadn't liked her from the start, he'd thought of her as just another rotten egg. But still, he can't deny felt flattered that she thought he was supposed to rely on him, as well as a reluctant acknowledgement that he could somewhat relate to what she said about her mother. He knew very well what it had been like to grow up under the care of a parent whose only objective was their child's 'success', however they classified that. She hurried to catch up, noticing his fingers rubbing together and the squeaking sound that accompanied the curious action.

“And what about you? Aren’t I supposed to do what you tell me to do? What happens if I don’t?”

“You should do what I tell you. If you don’t, then you will fail to be a suitable heir. Let's move along, then. I wanna show you something.”

The two walked quietly down the hall and into the Wonkavator. Wonka pressed the ‘Candy 101’ button. Violet eyed the button next to it, named ‘SECRET’. 

“What’s that one?” She asked. 

“Secret recipes.”

“Will I get to see them?” 

“That depends on whether or not you’re a deep undercover agent. I suppose you will one day. I dunno when that’ll be, probably after the theory and practical work. That’s when the super-duper fun stuff happens, you get to apply that all that knowledge to understanding my best and most prized inventions.” He trilled excitedly, sighed, before finishing with a more wistful tone, “That’s gonna take a while.”

The two arrived at the Candy 101 room. It was a library-like room, with a mini classroom in the middle. A classroom one teacher’s desk and one student desk. 

“Lessons will commence Monday! In the meantime, you can make yourself familiar with the factory. Kinda. The Oompa Loompas will escort you round any rooms you’ve already been in. Just don't go into any rooms you haven't already been in, ‘Kay? You’ll see them all in good time, but most of them are.. unsafe in certain situations..” 

Violets lips pursed. She wouldn't be doing any of that. Even with a guide, unsafe was a gross understatement. 

“We’ll start with home-schooling. To begin with, anyway. That way I can incorporate the things you need to know about candy and running an empire with the standard school stuff. There’s just so much to learn in so little time. I started when I was a little older than you, and even now I don’t know even half of what I would like to know. Time’s a tickin’.” 

She’d stopped listening halfway. Running an empire. Violet liked the sound of that. Wonka noticed.

Chapter Text

Wonder. Violet’s eyes shimmered shades of green and blue, widening at the small vial on the table.

Wonka grinned down at his heir, soaking up her reaction. He didn’t like her when she was cocky and fronted, but when that front was pushed to the back he could see that she was just like any other kid. Full of wonder with an air of magic that adulthood had yet to strip from them. More than that, she had a passion for this work. He liked that.

Almost a month had passed since Violet had came to the factory, and Wonka was beginning to think it wasn’t a horrible mistake after all. The two had their ups and downs, it was true- actually no, Wonka thought. Their relationship was more akin to a rollercoaster. Up, down, around, upside down, some screaming, back up again. Yeah. But, at the end of the ride there was just a whole lot of fun and only occasional feelings of nausea. She got candy. She liked creating it. She liked winning. That’s all he wanted.

“I did that!” She exclaimed. Wonka rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, ya did.” She cocked her head to the side, observing the shifting colours inside of the vial. Blue, purple, silver, pink. Their idea was to create a candy that constantly changed colours.

“How did I do that?” Violet shook her head, still mesmerized.

“It’s in your notes, you nut.”

“I know, I know. I just didn’t expect it to work.”

“Why not? I talked you through the elements of the formula. You understood it perfectly.”

“Everything you create just seems like a magic thing not everyone can do..”

“Well, how’s about that! You must be magic too. I had a hunch, you know. Right from the beginning.” There was a little twinkle in his eye as he said that, and it made Violet absolutely glow. Still, she rolled her eyes. She knew he was proud of her, and that feeling made her positively giddy, but she always caught herself. She wasn't sure what it was, but she was rather susceptible to his praise. Ever since that first first in the factory, she hadn't brought up the Charlie situation again. It was clear it would be in her best interests to ignore it, and for the most part she had, but whenever she felt herself getting a little bit too comfortable with how things were going she brought herself back a step or two.

“No, you didn’t.” The month had been trying, more than he expected. It had been surprisingly difficult to adjust to another person living in the factory with him, so he tried to keep a strict schedule of what needed to be done. Mornings were for the boring school subjects, he had Oompa Loompas specially trained to help him out with this. Afternoons were for himself, to recharge and get some much needed alone-time. Evenings were Willy’s favourite, it was when he got to teach Violet about candy. He was good at teaching, and he liked it, and he liked candy, but surprisingly the best part for him was seeing all of the little milestones Violet could hit. In these, he could relive the little milestones of his own. He wondered what it would be like if he’d had someone to guide him through it all. Ever since the day of the tour, he’d found himself bound up with memories. Incapacitated, sometimes. They were painful, and he had spent too many years packing them neatly away in boxes that he thought couldn’t be touched. He liked these ones, though. It reminded him that remembering wasn’t always painful. Sometimes it was good. 

Chapter Text

“Oh, Violet! You gotta visitor! Yer, uh, m-m..” The chocolatier’s face scrunched up. 

“Oh, spit it out. My mother?” 

“Yeah. That. She’s here to see ya. You, take Violet’s..” He gestured to his worker, waiting patiently for his instructions.

“Mother.” She replies easily, already knowing of his difficulty saying such words.

“..down to the tea room. We’ll meet ya there in a few minutes. Now, Violet. I’m gonna ask you again, what temperature do you cook taffy to?” 

“250 degrees Fahrenheit.” Violet rolled her eyes and popped her gum. 

“Say ‘ah’” 

“Uh?” 

A red gloved hand flashed out and took the piece of gum right off her tongue. Wonka flicked it into a nearby bin. 

“Nasty habit. Nastier than a habit of nuns. I don't like nuns.” He said, shaking his head in distaste and revealing his teeth in a small grimace.  

“Why you...! That was my record winning gum!” 

He held up a hand to his mouth delicately, stifling a giggle. “Can’t imagine how it would matter. Why would you worry about a trifling and trivial triumph such as that when you’ve got so much more to look forward to! I’ve broken countless records, and I expect that you do the same in time. I gotta give it to ya, kiddo. You’ve got a winner’s mind, but you’re looking in loser’s territory.” 

Violet didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. She crossed her arms and stared defiantly up at him.

“I know you won't admit it, but I know you know that I know very well how much you know I know I'm right.” Wonka grinned victoriously. 

“Guess we have more in common than you thought.”

“Huh.. I guess we do. Well, let’s get a wiggle on.” Wonka’s cane gave a little jump in his hand as the two wiggled onwards. They arrived at the tea room in the Wonkavator, giving a small ‘ding’ when it arrived. 

“Mother!” Violet grinned, eyes lighting up and she spotted her mother sitting at the table of a very elaborate, whimsically styled tea room. It reminded her of Alice in Wonderland, which happened to be her favorite book. Her mother didn’t enjoy reading her books, so she read it to herself. Nevertheless, she ran to her as soon as the Wonkavator doors would allow her, arms wrapping around the large mink coat that encased her slim, shapely form. 

Wonka took a seat at the table, hands clasped together. Squeak . 

“Oh, Violet, you’re looking great. Mr. Wonka, how are you?” 

“Fine and dandy, Ms. Beauregard.”

“Mother! I wanna show you my room. It’s so rad!” 

Mr Wonka raised an eyebrow. Well, she coulda told him that.

“Ooh! I made some candy, too. Made it all by myself, even thought up the idea too. Chewing gum that never loses its flavor! I mean, Wonka helped, but I made it. Wanna try some?” 

Ms. Beauregard gave a plastic looking smile that rivalled even Wonka’s, and placed a hand on her chest. 

“Sounds like you’ve been up to a lot, huh? It’s a relief to hear that. I can’t stay too long, I’m afraid. I’m in town for an interview! Starts in an hour, and I just need you to sign a few things for me, honey.” 

Violet’s smile dropped. “Will you come back after?” 

“Oh, sweetie, you know I’d love to but I’m just so busy these days! You’ve garnered a lot of attention for your poor ol’ mother. Actually, I’m flying to Paris this afternoon!” Her voice was bursting with excitement, effectively draining Violet of her own. Not missing a beat, the woman placed a folder on the table. “I just need you to sign these two, then I’ll get going.” 

“What are they?” 

“Oh, just permission slips and the likes. So the television can use your footage.” 

Violet signed where prompted, and her mother packed her things up, leaving her with a sugary sweet goodbye and no hug. She had, however, attempted to hug Wonka, and when met with resistance settled for a blown kiss and a sensual wink. A warm, full cup of tea was left where she had been sipping, not even a trace of lipstick around the brim.

Violet looked at Wonka, who was sitting there looking like he wanted to say something. His lips pursed and unpursed, and he couldn't decide whether to look at her or look away. 

“What?” She finally snapped. 

“Oh, nuthin’..” He whistled and looked away. 

“I-I..” Violet’s usually confident, clear voice was suddenly small and quivering. Suddenly the little girl, surrounded by cakes and pastries and tea and a confused looking chocolatier, burst into tears. 

Wonka’s eyes widened, as he recoiled slightly. Marvellous, a crying child. What does one do with a crying child? He knew that babies usually stopped crying when you gave them a bottle, but Violet wasn’t a baby so that did not apply to her. Should he feed her?

Wonka spotted an extra pretty cupcake on the stand, grabbed it and held it up in front of her face. 

“Ya want one? They’re de lish .” 

Violet paused, looking at the cupcake, and cried even harder. Her small body was racked with sobs. Despite their personality clashes and disagreements, Wonka felt some sort of urge. He wasn’t sure what it was. After all, he’d never encountered a crying child. His gloves squeaked and squelched and he slowly brought up a clasped fist to her back. His fingers relaxed, and he gently placed his hand over her fragile looking shoulders. 

The sensation of physical contact with people often had the strangest effects on Wonka. He wasn’t exactly raised in a way that was conducive to any display of affection. Because of that, he seldom went out of his way to initiate it. More often than not, contact came to him as a surprise. An unpleasant, unwanted surprise. 

He never really had a reason to reach out and touch someone and now that he did, he discovered that it was kinda.. nice. 

So, he got off his chair and hunkered down to her level, where she was ready and waiting to give him a hug that he, for once, didn’t mind. 

Violet’s sobs slowly turned to hiccups and the tears eventually stopped flowing. She wiped them off with her sleeve and gave him a smile. He looked at her for a while, eyebrows slightly furrowed. It had felt kinda nice, but in a way that was difficult to pin down. It felt like a.. relief, almost. It wasn’t until he had hugged her that he realised almost instantly a type of worry was washed away. A worry that Violet would make amends with her mother, and he would be left alone. For him, Violet was the only person who knew the type of hurt he had felt. Abandonment. He didn’t want that to change. He wanted to be relied on by her. 

He blinked, eyes focusing, pushing the thoughts back to a place where he could deal with them later. 

“Just one thing..” Wonka started. 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t ever sign anything without reading it first. That’s what I was gunna say before. Also, I’ve come to the conclusion that your mother is not a human woman, rather some sort of well-defined pile of flesh animated by a highly impure soul.” 

A small but strong fist collided with Wonka’s chest. 

“Ouch! That hurt!” Evidently, not all physical contact was enjoyable. 

Chapter Text

The next two years would fly by as if no time were passing at all. Effectively, it was as if they were in a time-bubble, with little else to verify the passing of weeks other than the development, and production of new candies.

It was winter when she first arrived at the factory, and her distrust in Wonka would gradually thaw along with the snow as spring and summer came with their time together. He’d softened a little, since that day her mother had visited. She’d softened towards him too. They’d still have their spats, but more often she would find herself growing reliant on the praise she could garner from him whenever she’d do something right or something unexpected. It always came with a genuine hum of delight, something she was unfamiliar with. The girl was used to having high expectations put on her, but the result was entirely different. She wasn’t forced to practise five different sports until her feet bled. She could win countless trophies and tournaments, but the look in her mother’s eyes was always different. She could always see her mind racing, hopping straight onto the next thing her daughter could conquer rather than relishing in her current success. 

It felt different with Wonka. It was almost.. Easier, in a way, when it was his expectations she strove to meet rather than her mothers. She didn’t know the end goal to her mother’s incessant pushing. She supposed it was success, but it was success without clear guidance. Her mother had never won a karate tournament. She’d never broken a world record. Violet didn’t actually know what it was her mother had done in her life. But when she tried to visualise how it was before, she felt like she was being pushed, and every step would be her own small footprint marching towards something unclear. These days, she felt as if she were simply following the large footprints left in front of her, with nothing but her own will to spur her on. 

She wanted to follow his steps, and one day leave footprints as big as his. 

A delighted giggle filled the room.

Wonka looked over to see a dapperly dressed Violet walking to him, her face delighted to see him. 

“Y’know, I’ve never once seen you in anything less than a full tailored suit, Mr. Wonka.” 

The Great Chocolatier flushed slightly, and pulled his intricately patterned robe around him tightly. He was, of course, wearing pyjamas underneath but that didn’t distract from his embarrassment. 

Violet blinked, surprised by his vulnerability. To her, he had seemed like some sort of higher being that knew everything, could never be wrong, and most importantly could not be embarrassed by being seen in pyjamas. 

Was that even a thing to be embarrassed about? Violet liked pyjamas. When she lived with her mother, she had answered the door in them a few times without a second thought.

“I- I’m sick, Violet. Didn’t Annaoomp tell ya that? There are lotsa places you could be right now, and here is definitely not one of ‘em.” 

“She did, I just came to see if you’re okay.” 

“I’m not okay!” Wonka threw his hand over his head dramatically, leaning back on his pillows. “I’m Willy Wonka.” A giggle burst from his lips. “And I am sick, and you're gonna be sick too if ya don't skedaddle.”

“Oh, pish posh. You’ll be fine.” Violet plonked herself down on the dying chocolatier’s bed, much to his distaste. He shuffled over a bit, to avoid contact but Violet just moved in closer. 

“I’ve never seen you get sick before. I haven’t been sick while I was here, either.” 

“Oh, it’s my own fault.” He said with a sniffle. “I’ve been working on this lil thing called WonkaVite, a health supplement. Unfortunately, it isn’t quite right yet..” 

“You didn’t tell me about that one.” 

“I didn’t, it’s a personal side project.” 

“Oh, cool! I’ve been working on something too.” 

“What is it?” 

“I made it this morning, nothing too special.” 

Wonka grinned, sitting up slightly. “How wonderful! You sure are taking initiative, Violet.” 

“Wanna try it?” 

“You betcha.” 

“Close your eyes and open your mouth, it’s a surprise.” 

Wonka closed his eyes and said ‘aaah’. She unwrapped the candy and plopped it in his mouth. 

A few seconds went by before Wonka opened his eyes. “Hey, that’s pretty good.. Lemon?” 

“Yup! And?” 

“Now it’s.. is that peppermint? Hm. I’m tasting chamomile now, too.”

“That’s right! A flavour changing candy. Lemon helps clear your nasal passages, peppermint reduces coughs and chamomile is all around good for cold and flu symptoms. I thought it would make you feel a little better.”

“That’s marvellous, Violet! Y’know what? I feel better already. I’m glad to see you’re taking initiative.”

She pushed for a moment, eyeing him. He was smiling. A nice, warm one, eyes gleaming with pride. He looked almost touched. Good. He was impressed, and he was in a good mood. She cleared her throat. 

‘Don’t tell me your throat’s getting bad too.. or are you buttering me up so you can ask me something?” He raised an eyebrow, still sucking on the lolly, cheeks hollowing slightly with each suck. 

Her cheeks flushed. She was caught. She cleared her throat again, no matter. Just ask. 

“Well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’ve decided that I want to go to school next year. It’ll be everyone’s first year at high school, so I won’t be the only new kid. I want to make friends, and I think it’ll be good to get out of the factory a bit. I’ll still take my studies here seriously. See? I formulated and made that all by myself, this morning! I know I can do it.”

Wonka blinked, a little taken aback. Honestly, he hadn’t even considered the thought of her going back to school. Home-schooling had been working exceptionally well for the two of them, blending in regular school subjects with confection seamlessly. Why on earth would she want to go to boring old school when she could be here? School had been a horrendous experience for him, he had need prodded and poked, teased relentlessly for the meagre amount of years he had attended. He did, admittedly, have a metal helmet attached to his head that stretched his lips out into a ghastly smile, but from what he had experienced it didn’t matter if you had an entire scaffold on your head or not. Kids would always find a way to pick on even the most normal kids. 

He did suppose it would be best for her. She had been effectively isolated for the past few years, like he had. But she was a child, and he was an adult that chose isolation. She would undoubtedly need socialisation, but still.. the thought of her leaving bothered him. It’s only a few hours a day, he thought. After all, she wasn’t with him all day. They spent lots of hours apart. Though he always knew where she was. Tucked away safely in the factory. 

“Plus, I just really want to make some more friends. You’re great, and all of the Oompa Loompas are great, but I really want some friends my age. And species.” 

Oh yeah, friends. Not just socialisation, actual friends. Would they want to come into the factory? He didn’t like that thought much. But if he didn’t let them come into the factory, how would he know if they were good for her? What if they took her away? What if they were everything she needed and he-

“Please?” 

He blinked, swallowed and pushed the fresh worry down. “Oh, hah. yeah. Okay. Definitely! It’ll be good for you. I’ll get that sorted.”

“Really! Are you freaking kidding me? Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She did a few little jumps, overcome with excitement and before she could stop herself she threw her arms around the chocolatier. He flinched. She immediately let go, suddenly feeling bad. 

“I’m sorry.” She said quickly, “I know you don’t like hugs.” 

“It’s okay Violet, I liked it. I’m just feeling a little fatigued.” 

“Oh, of course! You need to rest, I’ll get out of your hair. Thank you again, Mr. Wonka!” She did another excited little jump, the grin appearing back on her face, and then skipped out of the room.

Chapter Text

The night before her first day at school had been dreadfully nerve-wracking. For Wonka mostly, strangely enough. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to sleep fitfully, or to not sleep at all, but the past few days tossing and turning had left him both irritable and with awfully dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t have to press too deep to get to the ‘why’ of it all. He was worried, plain and simple. Worried school for Violet would be as horrible as it had been for him, growing up. The children tolerated him at best, and bullied him for the ghastly scaffold around his head that were called ‘braces’ at worst. The teachers were even more horrid. Back then, schooling had been unbearably strict. He often came out with the right answers, but the way he got there was always entirely different from the way he was taught. He remembered the lectures, droning on and on and on about the ‘right’ way to find a problem and how any other way simply wasn’t acceptable because you just had to follow the rules .

He snapped out of his dread-spell when he felt warmth through the material of his latex gloves. The troubled chocolatier’s brows furrowed as he looked down. If he weren’t wearing gloves, one would surely see that his knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the handle. He’d stirred the hot cocoa too hard and now he’d spilled it. Surely that was a bad omen, he told himself, but before he can stew on the irrational superstition for too long he hears the great glass elevator approaching, followed by a ding .

Violet stepped out, already showered and dressed but eyes still groggy with sleep. She swallows back her yawn and stops when she sees her mentor standing in the kitchen, clutching two mugs with a smile that was a little too tight and under eyes a little too dark. 

“Um.. good morning, Mr. Wonka. Did you sleep at all? You look.. terrible.” 

His mouth popped open into an ‘o’ for offence. “I- hmph. Nevermind that, I made us an extra special hot chocolate to celebrate your first day of school. Sit, sit.” He ushered her to the small dining table and set the mugs down. “The Oompa Loompas spent a week sifting through all of the cocoa beans. Of course, they’re all of the highest quality, but they wanted to pick out the most perfect of the bunch so that you have a nice warm beverage to see you off. Now, what do you want for breakfast kiddo?”

“I’m not very hungry, but thank you. The hot cocoa is enough. Please thank them, by the way.” 

Wonka raised a brow. Perhaps his brooding had some merit, maybe she was feeling as stressed about this as he was. “Oh? No appetite? Are you nervous?” 

She thinks for a moment. “Hm.. nope. Not really.” 

“Huh?” The chocolatier inwardly reels for a second. Had he misjudged? 

“I mean, a little. But I’ve learned not to overthink it, you know? It’s not my first time starting school ever. And I think I’ve had to do far scarier things than that. I’m a little worried there might be a little too much attention to being the heir to the factory, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.” The girl sips her hot cocoa, and gives a content sigh at the taste. “This is good.” 

There was a pause from Wonka, and he cleared his throat. He had misjudged. He’d forgotten how different they truly were- both in character in upbringing. He doesn’t quite remember what age he’d run away from home, and thus left school, but it was around the same age as she had been when she’d first entered the factory. They’d probably attended a similar amount of schooling, but her experience had likely been different. As the daughter of an over-aspirational mother, she’d likely been popular and well loved by her peers. If anything, she would be the person who’d have made fun of him for having braces. His worries were unfounded, he realised, but he briefly wondered why he’d gotten so caught up with them in the first place before he flashed her a smile. 

“You’re a brave girl, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

She was adored by all, or so it seemed. She was certainly flocked by all. So much so that he had received a call around 1 o’clock from the school office advising that she needed to be picked up, before school had even finished. A crowd had formed around the girl from the moment she stepped out of Wonka’s delivery truck, which was driven by an Oompa Loompa on a tall booster seat and heavy disguise. Wonka did in fact have a personal vehicle that he kept deep in the factory, but it was kept for sentimental reasons mostly. It had been the first one he’d purchased. He couldn’t quite remember if he’d even gotten his licence, the rules had been more lax back then, but he did remember that he hadn’t been very good at driving it. No doubt his licence would have expired by now, even if he had gone to the effort of getting one.

Wonka had wanted to drop her off himself, but he found himself unable to force himself past the looming front gates of the factory. He always looked at them with a sense of safety and security - they kept everything that was supposed to be out, out. But now that he was put in the position of actually going out, it felt more like they also kept everything that didn’t belong out there, in. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been, really. He’d just stopped one day. He knows it was well before his factory closed, at least. 

And so that morning, she’d been dropped off by an Oompa Loompa in a booster seat, driving one of his unmarked vans with its signature tinted windows. They would, however, not have that luxury again. They’d had an advantage this morning, in that it wasn’t yet public knowledge that Violet would be attending school. If anyone were to stop the car, it wouldn’t take much to notice that the person driving was the size of a toddler. That would bring some very unwanted questions for the chocolatier. 

The call from the school put a cold, slimy feeling in the pit of Wonka’s stomach. After she’d left this morning in the van, he’d hurried back into the comfort and safety of his factory and tried not to think too much about anything particularly stressful. But now, he was forced to face them. He knew then that he wouldn’t be able to get away with sending another Oompa Loompa, and so he had to address the matter himself as much as he despised the idea. He was glad they’d called a little earlier than they needed to, at least. The drive to the school was only 10 minutes at the most, but it would take him almost half an hour to work up the nerve to force himself out of the gates of the factory.

The unmarked van pulled up to the curbside, which the teachers tried their best to keep clear. There was no ceremony to the pickup, the van door simply opened and Violet hopped inside. And with a slam of the door, the van was off. No traffic yet, the rush hour of school pickup was yet to begin. There was no word from the chocolatier driving the vehicle, though she did recognize it to be him, even draped in unfamiliar garb and with remarkably uncharacteristic sunglasses donned. Aviators . 

“Your Oompa Loompas drive better than you.” The girl said, though she was still somewhat breathless. After so long at the factory with just the two of them, the day had taken a toll on her. She wasn’t used to so much.. interaction. And so much attention. 

Her mentor would have laughed, if he weren’t so stressed. It was a unique thing about her. Her ability to insult the closest person whenever she felt out of depth (which was almost always him). But, he only gave her a passing exhale as he struggled to follow the traffic laws he barely remembered from two decades ago. Still, he would eventually bring them both to safety. He was solely concentrated on not crashing the car, and any noise would have distracted him, so he tunes her out. Only once he’d pulled up to the gates of the factory would he look back at her and fix her with a bemused stare.

“But I drive better than you. Your short little arms could never even reach the steering wheel.”

The evening was a comfortable one, on the surface at least. She brings him hot chocolate, his favourite kind. Made just the way he likes. A chocolate bar, melted into the cup. Hot milk, poured on top. But just the right temperature, of course. Marshmallows. A sprinkle of a few slightly sweet herbs from a land she did not yet know, for a touch of savoury. And finally, a little sprinkle of cocoa powder for a garnish. 

Violet brought it into the room, holding it carefully. Wonka sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, staring into it, not even looking up when he heard her approaching. He wasn’t usually so distant, these days at least. Their relationship had come a long way since she’d first entered the factory. She knew him well enough to guess why he was in one of his moods. She hadn’t been outside since she’d arrived at the factory, and she knew he hadn’t been outside in even longer. She doesn’t know exactly how long, but she knew it was at the very least a decade.

Wonka took the mug, while she curled up next to him. He didn’t move away. He wanted to ask her questions about her day, but he finds himself only able to just stare into the fireplace and let her curl up against him. It’s a momentous occasion, after all. Her first day at school in this country. And one that had been quite tumultuous. 

Violet’s head rested against his shoulder, though she was observing their surroundings. The sunglasses that had been thrown, the coats discarded on the floor, so haphazardly even no Ooompa Loompa would dare retrieve them and put them in their place tonight. 

She wanted to say a lot of things. She’d known him long enough by now to know how much it would have taken him to actually exit the factory to come and get her. She wanted to tell him how much it was for her too- how overwhelming it was. How much she preferred their routine of him waking her up everyday, teaching her things, being actually able to concentrate on it. 

The entire day, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on a single thing. Every part of it had been interrupted by questions of what it was like living in the Factory, what Wonka was like, how it felt to win the Golden Ticket.  Her intentions, going back to school, were to make things feel normal again. To learn in a classroom, like she had formerly been used to. To make friends. Live life as a kid should. But somehow, the day had managed to make her feel even more abnormal. It had made her feel like a freak . But she didn’t say anything, she knew better. Sometimes he got like this. It was a rare sight for her, but she would describe it as a sort of paralysis. She’s just happy he let her sit with him, she thinks, as she stares into the fireplace as well.

Chapter Text

Mondays are generally regarded as the worst day of the week to many, but Violet didn't mind them one bit.

Her Monday routine consisted of waking, showering, having tea and breakfast with her mentor by the fireplace that sat next to the window overlooking the dreary city. She preferred it when it was covered in snow- it broke up the endless sea of grey

It had been exactly three years since she’d won the factory, a place she had come to call home. Home hadn't always been ‘home’ for Violet. Though she was now attending school, there was a certain loneliness about her life that she was only just beginning to recognize, but that she was aware had taken root much earlier. When it was just the two of them, with him and the Oompa Loompas schooling her, it was a more clear cut sort of loneliness. Not one she minded, of course. It was a strange kind. She found Wonka fascinating, and his personality so tumultuous that she simply didn't need anyone else. That would be far too much to deal with. Sometimes she thought his air of insanity was contagious, it wasn’t entirely uncommon for Violet to feel as if she were going mad. At least she could recognize it at this point.

These days, the loneliness felt a little different. She was accepted by her peers at school, and well loved by all means, but she often found it difficult to connect with them. The people that wanted her close didn’t seem to want her . They wanted to be close to her, to be seen as the friend of the heir to their town’s one and only treasure. The thing that put this small city on the map. They wanted to be seen close to her, when reporters would flock the gates of the school to snap photographs of the mysterious heir. 

This particularly Monday, Violet had woken up in a rather disorientated state. Not an uncommon occurrence, and for that reason not a particularly disturbing one. Usually people woke up with only vague memories of what they were dreaming about that quickly faded as they tried to remember, but Violet’s were only becoming more vivid and more difficult to separate from reality. 

She had been dreaming about the day before, exactly as it had occurred and in startlingly lifelike detail, up until about mid-day where her mother appeared and took over Wonka’s position at the factory. Violet felt saddened by this, but before she could process it too much she realised it was a dream and promptly woke up to Wonka sitting on her bed. Wonka then informed her that her mother had passed away in a horrific accident. Violet felt even more saddened by this, but before she could process it too much she woke up alone. 

Violet sat up, looking around. Is this real life? She pinched her arm, felt a little bit of pain and shrugged. If it were a dream, there wasn’t much she could do. May as well go about the day. 

She got up, showered and changed, all the while deep in thought. She’d often had experiences where her dreams bled into reality and her reality bled into dreams, but she almost never dreamt of her mother. Was she a bad daughter for not caring for her as much as she should? Wonka was more involved than she had ever been, but it didn’t change the fact that she was her daughter. 

When she compared Mr. Wonka to her mother, she found them strikingly similar in ways she’d never expected. They were both meticulous perfectionists, they both had high expectations and they both pushed her to do the best she could. The difference was her mother did this for her own satisfaction, whereas it felt like Mr. Wonka was doing it for her. That made all the difference in her eyes. 

The two ate breakfast next to the window. It was warm by the fire. Cozy. The tea and the oatmeal filled her up and made her feel all fuzzy inside. The anxieties the dream had brought were fended off for now. Violet looked over to her mentor. He made her feel safe, in his own weird way. She didn’t think anyone could possibly feel safe in this factory, especially after the disaster of a tour. But she did. Violet felt like she was tucked away where nothing, not anyone or anything in the world, could touch her. There was almost a reverent feeling towards her mentor. Like he could do anything at all. As if he were magic. As if he were some kind of all knowing candy-god. And if that were true, how could anything possibly hurt her? 

Violet looked over at Wonka.

“Can I stay home today? I don’t want to go to school.” 

Wonka looked back over at Violet, his eyebrows raising slightly. There hadn’t been many opportunities for the word to be said, but he’s struck by the way she called the factory home. 

Like the good caregiver he was supposed to be, Wonka did at least make some effort to encourage her to attend school.. usually, though he never pressed her to do so. He didn’t see much point to it, other than an indulgence to her wanting to attend in the first place. After all, schools provided no practical knowledge. In his opinion, at least. Everything she needed to know, she’d learn at the factory. And frankly, with school taking up half of the time he had with her, he wasn’t pleased with how much her school day wore her out. He was aware that the girl was used to being pushed beyond her limits, used to working under stress and exhaustion and still emerging with a result through sheer desperation to please. But it still irked him her energy was wasted on silly things like adverbs and trigonometry and hall passes. They had no use for him, so they would have no use for her. To her credit, she did try in her evening lessons with her mentor, but there was only so much knowledge you could put inside a young mind within a day and she was pushing it as far as she could within her restraints.

Her main reason for going, he thought, was for a sense of normality. He knew socialisation was important for most people, though he did not fully understand the sentiment. Perhaps once, long ago, he did. He’d shut that part out and forgotten it long ago. Locked it away and hidden it in some dee forgotten room of his factory where he'd never have to see it. 

“Of course, my dear girl.”

“There’s somethin’ missing..” Wonka said softly to himself, bent over the pages of formulas. 

Violet lounged back in the chair, feet up on the counter. Wonka would typically chastise her for it, but he was too absorbed in finding the unfound to notice. 

“Any input, Miss Feet-Where-They-Shouldn’t-Be?” 

Violet sighed. She should have known by now nothing slipped by him for too long. 

“No.” 

“Whatsa matter, puddlepooper?” 

“I’m bored.” 

“Tsk tsk, boredom is the child of apathy. If ya pay attention , it might not be so dull.”

“I don’t mean this formula. That’s easy. You gotta switch around the Ploosnar and the Tribop, before adding in the Loopnova. Duh.” 

There was a small clammer as Wonka dropped the pen he had been holding. 

“I mean everything. I don’t get to do anything outside of school and the factory. I see the same faces every single day. You don’t let me go to my friends' houses or hang out with anyone outside of school. I feel like I’m missing out on the rest of the world.” 

“I can take you to Loompa Land again anytime, you know that.”

“I don’t mean Loompa Land. I mean the human world. I want to go to different places and see different people.” 

Wonka stared at her for a time, utterly puzzled. Why on earth would anyone want to see people? Places? Things? The only difference between this town and the one on the other side of the world were the building materials and the languages. Everything they needed was here. 

“Didn’t you ever want to travel and see the world?” Violet asked, eyes trained on her mentor. 

“Huh, ‘spose I did..” He trailed off, thinking about his hasty departure from his father’s care after vowing to visit all of the candy capitals of the world. Of course, he did get around to travelling eventually. But he had forgotten the irresistible temptation of curiosity that made him want to do that in the first place. “Where would you like to go?” 

Violet grinned, arms and hands spreading out. “Everywhere! Paris, Tokyo, Germany, Morocco..” 

“Paris first, it is.”

Chapter Text

The elevator chimed, and a blonde woman in a sleek pencil skirt stepped inside.

“Bonjour, my name is Amelie, and I’m here on behalf of the Ritz.” Her smile was poised and dazzling as she flashed a hotel card. “First and foremost, we’d like to sincerely welcome you to Paris, and we hope you enjoy your stay.” She paused, then continued with practiced ease. “I’ll be here to ensure everything runs as smoothly as possible. We’ve already received a number of inquiries regarding interviews, events, and dinners. If you’d like, I can handle all of the arrangements for you. My team and I are also available for any press or publicity matters.”

Violet let out a relieved breath. “We don’t have an assistant.” Not exactly true... but bringing Doris would only lead to unwanted questions. “So that’ll be great, thank you.”

Wonka watched the woman with a tight, unreadable smile.

“Then I’m glad to be of service! I’ll let you two settle in a bit more, and then we can go over the invitations—say, in an hour?”

“We’ve settled in. Why don’t we go over them now?” Violet asked eagerly. She was dying to know what they’d been invited to.

“Perfect!” Amelie strolled over to a lavishly detailed table, setting down a sleek leather briefcase. She snapped it open and began flicking through a stack of neatly organized notes.

“Alright… so far, there are seventeen invitations. You’re staying for four days, correct?”

Violet nodded in confirmation.

“My suggestion would be to attend two or three of the events.” Amelie glanced at her notes again. “Are you familiar with Monsieur Auclair?”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Wait- like, the Auclair brand?”

She was more than familiar. Among her school peers, Auclair was practically a myth, whispered about in reverence. Obtaining one of their coveted bags required obscene amounts of money and months on a waitlist. And even the waitlist was an exclusive privilege, reserved for those- meaning their parents- who had already purchased from the brand before. She vividly remembered begging Wonka for one just weeks into school, only to be met with a scoff, a dismissive wave of his hand, and a single muttered word: "Gaudy." That had been the end of that conversation.

“Yes, the Auclair,” Amelie confirmed with a knowing smile. “Tomorrow night, he’s hosting an exclusive dinner for his new spring launch, and he’s absolutely dying for you both to be there. What do you say?”

Violet didn’t even bother glancing at Wonka. She could feel the distaste radiating from him before he even inhaled to protest. Without hesitation, she grabbed Amelie’s hands, eyes gleaming. “Yes! We’ll be there.”

“The other major event is a chocolaterie conference,” Amelie continued smoothly. “I imagine that would be of interest to you both. Additionally, several touring companies have reached out, offering exclusive, secured tours around Paris if that appeals to you. I’ll leave the full list of invitations for you to look over. If anything catches your eye, just let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”

Violet nodded, turning toward Wonka for his thought- only to find he was gone.

—-

The Auclair event was every bit as glamorous as Violet had imagined. As their car rolled up to the grand venue, she wondered if she should feel more excited. Instead, a vague discomfort settled over her. The dress—an elegant shade of purple that matched the Auclair bag slung over her shoulder (a gift from the maker himself)—itched against her skin. The bag’s clasp dug into her arm.

Outside, guests in shimmering gowns and sleek suits milled about the entrance, champagne flutes in hand. A hush fell over the crowd as Violet and Wonka stepped inside. All eyes were on them. The enigmatic chocolatier and his young heir. Violet, however, was too busy eyeing the walls lined with sleek displays showcasing the coveted new collection to pay them much mind.

There wasn’t much time to admire them. Monsieur Auclair himself approached, a short man with tired eyes and a charismatic smile, moving at an unhurried pace.

“Monsieur Wonka,” he purred, his smile cordial but hollow. “It is a true honor to finally meet the legendary chocolatier himself. Your creations have brought such joy to the world.”

Violet only recognized him by the way the room seemed to shift toward him. She realized that she’d never actually seen a picture of him before. He was only slightly taller than her, his posture slightly bent, his face lined with age. His suit was perfectly tailored, though in a way that spoke of quiet taste rather than excess. His smile was warm, but his stark blue eyes, too wide and too sharp, unsettled her.

The man, with his silver-tongued pleasantries, embodied everything Wonka loathed about these circles. People who built their fortunes by manufacturing desire where there was none, turning luxury into a game for the privileged, and the privileged only. Still, Wonka extended his hand with an exaggerated flourish, meeting Auclair’s greeting with barely concealed irritation.

“Ah! Joy. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Funny thing, joy. It doesn’t cost nearly as much as one might think, and yet-” his gaze flicked toward the nearest display, where an ostentatious handbag sat framed like a museum piece. Violet grasps at her mentor’s arm, looking up at him with a pleading expression.

Wonka blinked, then let out a sharp exhale through his nose, plastering on a saccharine smile. “Yes, well! Elegance does have its place, doesn’t it?” he said, his tone now lilting, almost sing-song. “After all, presentation is half the magic, isn’t it, Monsieur Auclair?”

Auclair chuckled, either missing the earlier barb or choosing to ignore it. “Exactly! The art of luxury is the art of desire, wouldn’t you say?”

Wonka tilted his head, considering. “Desire, yes, yes. Though I’ve always found wonder to be far more potent. People can want something they see in a shop window… but make them dream about it? Ah, now that is something truly special.”

Violet exhaled, relieved that he had softened, though she had no doubt he was still judging every inch of this place.

Auclair’s smile didn’t waver. “A fascinating philosophy. Perhaps we’re not so different, you and I.”

Wonka’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, Violet!” Mr. Wonka exclaimed, his voice suspiciously chipper as Violet stepped through the door.

She raised an eyebrow.

There was a long pause. Wonka’s lips moved as if forming words, hesitated, then pressed together again.

“What?” Violet asked impatiently. It was rare to see her mentor- who practically embodied the word wordy- at a loss for them.

“Well! Boy oh boy, do I have some news for you!” He clapped his hands together. “Uh—”

“Spit it out.”

“You see, I was perusing the newspaper this morning, struggling to understand half of it, when the darndest thing happened. There I was, completely absorbed in—”

“Spit it out.”

“Someone called.

“Who?”

“Who? Ah, but I think the real question is what-”

“Wonka.” Her patience was wearing thin.

“Your f—” he faltered, his usual bravado dimming just for a second. “Mr. Beauregarde.”

Violet dropped the bag she was carrying. She stared at him, her mind blanking for a moment.

Wonka squirmed. This was precisely what had made the whole ordeal so difficult for him. There had never been much talk of Violet’s father, no indication of what he meant to her—if anything at all. He had no idea whether this was good news, bad news, or something worse.

“He, uh, owns a liquor company,” Wonka added. It was a simple statement, not meant to downplay the importance and reach of the company. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, he told himself. “And he wants to meet with you. Tomorrow. Noon.” He rocked on his heels. “If ya wanna go, that is.”

Violet blinked. She’d known her father lived in France, but he hadn’t crossed her mind once while planning this trip. She didn’t think about him much, period- but when she did, the memories always carried a bitter tinge. She was four the last time she saw him. Just four. Her mother had never given many details, but the story was simple enough: He left them. For a woman back in his home country.

“I… I don’t know,” she said finally. The words felt foreign in her mouth.

Wonka stayed silent.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, firmer this time. “I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t even remember him, really.”

Wonka nodded slowly. “I, uh… know the feeling.”

She looked at him. “Did you ever see yours again?”

“Nope.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Not since I was a kid. We abandoned each other, I suppose. Thought about it, now and then. But I just don’t wanna. Y’know? I’m…”

“Scared?” she asked softly.

His gaze dropped. “Yeah… that.”

“I’m scared too.”

Wonka let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Isn’t that silly? Two world-famous confectioners, braving the unknown every day, completely unbothered by the limits of imagination—terrified of seeing their fathers. Ha!”

Violet hesitated.

“Maybe that’s because they’re important.”

He scoffed. “I beg to differ. I did everything without him. Built my empire from nothing. He contributed zilch. If I’d stayed, I’d be holed up in some tiny apartment, pulling teeth for a living. He never even approved of candy...”

“That’s exactly what I mean, though,” Violet said. “He was important... Or, his absence was. Would you have done it, if he weren't there to disapprove?” She met his gaze. “No matter how you put it, they still have an impact on our lives.”

Wonka blinked. His expression softened for a brief moment. Then he huffed. “Well, when did you get so wise, huh?”

“I didn’t get it from my mother. Your smarts must’ve rubbed off on me.”

Wonka beamed, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Ah! My greatest legacy.” Then, his voice dropped to something gentler. “So. What’s the verdict?”

Violet took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Did he deserve to see her? No. Absolutely not. He’d had years—ten years—to reach out. The only time he did was when she was in the limelight.
And yet.

A part of her wanted to go. Not for him. Not to rekindle some long-lost bond, or sift through the remnants of a childhood he abandoned. But to look him in the eye. To hear him, just once, and to decide- on her own terms- what he was worth.
She glanced at Wonka. If this had been her mother urging her to go, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to. That space was unsteady, unreliable. But here, standing before her mentor, the closest thing to solid ground she had ever known, she felt something unfamiliar.

Not certainty. Not even confidence.

But something close enough.

She took a breath.

“I’ll go.”

Chapter Text

Violet stared out the window as the car slowed before the gates. The driver spoke briefly into the intercom, and the iron gates creaked open. As they passed through, the mansion emerged into view—a towering structure of weathered stone, imposing yet strangely warm despite its opulence.

Wonka smirked to himself. Grand as it was, the entire estate was barely more than half the size of the bottom floor of his factory.

Still, Violet couldn’t help but be impressed. He had been living in this place her whole life, and she hadn’t even known. Her mother must have known. That must have annoyed her every single day. Maybe that’s why she never brought it up.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Heavy, ornate doors loomed ahead, wrought iron curling in intricate designs. Violet stepped out, feeling the weight of the place settle over her. For a long moment, the two of them stood at the base of the steps, neither speaking. The air between them was thick, as if one of them wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Wonka tapped his cane against the stone, spinning it in his hand with practiced ease before motioning her forward.

“Ready, kiddo?” he asked, glancing down at her. She looked pale, drawn in on herself, the way someone might before stepping onto a carnival ride they weren’t entirely sure they wanted to be on.

Violet hesitated. “Are you sure this is the right house?”

Before Wonka could answer, the doors swung open.

A man stood in the entryway, and in an instant, Wonka realized how wrong he had been. He had always assumed Violet took after her mother. But now, standing before her father, the resemblance was undeniable.
Benet Beauregarde was tall, his platinum blonde hair nearly identical to Violet’s. Wide-set eyes, twinkling blue-green, scrunched at the corners as he smiled. Her mother had always styled herself to match Violet, but this man resembled her in ways her mother never could.

“Bienvenue! Welcome, welcome.” His voice was warm, inviting. “Come in, we have much to discuss.” He turned his full attention to Violet, taking her hands in his own. “It has been so long. You know how I am, oui?”

Violet swallowed. “Yes,” she said quietly, staring up at him with a quiet sense of wonder. After all these years, here he was—different than she had imagined, yet exactly as he should be.

“You have grown, ma chérie. You were so small when I last saw you.” His gaze shifted to Wonka, and his expression brightened. “Mr. Wonka! It is truly an honor. I have been a great admirer of your confections for many years. Imagine my surprise to learn it was my own daughter who won your contest!”

Wonka’s smile was tight, his teeth bared in that sharp way that always sent an involuntary shiver down Violet’s spine.

She was relieved it wasn’t directed at her. Judging by the way Benet paled, it had the same effect on him.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Wonka said coolly.

“Come in, come in,” Benet urged. “We shall have tea, catch up. And later, I have arranged for some guests to join us for lunch. It would be a pleasure if you would attend.”

They followed him inside through a grand foyer and into a parlor where tea and delicate pastries were already set out. Benet took his seat, gesturing for them to do the same.

“So, Mr… what was your first name again?” Wonka asked, his tone light, but with an undercurrent of something sharper.

“Benet.”

“Mr. Benet Beauregarde! Lovely name, just rolls off the tongue.” Wonka took a delicate sip of tea, then suddenly perked up as if struck by revelation. “I’ve just had the strangest thought! Violet has been at my factory for four years now, and if I recall correctly, the last time you saw her was when she was four. What a coinky-dink! Huh. We’ve both known her the same amount of time. Only difference is, I actually know her.”

The words landed like a slap. Violet froze, her breath catching. Benet, too, was momentarily speechless.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Beauregarde,” she said abruptly, turning to her father. “Can I speak with Mr. Wonka in private?”

Benet hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, of course. No need to rush, I’ll fix myself a drink. Scotch. Wonka, what’s your poison?”

“Butterscotch,” Wonka replied with a saccharine smile.

Benet chuckled, seemingly relieved by the levity, and disappeared into another room.

As soon as the door shut, Violet rounded on Wonka. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Hm?” Wonka feigned innocence, hands resting lazily on his knee.

“You’re being mean to him! I haven’t even had the chance to talk to him yet.”

Wonka’s expression darkened. “As I should be. From what I’ve heard, he seems like a rotten person who deserves to be treated accordingly.”

Violet faltered. “I know that! But… what if he has an explanation? What if I could have a dad again? A real one? Someone who looks like me. I’ve had my whole life to realize my mother was awful. What if it was her fault?”

Wonka’s brows knitted together. A strange expression crossed his face, something rare, something Violet had never quite deciphered before. It was gone in an instant. He straightened, hands neatly placed on his knee once more, face unreadable.

“Your mother is greedy. That much we know. If there’s one thing we can predict, it’s her nature. So ask yourself this: Why have you never heard of him? Why did you grow up in a modest house with a modest income? She could have used his name, his status, but she didn’t. I don’t know why. But I don’t trust this man one bit.”

Before Violet could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

“May I come in?” Benet called, already stepping inside, balancing a tray with two glasses.

Wonka gave an exaggerated smile. “Oh, ha-ha. I don’t drink. I’ll be outside, give you two some privacy.”

And just before he turned to leave, perhaps thinking he was out of their view, his smile dropped.

Benet frowned slightly but shook it off. He held out a glass to his daughter. “For you, our finest butterscotch.”

Violet raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m fifteen, right?”

Benet chuckled. “Forgive me. It is slightly more.. culturally accepted in this country for teenagers to drink.”

Violet hesitated, then took the glass. She swallowed back the liquid. It was thick and golden, rich with the scent of caramel and something else—something that made her chest feel warm the moment she took a sip. She shivered.

“Does all alcohol taste like this?” she asked, taking in the sensation. She felt the warmth of it, filling her chest.

Benet smiled. “Oh no, ma chérie. Most liquor is strong, fiery. But liqueurs like this are sweet. They can be enjoyed alone or mixed. I prefer things in their purest form. I have spent my life perfecting flavors, learning to appreciate them.”

Something about the way he spoke struck Violet. It was the same way Wonka talked about chocolate—the same gleam in his eyes, the same reverence for his craft. Was that why her mother had been so enamored with Wonka? Had she seen him as an alternate version of Benet? She looked down at the honey-colored liquid swirling in her glass.

“It’s sweet,” she murmured. “And warm. I like it.”

Benet nodded. “Then let’s talk. I'll be glad to answer any questions you may have about me. But first, I believe it's necessary to explain why I reached out now."

Benet Beauregarde leaned forward, hands clasped, his glass of scotch resting untouched beside him.

"Seeing your face four years ago was a surprise. Even though you were young when I last saw you, your mother sent me clippings of your endeavors over the years—I know your face. But it was quite different seeing it in a clipping she hadn’t sent. On the cover of every newspaper around the world.”

Violet kept her expression neutral, committing his words to memory. She wasn’t ready to unpack them just yet.

"Once I knew you were in France, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was closer to you than I’d been since you were a child. And the name Beauregarde—it's distinctive. Especially here. There had already been murmurs about our connection, but since the announcement of your trip, it’s been relentless. I didn’t want to comment until I had the chance to speak to you first."

She nodded slowly, absorbing it. It was a lot.

"Why did you leave?" She asked.

Benet exhaled, his fingers tightening around his glass. He took a sip before answering, his gaze far away.

"In truth? I was a bad father.” He hesitated, as if testing the weight of the admission. “I met your mother while overseas, expanding the business. My father owned it at the time. She was passionate—headstrong. I admired that about her." A pause. "We fell in love, and she fell pregnant unexpectedly, only a few months in. I had no intention of leaving her. But I also didn’t know her well enough then. And I didn’t want to disappoint my father by having a child out of wedlock, so we married in a private ceremony."
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "We moved to France for a little over a year with you, then back to America—she wanted to be somewhere familiar, and I wanted to continue expanding the business. It was... unstable from the start. We both loved you, but our relationship was never meant to last beyond a passionate affair.”

Violet lifted her glass, taking another sip in kind.

"I was a terrible husband. Worse as a father. I was always away. I didn't know how to fit in—to be the man your mother and I had envisioned for you. By the time I realized how much distance I’d created, it was already too wide. One day, when I was on another extended business trip, she called and told me not to come back."

His voice softened. "I expected her to ask for money, maybe even to flaunt you in the press. But she never did. She only asked for enough to cover your schooling, your necessities. Shortly after, my father retired, and I took over the business, inheriting its debt. So I threw myself into fixing it. Instead of fixing my relationship with you."

Violet stared down at her glass, suddenly feeling very small. The room seemed a little hazy—whether from the butterscotch or the weight of his words, she wasn’t sure.

"You didn’t try to contact me?"

"One of her conditions was that I wouldn’t. In return, she sent me updates. And I accepted that. I should have tried harder. I knew it then, I know it now." He let out a hollow laugh. "But guilt makes cowards of us, and it was easy to tell myself I had nothing to offer you. Your mother doted on you, gave you everything. I let that excuse be enough."

Violet’s grip tightened around her glass. "You don’t love me. You don’t know me. And you never did." Her voice was steady, but tears had already begun to spill onto her lap. "Anyone who says ‘but’ after ‘I love you’ is just a liar with excuses."

She lifted her chin, finally meeting his gaze. "And forget about her being concerned with my needs. She only ever cared about herself. Anything she gave me was for her."

Benet opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "Did you call me here just to talk? Because I don’t believe that for a second. Every parent I’ve ever had only wanted something from me. You built an international business but couldn’t raise your own kid? Pathetic."
He flinched.

"Wonka hates kids," she continued, wiping her tears roughly with the sleeve of her jacket. "Always has. But he’s been a better caregiver than both of you combined, tenfold. And he runs a better business than you, too."

She stood abruptly.

Benet moved as if to stop her.

"I’m not leaving," she said sharply. "I’m getting Wonka."

She returned with him a moment later, her hand wrapped tightly around his, fingers intertwined. Wonka didn’t say anything, just gave Benet a look that seemed to say: Well? Get on with it.

Benet took a measured breath. "The press wants to know if we’re related. I’ve received countless calls, letters, emails... Before I say anything, I wanted to ask you first."

Violet’s jaw clenched. "Tell them no comment. Don’t talk about me."

He looked hurt. So did she.

They stared at each other, one glaring, the other searching. Then Violet turned to Wonka and nudged him gently.

"I want to go."

"Then we shall."

As they stood, hands still clasped, Benet spoke again.

"Please. Just one more word in private, Violet."

Wonka stiffened, clearly reluctant to leave her alone again, but when Violet released his hand and turned back to her father, he hesitated only a moment before stepping outside.

Benet crossed the room in two strides and, before she could object, wrapped his arms around her. It was an all-encompassing hug—warm, solid, and unfamiliar. She stiffened at first, but the sheer largeness of it, the sense of security, made her breath hitch.
Her tears returned, hot and unchecked, spilling onto the fabric of his jacket. His hand stroked her hair, comforting in a way she had never known. He smelled of smoke, liquor, and cologne, a cloying mix—but there was something else, something strangely familiar about it.

"I love you, Violet," he murmured. "No ‘buts.’ I do. Because you are my daughter."

She pulled back slightly, and he crouched to meet her gaze, still holding her hands in his.

Their eyes—identical in color—shone with the same unshed emotion.

"If I have one lesson to give you, Violet, it’s this," he said softly. "No father or caregiver should ever look as victorious as he did a minute ago when you chose him."

Violet’s brow furrowed.

His hand lingered on her shoulder as he slipped a business card into her palm, saying nothing more.

Then he led her back outside, where Wonka stood waiting, car door open.

The ride back was silent. Simmering.

Violet stared out the window, not really seeing anything. Her mind looped in a vicious cycle of resentment and doubt.
She didn’t trust her father. Not one bit. And now she was even angrier at him for planting the same seed of doubt about Wonka.
It felt like both of them wanted to turn her against the other. Wanted her trust, wanted to win.

At this point, she wasn’t sure she trusted either of them.