The banquet hall erupted into chaos.
“No way! The Wen family’s daughter looks so pure and graceful—who knew she was like that in private?”
“All glamour on the surface, filth underneath…”
Whispers multiplied like wildfire.
Vivian Wen ignored them all. Her gaze was icy, fixed on Bianca Fang.
“You’re accusing me. Where’s your proof?”
Bianca lifted her chin, smiling with malicious confidence.
“Of course I have proof. Would I dare come here without it?”
She waved her hand. A man in a waiter’s uniform stepped forward timidly.
“This man,” Bianca announced theatrically, “works at the Wenhua Hotel. Tell everyone what you saw on the night of June 2nd.”
The waiter’s voice shook. “Th-that night… I saw Miss Wen go into a male guest’s room… and she didn’t come out until the next morning.”
Bianca’s smile widened like a crack splitting open.
“Well, well, Vivian. Out visiting a man’s room in the middle of the night? Don’t tell me you two were discussing philosophy by candlelight. That man wasn’t your fiancé, was he?”
Ryan Lu immediately stepped forward, expression pained.
“Vivian… did you really betray me?”
Vivian almost laughed aloud. Their ability to twist truth into lies was impressive—even admirable.
The people who betrayed me are now playing the victims.
She took a step closer, looking down at Bianca from the stage with quiet contempt.
“Words mean nothing. It’s easy to pay someone to lie.”
Her gaze shifted to the trembling waiter.
“How much did they give you? I’ll double it—just tell the truth.”
“I-I am telling the truth!” the waiter stammered, face pale but determined.
He wasn’t lying—he really had seen Vivian leave Simon Min’s hotel room that morning. He simply didn’t know the full story.
“Words alone prove nothing,” Vivian said coolly.
“Oh, really?” Bianca smirked, pulling out her phone. “Then what about this?”
She tapped the screen. A video began to play.
It showed a woman—dressed exactly like Vivian that night—walking into a hotel room arm-in-arm with a man. Only her back was visible, not her face.
Bianca thrust the phone toward the waiter.
“Is this the woman you saw?”
He nodded furiously. “Yes! That’s her! She was wearing that same floral dress!”
The hall erupted again.
Vivian’s lips curved faintly. “The world is full of women who wear the same dress, Bianca. You’re trying to smear me with a blurry back view? Your tricks are getting sloppy.”
“I can testify!”
The new voice startled everyone—including Helen Zhao and Bianca.
The speaker was Tiffany Liu, the woman clinging to Victor Shao’s arm in the front row.
“Two weeks ago, at the Wanrun International Mall,” she declared, “I personally saw Vivian Wen shopping with a man. She told me he was her boyfriend. And that dress she’s wearing now? He bought it for her that day! If I’m lying, may lightning strike me dead!”
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
A socialite like Tiffany wouldn’t lie publicly… would she?
Suddenly, everyone seemed convinced.
“So it’s true!”
“I can’t believe she looked so innocent!”
“That poor fiancé of hers—how humiliating!”
Onstage, George Wen’s face turned green, then white. His hands trembled with rage and shame.
He wanted nothing more than to slap Vivian across the face right there.
Then Ryan Lu stepped forward, reaching for Vivian’s hand with exaggerated tenderness.
“Vivian,” he said solemnly, “I don’t care what you did before. If you’re willing to change and devote yourself to me, I’ll forgive you.”
Gasps and murmurs spread through the hall.
“What a saint! Such a loyal man!”
“She’s lucky to have him—if it were anyone else, she’d be ruined!”
“Ha! He’s only acting noble because she inherited money. Once he gets it, he’ll bleed her dry!”
The noise swelled. Some were fooled by Ryan’s performance; others watched with cynical amusement.
For Helen Zhao and Ryan Lu, it was perfect.
They wanted Vivian’s reputation destroyed—her self-worth shattered.
Once she was broken, she’d cling to Ryan, desperate for his “forgiveness.”
And then… her mother’s inheritance and the Wen family fortune would all fall neatly into their hands.
Ryan’s heart raced with triumph. He dropped to one knee, pulling out the ring he had prepared in advance.
“Vivian,” he said with trembling sincerity, “marry me.”
The room fell silent.
Everyone expected her to cry, to forgive him, to accept.
But before she could speak—
the grand doors of the banquet hall burst open with a sharp bang.
A low, commanding voice echoed through the hall:
“She’s my woman. Why should she marry another man?”