Ly Mo Suong stood outside the car for several seconds.
She clearly had not expected me to actually take the passenger seat.
Chu Tung Dan got back behind the wheel.
His face was cold.
“Yen Vu, was that necessary?”
I fastened my seat belt.
“Very.”
Mo Suong quietly climbed into the back.
For the entire drive, she said nothing.
Neither did I.
That silence made Tung Dan more uncomfortable than any argument could have.
He was used to me being rational.
Polite.
Controlled.
But he was also used to knowing exactly how far my patience extended.
That night, he didn’t.
When we arrived at the Chu family residence, Mrs. Chu came personally to the entrance.
The moment she saw Mo Suong getting out of our car, her smile faded.
“Secretary Ly?”
Mo Suong bowed immediately.
“Madam Chu.”
Mrs. Chu looked at her.
Then at Tung Dan.
Then at me.
“What is she doing here?”
Tung Dan answered casually:
“She was on the way. I brought her along.”
His mother frowned.
“I invited my son and daughter-in-law to dinner.”
Mo Suong’s face reddened.
“I can leave.”
I smiled.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Since she is already here, let her eat.”
Tung Dan seemed relieved.
He probably thought I had finally decided to behave.
He was wrong.
Dinner began quietly.
Mrs. Chu kept putting food into my bowl.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“London?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“I heard the negotiation went well.”
“Better than expected.”
Tung Dan looked at me for the first time with genuine interest.
“How well?”
I took a sip of tea.
“The other side accepted our restructuring proposal.”
His chopsticks stopped.
The London project involved a joint Do–Chu investment platform.
If the transaction succeeded, both groups would gain access to a major European distribution network.
Originally, Tung Dan had been desperate for details.
But over the last few months, every time I tried to discuss it, he had been “busy.”
Apparently busy enough to take midnight showers with his secretary.
Mrs. Chu laughed.
“I told you Yen Vu would handle it.”
Then she looked at her son.
“You should learn something from your wife.”
Mo Suong lowered her eyes.
Tung Dan’s expression became slightly ugly.
I put down my chopsticks.
“Auntie.”
Mrs. Chu immediately frowned.
“Auntie?”
For three years, I had called her Mom.
Everyone at the table went still.
I reached into my bag.
Placed a folder on the table.
“After tonight, it will be more appropriate.”
Tung Dan looked at the cover.
His face changed.
DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Mrs. Chu’s chopsticks fell.
“What is this?”
“I’m divorcing Tung Dan.”
Mo Suong’s face became completely white.
Tung Dan leaned back.
For several seconds, he simply stared at me.
Then he laughed.
“You drafted papers because of that night?”
“No.”
“Then because of the car?”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“What exactly are you doing?”
I looked directly at him.
“Ending a marriage I no longer want.”
Mrs. Chu turned toward her son.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
So I did.
“Three nights ago, I returned unexpectedly.”
“Tung Dan and Secretary Ly were both at our house.”
“In bathrobes.”
The dining room froze.
Mrs. Chu slowly turned toward Mo Suong.
“You wore Yen Vu’s bathrobe?”
Mo Suong’s eyes immediately filled.
“Madam Chu, I was caught in the rain. I only went there to report work.”
Mrs. Chu looked at her son.
“And you?”
Tung Dan’s jaw tightened.
“I had showered too.”
His mother closed her eyes.
Even she did not need help understanding how ridiculous that sounded.
Mo Suong hurried to explain:
“Nothing happened.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe.”
She froze.
“I’m not filing for divorce because I need to prove what happened behind a bathroom door.”
Tung Dan frowned.
“Then what?”
“Because you looked at me standing in our home at eleven thirty at night, watching another woman wear my clothes…”
I paused.
“And your first question was why I had come back.”
Silence.
“That was enough.”
Tung Dan’s expression shifted.
For the first time, something like unease appeared.
I continued:
“You didn’t look guilty.”
“You looked inconvenienced.”
Mrs. Chu whispered:
“Tung Dan…”
He ignored her.
Instead, he asked me:
“So you’re really ending a three-year alliance because you’re offended?”
Alliance.
Not marriage.
There it was.
I smiled.
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You know our families have joint projects.”
“I do.”
“Trust structures.”
“I know.”
“Equity agreements.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just walk away.”
I opened a second folder.
“I can.”
This one was not the divorce agreement.
It was the separation memorandum prepared by the Do Group’s legal team.
The joint holdings remained protected.
Existing projects would continue according to contract.
But every future co-investment that required my family’s discretionary capital would be re-evaluated independently.
No retaliation.
No sabotage.
Just the end of preferential treatment created by marriage.
Tung Dan turned the pages faster.
Then stopped.
“The London vehicle is being separated?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“The Chu Group has already committed resources.”
“And the Do Group will honor all signed obligations.”
I looked at him.
“But the next phase required my personal approval.”
His voice lowered.
“Yen Vu.”
“I’m withdrawing it.”
Mrs. Chu immediately understood the seriousness.
Unlike her son, she had always read contracts before assuming love would fill the gaps.
She asked:
“Will the current project survive?”
“Yes.”
“Will Chu Group lose money?”
“Not if management performs.”
She nodded slowly.
Then looked at Tung Dan.
“So the only thing ending is the special access created by the marriage.”
“Exactly.”
For some reason, that sentence made him look worse than if I had threatened to destroy everything.
Because I wasn’t taking anything from him.
I was simply stopping the benefits that came from being my husband.
Mo Suong suddenly stood.
“I should go.”
Mrs. Chu’s voice turned cold.
“Yes.”
She left without another word.
Tung Dan watched her.
That tiny movement did not escape me.
Neither did it escape his mother.
When the door closed, Mrs. Chu said:
“Do you love her?”
Tung Dan frowned.
“Mom.”
“Answer me.”
He said nothing.
That was enough.
I stood.
“Thank you for dinner.”
Mrs. Chu caught my hand.
“Yen Vu.”
Her eyes were red.
“I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing to me.”
“No.”
She looked toward her son.
“I raised him to believe that because both families needed the marriage, the woman inside it would always stay.”
Tung Dan’s face hardened.
“That’s not fair.”
I looked at him.
“Neither was your secretary wearing my bathrobe.”
Then I left.
The divorce negotiations lasted four months.
Not because I hesitated.
Because the alliance between two business families had too many layers.
Real estate.
Joint funds.
Cross-guarantees.
Investment vehicles.
Charitable foundations.
Three years of marriage had created dozens of places where our names overlapped.
My lawyers separated them one by one.
Tung Dan did not sign easily.
At first, he insisted I was angry.
Then jealous.
Then impulsive.
When those explanations failed, he came to my office.
No secretary.
No driver.
Just him.
He placed both hands on my desk.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I already did.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Money?”
“I have money.”
“Shares?”
“I have my own.”
“The house?”
“Keep it.”
His expression became frustrated.
“Then what?”
I looked at him.
“A divorce.”
He stared at me as if that were somehow the least reasonable request.
Finally, he said:
“Nothing happened with Mo Suong that night.”
I leaned back.
“Did something happen another night?”
Silence.
There it was.
His eyes moved away.
I laughed softly.
“Thank you.”
His face changed.
“It wasn’t—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I continued:
“You don’t need to downgrade betrayal into vocabulary.”
“Whether you kissed her once or slept with her ten times doesn’t change the decision.”
His jaw tightened.
“She understood me.”
“Good.”
“Yen Vu.”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“You don’t get to explain your affair by turning my competence into emotional neglect.”
That landed.
He lowered his eyes.
After a long silence, he admitted it.
The relationship with Mo Suong had started as flirtation.
Late-night work.
Private dinners.
A kiss after a business trip.
Then the night I returned from London.
He claimed they had not slept together that night.
I believed him.
It didn’t matter.
He had already crossed enough lines before I opened the door.
I asked one question.
“Why didn’t you just divorce me first?”
He had no answer.
Eventually, he said:
“I thought our marriage could continue.”
Of course.
He wanted stability from me.
Excitement from her.
The Do–Chu alliance.
And no consequences.
“Then you misunderstood the marriage.”
Mo Suong resigned before the divorce was final.
Not because I demanded it.
The Chu Group’s compliance committee began reviewing whether Tung Dan had given her preferential access, bonuses, travel approval, and confidential project information because of their relationship.
Some decisions were defensible.
Some were not.
She decided leaving was easier.
Her relationship with Tung Dan did not survive much longer.
Mrs. Chu told me once, months later.
I asked her not to update me again.
Another woman leaving him was not evidence that I had won.
I had already won the moment I stopped competing.
The London project succeeded.
Without being tied to our marriage.
The Do Group earned what its contracts entitled it to.
The Chu Group did too.
Tung Dan remained heir to his family business.
His career did not collapse.
Neither did mine.
That was important.
I did not need him ruined.
I only needed him removed from my private life.
On the day the divorce became final, Tung Dan waited outside the registrar’s office.
He held something in his hand.
The birthday gift I had thrown away months earlier.
I recognized the box.
“You took it out of the trash?”
“The building staff found it.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I kept it.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He opened the box.
Inside was the watch I had spent two months choosing.
Simple.
Dark face.
No gemstones.
Exactly his style.
His fingers tightened around it.
“You still knew what I liked.”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped.
“Then you loved me.”
“I did.”
He looked up.
“Past tense?”
“Yes.”
His eyes reddened.
“Yen Vu, was there really no chance after that night?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
His face tightened.
“Because I cheated?”
“Partly.”
I shook my head.
“But mostly because I realized how naturally you expected me to tolerate it.”
He said nothing.
“You let another woman sit in my seat.”
“Wear my clothes.”
“Enter my home.”
“And when I objected, you asked why I couldn’t be more considerate.”
I smiled faintly.
“That sentence ended more than the affair did.”
He looked down.
After a long time, he asked:
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Mo Suong?”
“No.”
“Then what do you feel?”
I considered the question.
“Clean.”
He almost laughed through the pain.
Of course I would choose that word.
Clean.
The quality I had once chosen him for.
I took the divorce certificate.
Then walked away.
Two years later, I saw Tung Dan again at a regional investment summit.
We were representing different groups.
Not husband and wife.
Not allies by marriage.
Just two executives sitting on opposite sides of a negotiation table.
He was professional.
So was I.
At the end, he stood and offered his hand.
“Chairwoman Do.”
I shook it.
“President Chu.”
Nothing trembled.
Nothing hurt.
Afterward, Mrs. Chu found me in the hallway.
She hugged me once.
Then whispered:
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
“Have you met someone?”
I laughed.
“Why does everyone think happiness requires that?”
She laughed too.
“Fair.”
I had dated.
Nothing serious.
That was fine.
My mother’s old advice had sounded ridiculous when I was young.
Dirty clothes?
Throw them away.
Buy new ones.
I later realized she had not really been talking about replacing one man with another.
She meant something simpler.
Some things are not worth destroying yourself trying to wash clean.
On Chu Tung Dan’s birthday, I flew back from London carrying a carefully chosen gift.
I opened my own front door.
His secretary was wearing my bathrobe.
He was wearing another.
And somehow, he still behaved as though I had arrived at an inconvenient time.
That night I threw his gift in the trash.
Months later, I threw away something more important.
The belief that a powerful marriage had to be preserved simply because two families had invested heavily in it.
Businesses can restructure.
Shares can be divided.
Contracts can be renegotiated.
Even alliances can end without empires collapsing.
The only thing I refused to restructure was my dignity.
Tung Dan once told me to be more considerate of the woman sitting in my seat.
So I finally became considerate.
I gave her the entire man.
And kept the only seat that had ever truly been mine—
the one at the head of my own life.
