Chapter 593

Sophia Miller stared wide-eyed at Vivian Bennett, disbelief etched on her face.

She couldn't comprehend why Vivian's attitude had shifted so abruptly, as if her soul had been instantly drained away.

Isabella Sullivan sneered, tilting her chin up.

"Finally admitting it? Hmph. Afraid I'll sue you for slander? Knew the truth couldn't stay hidden forever, so you're bowing your head now?"

She took a step closer, her voice sharp.

"If you answer my questions honestly, I might consider not holding you accountable."

"First question—from the very beginning, you approached my brother just to become his mistress, right?"

"Yes."

Vivian's voice was faint, as light as a breeze that could scatter at any moment.

That single word plunged the entire hall into silence.

Media reporters raised their cameras. Guests gasped audibly.

Mistress.

In the lexicon of high society, that word represented the most disgraceful status.

And the bride-to-be standing here tonight had once been Liam Sullivan's mistress.

Absurd. Utterly absurd.

How could a mistress ever be worthy of the position of Mrs. Sullivan?

No wonder Liam had ultimately abandoned her—a mistress was, after all, just a mistress.

Patriarch Sullivan stood at the back of the crowd, a sinister smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Bringing Isabella in had been the right move.

As long as Vivian's facade was completely torn apart tonight, there would be no possibility left between her and Liam.

The Sullivan family's lingering worry could finally be eliminated.

Isabella pressed her advantage.

"You seduced him with your body, coveted his wealth, and then used underhanded methods to force him to marry you, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Vivian answered woodenly.

The gazes directed at her felt like knives, slicing into her flesh one cut at a time.

But her heart was already numb from pain, so she no longer felt the sting.

"You never loved him. While you were his lover, you were still fooling around with others outside—those scandalous photos are proof of your infidelity, aren't they?"

"...Yes."

Vivian's voice seemed squeezed from her throat.

Each word felt like tearing her own dignity apart.

She had never done those things, yet she had to admit to them herself.

This humiliation was worse than being slapped.

But she had no way out.

Isabella's questions grew increasingly sharp. Vivian's replies became shorter and shorter.

The surrounding looks of disdain gradually transformed into a whirlpool of mockery.

Everyone was examining her as if she were a prostitute, something filthy they wished to stay far away from.

But Vivian no longer cared.

Shame, it seemed, could also be worn away.

When a person was stripped of all protection, standing naked before a crowd, subjected to their condemning gazes, shame simply ceased to exist.

No one stood in front of her.

No one protected her.

She had to endure this, the most brutal humiliation of her life, all alone.

Her body and heart were both cut to shreds.

But if you asked if it hurt?

No, not at all.

How could someone whose heart had died still feel pain?

The only thing keeping her from collapsing now was her final promise to Liam.

She had promised him many things before and failed to keep them.

This time, it was a promise she made to herself, unilaterally.

But she would hold on until the very end.