“Who is she? She’s stunning!”
Gasps rippled through the hall.
“That’s the star of tonight—the Wen family’s daughter, Vivian Wen.”
“Her gown looks like the latest haute couture from Chanel. That piece alone must cost at least half a million!”
Helen Zhao’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Chanel haute couture? Impossible!
Vivian couldn’t possibly afford something like that. It had to be fake—a knockoff!
And yet… the craftsmanship was flawless.
Under the glittering lights, the diamonds embedded in the hemline sparkled like frost, casting radiant light that made Vivian appear even more dazzling.
Helen glanced down at her own outfit—an expensive red dress that had cost tens of thousands—and felt an unexpected pang of humiliation. She’d had to beg George Wen to buy it for her, and now, next to Vivian, it looked cheap and lifeless.
Worse still, Ryan Lu beside her was staring at Vivian, eyes wide, gaze glued to her like a man bewitched.
Jealousy flared hot in Helen’s chest.
She stomped down on Ryan’s foot in silent fury before plastering a smile on her face and walking toward Vivian.

Vivian, who had been sending a message to Simon Min, noticed Helen approaching out of the corner of her eye. She quickly slipped her phone away.
Helen looped her arm through Vivian’s, smiling sweetly for the guests—then leaned close and whispered through gritted teeth:
“Vivian, where did you get that fake designer dress? If anyone finds out, it’ll be humiliating. And where’s the pink gown I gave you?”
Vivian smiled serenely, her voice soft but every word edged with ice.
“Aunt Zhao, were you tricked by someone? That so-called high-end gown you gave me was torn before I could even wear it. I had no choice but to throw it away. You really shouldn’t waste money like that. If you’re not sure how to choose next time, I can always help you pick something genuine.”
Helen’s face twitched. Her heart lurched violently.
Did Vivian find out about the little “alterations” I made?
She forced a laugh, waving it off. “Nonsense.”
But her gaze lingered on Vivian’s gown, and she sneered inwardly.
Let her act sophisticated all she wants—she can only wear counterfeits anyway.

The two women reached the stage.
The clock struck seven.
Vivian checked her phone again. Still no reply from Simon Min.
Her chest tightened. She called him—no answer.
A whisper of doubt flickered through her mind.
What if… he’s not coming?
She pressed her lips together, set her phone down inside her clutch, and stepped onto the stage with calm grace.

Meanwhile, across the city, Simon Min had cleared his schedule hours in advance.
But an urgent business crisis had erupted at the last minute—
one that demanded his personal attention.
He’d left his office in a hurry and forgotten his phone on his desk.
By the time he returned, there were several missed calls and unread messages from Vivian.
Frowning, he picked up the device, scrolling through her texts.
Without hesitation, he redialed.
No answer.
Simon’s jaw tightened.
“Go to Haicheng Grand Hotel,” he ordered.
Henry Zhang handed him a small, elegant gift box.
“Everything’s ready, sir.”
Simon’s gaze darkened, his voice cool and commanding.
“Drive.”

Back at the hotel, Vivian stood poised under the lights.
Even if Simon didn’t come, her plan had to move forward.
She’d worked too hard, waited too long—
tonight, she would expose Ryan Lu and Helen Zhao for what they truly were.
After the host’s effusive opening remarks, George Wen took the stage.
He smiled gently at Vivian before turning to address the audience.
“Thank you all for joining us today,” he said solemnly. “On this joyous occasion—my daughter Vivian’s engagement—I also have another important announcement.”
A man in a tailored suit stepped up beside him, holding a document envelope.
“I am the legal representative of Ms. Hannah Ji—Mr. Wen’s former wife. Ms. Ji left behind a financial trust for her daughter, to be released only once Miss Wen reached adulthood and upon her engagement.”
The lawyer handed Vivian the envelope. Inside were legal documents—and a check for a staggering sum.
George looked at her with rare warmth.
“This is from your mother, Vivian. It’s yours now.”
Vivian stared at the check, momentarily speechless.
Her mother’s name—one her father had buried in silence for years—suddenly filled her world again.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Applause thundered through the hall.
But Helen Zhao and Ryan Lu weren’t clapping.
Their eyes were locked on that check—on the fortune that was now within reach.
This—this—was why they needed the engagement to happen.
Once the money was in Vivian’s name, they could find a way to make it theirs.

As the host resumed the ceremony, the warm atmosphere was abruptly sliced through by a shrill voice:
“Wait!”
The shout echoed from the center aisle.
Every head turned.
A woman in a black dress and high heels strode forward, curls cascading over her shoulders, eyes blazing with fury.
Bianca Fang.
Vivian’s gaze narrowed, sharp as glass.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Helen Zhao standing with arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing at her lips.
Bianca stopped below the stage, spun toward the crowd, and shouted:
“I’m here to expose Vivian Wen!
She’s got a fiancé—but she’s been sleeping around with other men!
She’s nothing but a two-faced slut!”