He chose to help Helen Zhao clear her name.
“Uncle Wen,” Ryan said, lowering his head, voice trembling just right,
“I drank too much that night. I… mistook Aunt Zhao for someone else. It was my fault. But I swear—nothing happened between us. She slapped me and left right away. I was ashamed afterward.”
Then, like the snake he was, he turned on Vivian.
“Actually, I remember Vivian saying she couldn’t stand Aunt Zhao. She once told me she’d do anything to kick her out of the house. Maybe… this is part of her plan.”
Helen Zhao seized the cue, her tears still wet.
“George, you heard him! I would never betray you!”
She turned, feigning heartbreak.
“Vivian, I know you don’t like me, but how could you do this? You’re framing me with such vile tricks!”
The two performed flawlessly, feeding off each other’s lies.
And George… began to soften.
He sighed, his expression heavy with disappointment.
“Enough, Vivian. Stop this nonsense.”
He reached down, helping Helen to her feet, his hand resting tenderly on her stomach.
“I believe you,” he said softly. “Don’t cry. You’ll upset the baby.”
Vivian’s eyes widened.
“Dad—you’re just going to believe her? How do you even know that child is yours? What if they’re working together to fool you?”
“Enough!” George barked, face stern.
“Your Aunt Zhao explained everything. She’s been by my side all these years. Even if she’s made mistakes, she’s earned her place! Unlike you, always trying to humiliate her!”
His tone was final.
Then, as if remembering something, his face darkened again.
“That bastard Ryan Lu—where is he?!”
He looked around, but Ryan was gone.
The coward had slipped out during the commotion.
That, to George, only proved Helen’s innocence further.
Vivian stared at her father, numb.
She had all the evidence in the world, yet he refused to see.
A bitter smile ghosted her lips.
“I’m your daughter, Dad. Your own flesh and blood.
Why won’t you ever believe me?”
“Enough, Vivian!” George roared.
“You should be ashamed to even speak!
Before judging others, explain yourself!
That night at the hotel—did you disgrace our family or not?”
Vivian froze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Because the truth was—she had.
Even if unwillingly.
Her heart sank. If Simon knew what had happened that night—
would he still look at her the same way?

Seizing the moment, Bianca Fang stepped forward with a triumphant smile.
“Sir, don’t let her fool you,” she sneered at Simon.
“Vivian’s been tainted for a long time. Here—see for yourself.”
She played the hotel video on her phone, the same damning clip.
Vivian’s face turned pale; she couldn’t even look.
Bianca smirked, certain she’d won.
But Simon only frowned slightly.
He’d had that hotel’s surveillance deleted days ago.
Which meant this “video” was a cheap fake.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing at Bianca.
The stench of her heavy perfume made his stomach churn.
Then his voice—calm, deep, resolute—cut through the noise.
“I believe her.”
The room went silent.
Vivian’s head jerked up, eyes wide.
He didn’t know her past.
He didn’t owe her anything.
Yet when everyone turned against her—he stood by her.
In that moment, he was a light piercing through her darkest night.
Simon’s gaze swept over the crowd, cold and sure.
“Besides,” he said, “this so-called video… is fake.”
Bianca’s confidence faltered.
“What—what do you mean fake? The waiter saw it himself!”
Simon smiled faintly, walking to Vivian’s side.
He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing aside her hair.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
On the left side of her neck bloomed a delicate pink birthmark, shaped like a tiny peach blossom.
Simon’s voice was steady, almost bored.
“The woman in that video doesn’t have this.”
Silence.
Then murmurs.
Then the sound of Bianca Fang’s composure cracking apart.