Livestream chaos. Hospital room? Worse.

Dad snapped. Slapped Sophia repeatedly.

"Still acting?! I heard every word, you tramp!"

"Eat my food, spend my cash, cuckold me?!"

Sophia, frail post-abortion, couldn't fight back. "Ben! Help me!"

Ben froze—too scared. Dad could crush him.

He bolted. Dad's men tackled him. "Lock him in the warehouse. I'll deal with him later."

I leaned against the doorframe, watching the chaos like it was a movie I'd already seen.

Because I had. Last life, this scene never happened. Last life, Sophia won.

Not this time.

Lily's stream hit two million viewers. The hospital security tried to intervene but gave up after seeing the crowd.

Sophia, cornered, played her last card.

She dropped to her knees, crawling toward me.

"Vivi! Sweet Vivi! I raised you! Your mom asked me to take care of you on her deathbed! How can you do this to me?"

The audacity was breathtaking.

"You didn't raise me. You used me as a shield while you cheated on my father."

"And my mom?" My voice went cold. "Don't you dare speak her name. She trusted you. She died thinking her daughter would be safe with her best friend."

Sophia's fake tears dried instantly when she realized the sympathy play wasn't working.

Her real face emerged—ugly, calculating, cornered.

"Fine! Yes! I used you! Your idiot father couldn't even get it up! What was I supposed to do? Live like a nun?!"

Dad staggered like he'd been shot.

"And your precious mother?" Sophia sneered at me. "She was no saint either. Always so righteous, so perfect. Made me sick. I was GLAD when she died."

The room went dead silent.

Then my aunt slapped Sophia so hard the sound echoed down the hallway.

"That was my sister-in-law you're talking about, you snake."

Relatives who'd cursed me an hour ago now turned their venom on Sophia.

"Call the police! This woman's a fraud!"

"Check the finances! She probably siphoned millions!"

"Poor Vivi… we owe that girl an apology."

Dad stood in the wreckage—broken IV stand, scattered medical supplies, his wife's lover unconscious on the floor—and looked at me.

"Vivi…"

"Don't." I held up my hand. "The disownment papers are signed. You got what you wanted."

"I didn't want—"

"You burned Mom's photos. On her death anniversary. While her 'best friend' laughed behind your back."

His face crumbled. He aged ten years in ten seconds.

"We're done here."

I walked out of the hospital, past the cameras, past the relatives, past the strangers who'd thrown rotten eggs at me.

The evening air hit my face. Cool. Clean.

For the first time in two lifetimes, I was free.