Chapter 198 No Room for Failure

She felt more isolated and helpless than ever before, as if the whole world was silently watching her fall.

"If I don't teach you a lesson today, I'm not human."

Zhou Yunsheng's voice was like a venomous snake, hissing against her ear.

He leaned close to her ear, his breath hot and foul, his words icy cold, like ice picks piercing her bones.

A cruel smile crept across his lips, his eyes filled with the pleasure of control and destruction.

He wanted her to remember this day, to remember who was the one who could control her destiny.

He would not allow anyone to challenge his authority, especially this woman who had once knelt at his feet begging for food.

Song Zhiwei gritted her teeth: "Are you crazy! This whole room is full of cameras! Aren't you afraid of getting into trouble?"

She forced herself to calm down, using her last bit of reason to look for an opportunity to fight back.

She knew that there were surveillance cameras installed in every corner of the restaurant, and every frame of the footage would be recorded.

If this evidence can be preserved and handed over to the police, he will not be able to escape justice.

She stared at the black camera on the ceiling, a faint glimmer of hope igniting in her heart.

Zhou Yunsheng grinned, his face full of disdain: "Without the Zhou family, you would have starved to death on the streets by now. I punched you, and you dare to call the police? Do you really think you're some rich young lady?"

He glanced at the surrounding cameras without a care in the world, showing no fear on his face.

He was used to this kind of scene and knew how much power his father wielded.

Let alone a video recording, even if you beat her to death on the spot, you could easily erase all traces.

In his eyes, the law is nothing more than a tool to restrain the weak, and he was born to stand above the rules.

He knew in his heart that the Zhou family was his backer.

His dad will handle everything.

Who dares to touch him?

As long as he uses the "Zhou family" brand, the police, media, and courts will automatically back down.

He grew up in privilege, enjoying resources and protections that ordinary people could never access even after a lifetime of hard work.

So he wasn't afraid, not afraid at all.

No matter what happens, there will always be a pair of hands in the shadows cleaning up his mess and helping him back to his high position.

Early in the morning, Song Zhiwei stood downstairs at the Song Group building.

Sunlight streamed obliquely through the gaps between the tall buildings to the east, reflecting a faint golden halo on the marble floor beneath her feet.

Her shadow was stretched long, standing alone in front of the building, like a still picture.

She was surrounded by reporters, their cameras and microphones pointed at her.

The camera's red light flashed incessantly, and the sound of camera shutters clicking incessantly, creating a cacophony like a surging tide.

The flashes were so frequent and intense that they were almost blinding.

The crowd was so large that it was impossible to move. Some people stood on tiptoe holding up their equipment, while others kept asking questions loudly, trying to get a single word out of her.

During this period, her name has been trending on social media.

From morning till night, there's always something related to her on the trending topics list.

Whether it's the headline "Song Zhiwei seizes family business" or "Song Zhiwei divorces Sheng Tingzhou," the number of views often reaches hundreds of millions.

On social media platforms, the discussion remained heated, with various speculations, insults, sympathy, and factionalism weaving together a huge web of public opinion that trapped her firmly within it.

"Song Zhiwei, you're an adopted girl, how dare you compare yourself to a real heiress?"

A female reporter squeezed into the front row, her voice sharp and filled with undisguised contempt as she questioned, "Don't forget who raised you!"

"Why is President Song so biased towards his adopted daughter? He must have used some underhanded methods, right?"

Another male reporter pressed on, his gaze aggressive, "Did you use some underhanded methods to manipulate the old man's emotions?"

"The adopted daughter only knows how to ride the coattails of others' fame. The real heiress just donated 90 million yesterday to build a charity foundation to help children in mountainous areas build schools."

A female reporter wearing black-rimmed glasses said loudly, her words laced with obvious sarcasm, "This is the true demeanor of a young lady of high society, unlike some people who only know how to create hype!"

Song Zhiwei listened quietly, smiling without saying a word.

Her lips curled slightly upward, her expression calm as if the commotion before her had nothing to do with her.

The wind blew through her hair, gently brushing against her cheek. She raised her hand and brushed it aside with composure.

Her eyes were calm and deep, like a bottomless ancient well, hiding secrets unknown to anyone.

These reporters were all arranged in advance by Song Xiaoxiao.

They did not gather spontaneously, but were ordered to do so.

Every question, every provocation, is a line in the script, an indispensable part of this grand drama.

They thought they were uncovering the truth, but they were just setting the stage for others to perform.

Ninety million?

Ah, if we add a little more, it'll be just enough to fill the hole in the Song family's coffers.

She knew perfectly well that the so-called "good deeds" were nothing more than a performance to whitewash the truth.

Ninety million sounds astonishing, but for the heavily indebted Song family, it's just a drop in the bucket.

Moreover, this money will not flow into the foundation's account at all—only those behind the scenes know whose pocket it will ultimately end up in.

After they finished reciting their lines, she slowly said, "It's too sunny outside, let's all go inside and sit down."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced through the noisy crowd, carrying a gentle smile that sounded like an invitation, yet also like a command.

Although it's the beginning of autumn, the sunlight is still so intense that people can't open their eyes.

A wave of heat hit us, and the air was filled with the smell of asphalt melting in the sun.

Many reporters had beads of sweat on their foreheads, but no one was willing to back down, fearing they would miss the crucial moment to come.

Before they could respond, Cheng Lanlan raised her hand and beckoned for people to escort Song Zhiwei inside.

She quickly stepped forward, gently supporting Song Zhiwei's arm with one hand, and signaling the security personnel to clear the passage with the other.

She was five months pregnant, her figure was slightly visible, but her movements were still nimble and decisive.

She knew the risks at this moment, and she understood even more that Song Zhiwei's health could not be compromised in any way.

She was pregnant and couldn't suffer outside.

High temperatures, bright light, and pushing and shoving among people—any of these could trigger an accident.

She had to ensure Song Zhiwei's safe entry into the building, even if it meant forcibly breaking the media's blockade.

As soon as Song Zhiwei left, the reporter immediately followed her inside.

They quickly packed up their equipment and rushed through the glass revolving door, afraid of falling behind and missing important footage.

The air conditioning in the lobby was strong, a stark contrast to the heat outside, but their enthusiasm remained undiminished.

In the hall, a huge curtain suddenly lit up, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

The screen slowly descended from the ceiling, covering the entire main wall. The images transitioned smoothly, with saturated colors and clarity so fine that even the smallest textures could be seen.

In that instant, all the discussions ceased abruptly, leaving only the sounds of breathing and light footsteps echoing in the space.

Song Zhiwei held the microphone, her voice clearly coming from the speakers: every word seemed to strike people's hearts, deep yet powerful.

"Everyone, please raise your phones and cameras—this next news story is so good, you'll miss out on a fortune if you're even a second late."

Her tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority.

She clapped her hands gently.