Chapter 558

Patriarch Sullivan sat in the mahogany chair in his study, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest.

His second son, Albert Sullivan, had taken no action, and the anxiety in his heart grew thicker.

He could wait no longer.

He picked up the phone, his voice low and steady. "Have Vivian come back. Tell her I have urgent business."

When Vivian Bennett stepped into the Sullivan Family Estate, dusk was approaching.

The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the carved window lattices, casting dappled shadows on the dark wooden floor.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door to the study and saw the Patriarch sitting alone in the shadows.

Her heart tightened inexplicably.

"Grandfather Sullivan," she called softly, a barely perceptible stiffness in her voice.

Patriarch Sullivan looked up.

His eyes, weathered by time, now churned with complex emotions—guilt, anguish, and a trace of something almost like humble hope.

He slowly stood up and took two steps toward her.

"Child," his voice trembled slightly. "Our Sullivan family... has wronged you."

Vivian was taken aback, instinctively taking half a step back. "Grandfather, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Patriarch Sullivan shook his head.

He pulled a manila envelope from inside his jacket, his fingers turning white from the force of his grip.

"Vivian," he took a deep breath, each word seeming to be squeezed from the depths of his chest. "You are our Sullivan flesh and blood. You are the biological daughter of my brother, Albert Sullivan."

The air seemed to freeze.

Vivian stared blankly for a moment, then a nearly absurd smile tugged at her lips. "Grandfather, don't joke. How could that possibly—"

"Look." Patriarch Sullivan held the envelope out to her, his voice hoarse and heavy. "This is... this is the paternity test your father—Albert—had done using your hair. If you don't believe it, you can have another test done yourself."

Vivian's fingers touched the edge of the envelope. The cold texture made her fingertips tremble.

She pulled out the test report. Her eyes scanned the dense rows of data, finally landing on the conclusion box—

"Based on DNA analysis results, Albert Sullivan is supported as the biological father of Vivian Bennett."

A buzzing filled her head.

A forgotten fragment of memory suddenly crashed into her consciousness—months ago, Albert Sullivan had inexplicably come to the company to see her. As he left, his fingers had seemed to lightly brush against her hair.

At the time, she had thought it was just a gesture of concern from an elder.

So that was it...

"Impossible..." she murmured to herself, her face gradually draining of color. "My father is William White... William White is my father..."

But the moment the words left her lips, she herself began to doubt.

After William White's death, that document proving she was not of White blood had long become a thorn in her heart she could not pull out.

Patriarch Sullivan watched her devastated expression, and his eyes suddenly reddened.

He stepped forward and grasped her hand. His wrinkled hands shook violently. "Child, you truly are our Sullivan granddaughter... If you don't believe me, ask your father yourself. He's right—"

Before he could finish, the study door was flung open.

Albert Sullivan stood in the doorway, his face even paler than Vivian's.

He had clearly been standing outside for a long time. Now, his breathing was ragged, his chest heaving.

Vivian whirled around.

She practically threw herself at him, grabbing his sleeve. Her voice was as light as a wisp of smoke about to vanish. "Uncle... tell me. What Grandfather said isn't true, right?"

Her eyes were full of pleading, as if a single nod from him could return the entire world to its proper orbit.

Albert Sullivan opened his mouth.

All the words he had rehearsed a thousand times in his heart—how to gently tell her the truth, how to soothe her emotions, how to shoulder the responsibility a father should bear—now all clogged his throat. Not a single word could escape.

He could only look at her. He watched the light in her eyes gradually collapse. He watched her trembling shoulders. He watched her slowly shatter.

"Vivian..." he managed with difficulty, his voice rasping and broken. "You need to calm down first. We can discuss this slowly—"

"I don't want to calm down!" Vivian suddenly screamed, tears flooding her eyes without warning. "Just tell me, is it true? Am I your daughter?!"

Albert Sullivan's breath caught.

He saw the bottomless panic in her eyes. He saw her body trembling, on the verge of collapse. His entire heart felt as if gripped by an invisible hand, squeezing so tightly he could barely stand straight.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, only a deep, painful crimson remained.

"...Yes."

That single word was as light as a sigh, yet as heavy as a verdict.

Vivian froze completely.

A few seconds later, she suddenly laughed. The laughter was mixed with sobs, broken and desperate. "You can't be my father... You can never be... My father can't possibly be you..."

Before the words fully faded, she shoved Albert Sullivan aside and turned, rushing out of the study.

"Vivian!" Albert Sullivan shouted hoarsely, starting to chase after her.

But as he turned, he met Patriarch Sullivan's complex gaze.

In that instant, years of accumulated resentment, anger, and bitterness erupted like a volcano.

Veins bulged at Albert Sullivan's temples. His eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red. He strode up to the Patriarch, the words practically ground out between his teeth. "Who told you to bring her here?! Who told you to tell her all this?! Do you want to watch me die all over again?!"

Patriarch Sullivan's lips moved, but in the end, he gave no answer.

Albert Sullivan glared at him fiercely, then turned and charged out of the study.

The hallway was empty. The stairs were silent.

There was no trace of Vivian Bennett left in the old estate.

Night deepened.

Vivian ran wildly through the streets. The cold wind scraped her cheeks like a knife.

She didn't know how long she had been running, or where she was running to.

Only one voice echoed madly in her mind—

How could this be?

Even if she wasn't William White's daughter, even if she shared no blood with the White family...

But Albert Sullivan?

The man she had called "Uncle" for over twenty years?

The man who always looked at her gently, occasionally brought her small gifts, who quietly looked out for her at family gatherings?

How could he...

Be her father?

She suddenly stopped, bracing herself against a tree trunk by the roadside, bending over as violent dry heaves wracked her body.

Tears mixed with cold sweat dripped, one by one, onto the icy ground.

The world spun, shattered, and then reassembled before her eyes into a completely unfamiliar shape.

And she stood at the center of this new world, utterly lost, her entire body cold.