Tan Dich Phong’s hand stopped inches from mine.

I stepped back.

“Don’t touch me.”

His fingers slowly curled into a fist.

“Tu Dao, things aren’t what you think.”

I almost laughed.

“A married man kneels in front of another woman, puts a diamond ring on her finger, and tells her to guide him for the rest of his life.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“Tell me what part I misunderstood.”

His lips moved, but no answer came.

That silence was enough.

“Tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”

I picked up the cash on the table.

“Bring Ha Van Nghi.”

Then I walked upstairs.

That night, Tan Dich Phong did not enter the bedroom.

At 9:58 the next morning, the doorbell rang.

Ha Van Nghi stood outside wearing a simple white dress.

The diamond ring was gone.

Behind her was my husband.

Neither looked as glamorous as they had on the yacht.

“Sit.”

I poured three cups of tea.

Tan Dich Phong immediately spoke.

“Tu Dao, Van Nghi and I—”

“I asked her to come because I want to hear her answer.”

I looked at Ha Van Nghi.

“How long?”

Her fingers tightened around the cup.

“Three years.”

Tan Dich Phong’s face changed.

“Van Nghi!”

I nodded slowly.

Three years.

So much for “just a game.”

She continued.

“We started after the company’s anniversary celebration.”

“Did you know he was married?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know who his wife was?”

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“Good. At least we don’t have to waste time pretending.”

Tan Dich Phong slammed his palm onto the table.

“That’s enough!”

“No.”

I looked at him.

“We’re just getting started.”

I took out my phone and opened the screenshots from his private group.

His face turned pale.

There were dozens of messages.

His friends discussing how to keep me occupied.

Joking about me.

Helping him arrange the yacht.

Even planning which excuse he should use if I suddenly called.

“These men came to our wedding.”

I scrolled slowly.

“They drank the wine my father paid for.”

Another message.

“They borrowed money from my family when your company nearly collapsed.”

Another.

“And now they laugh about keeping your wife away while you propose to your mistress.”

Tan Dich Phong lowered his eyes.

For the first time, he seemed ashamed.

But shame was cheap.

I wanted the truth.

“Why propose?”

Ha Van Nghi looked at him.

He said nothing.

So she answered.

“Because I’m pregnant.”

The room went silent.

I glanced at her stomach.

She immediately placed a protective hand over it.

“Ten weeks.”

My husband whispered:

“Tu Dao, I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

I smiled.

“After she gave birth?”

His face tightened.

“I was planning to divorce you.”

“I know.”

Now both of them froze.

I leaned back.

“You really should change the password to your phone.”

Tan Dich Phong stared at me.

Then panic appeared in his eyes.

Not heartbreak.

Not guilt.

Panic.

And that interested me.

“What else did you see?”

There it was.

I had been waiting for that question.

I smiled.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

I placed another screenshot on the table.

It was a message he had sent to his lawyer.

“Once Tu Dao signs the equity restructuring agreement, the Jiang family shares can finally be transferred.”

Ha Van Nghi turned toward him.

“What equity agreement?”

He immediately stood.

“Tu Dao, this has nothing to do with her.”

I finally understood.

The affair was humiliating.

But the proposal had never been the real secret.

My family had funded Tan Dich Phong’s company twelve years earlier when it was drowning in debt.

In exchange, my father received a large block of preferred shares.

When we married, those shares were transferred into my name.

For years, I had allowed my husband to manage them because I trusted him.

Six months earlier, he had begun repeatedly asking me to sign what he called a “routine corporate restructuring.”

I kept postponing it.

Now I knew why.

“You were going to take my shares before divorcing me.”

His expression hardened.

“It wasn’t stealing. I built that company.”

“With my family’s money.”

“I paid it back!”

“You paid back the loan.”

I stared at him.

“You never bought back the equity.”

Ha Van Nghi suddenly stood up.

“You told me the company was completely yours.”

Tan Dich Phong snapped:

“Stay out of this.”

She went pale.

I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

I took a folder from the drawer.

“Yesterday, while you were celebrating your engagement, I called my lawyer.”

My husband froze.

“I also contacted the board secretary.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing dramatic.”

I smiled.

“I simply exercised the voting rights attached to my shares.”

His breathing changed.

“You can’t—”

“I own thirty-eight percent.”

My father’s trust controlled another eleven percent.

Together?

Forty-nine percent.

Enough, with two independent directors, to suspend Tan Dich Phong’s authority pending an internal audit.

His phone suddenly rang.

He looked at the screen.

Then at me.

It rang again.

Finally, he answered.

“What?”

I watched the color disappear from his face.

“What do you mean my system access has been frozen?”

Silence.

“No. You cannot hold a board meeting without me.”

Another silence.

“I’m the chairman!”

I took a sip of tea.

Not anymore.

He ended the call and stared at me.

“You planned this.”

“No.”

I put down my cup.

“You planned it. I simply discovered it.”

Ha Van Nghi looked between us.

Then she whispered:

“What about the apartment?”

I turned toward her.

“What apartment?”

Her expression changed.

Tan Dich Phong closed his eyes.

Interesting.

Apparently, he had lied to both of us.

“He promised me the Riverside Garden penthouse after the divorce.”

I laughed.

This time genuinely.

“That apartment belongs to my mother.”

Ha Van Nghi slowly turned toward him.

“You said it was yours.”

He exploded.

“Enough!”

But she was already crying.

“And the yacht?”

“Rented.”

“The villa in Sanya?”

I answered for him.

“Company property.”

Her face collapsed.

The wealthy future she thought she was marrying suddenly became considerably smaller.

She looked at the ring box on the table.

Then at my husband.

“Do you actually own anything?”

He didn’t answer.

I almost admired the irony.

For three years, Ha Van Nghi had believed she was stealing a rich husband from me.

She had never realized that much of what made him look rich had come from my family.

I stood.

“There’s one final matter.”

I placed divorce papers in front of him.

Tan Dich Phong stared at them.

“You want a divorce over one mistake?”

“One mistake?”

I looked at Ha Van Nghi.

“Three years.”

Then at his phone.

“An entire group of friends helping you deceive me.”

Then at the corporate documents.

“And an attempt to take my shares before throwing me away.”

I pushed a pen toward him.

“Which one would you like me to forgive first?”

He didn’t touch it.

“Tu Dao.”

For the first time, his voice softened.

“We’ve been together fourteen years.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t erase fourteen years overnight.”

“I didn’t.”

I looked at him calmly.

“You spent three years doing that.”

Ha Van Nghi quietly took off the diamond ring.

She placed it on the table.

Tan Dich Phong turned toward her.

“What are you doing?”

“You lied to me too.”

His expression became almost absurd.

“You knew I was married!”

“Yes.”

Her tears fell.

“But I didn’t know you were poor without her.”

I nearly choked on my tea.

She picked up her bag and left.

Tan Dich Phong stood there alone.

Wife gone.

Mistress gone.

Company frozen.

Friends suddenly nowhere to be found.

Two months later, the audit discovered that he had used corporate money to pay for gifts, hotels, and several trips with Ha Van Nghi.

He was removed from management.

Our divorce became final shortly afterward.

As for the friends who had laughed in that group chat?

Three sent me apology messages.

Two claimed they had always opposed the affair.

Tran Hao even wrote:

“Sister-in-law, I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship.”

I blocked every one of them.

Ha Van Nghi eventually kept the baby.

That was her decision.

I never interfered.

Tan Dich Phong sold most of his remaining personal assets to settle the financial claims against him.

The famous yacht proposal became the most expensive night of his life.

And me?

I returned to my mahjong table.

Hua Ninh stared at me while shuffling the tiles.

“So that night you already knew everything, yet you still managed a perfect hand?”

I smiled and drew a tile.

“What else should I have done?”

“Cry?”

I placed the tile down.

“Someone else was already losing everything.”

The table burst into laughter.

I looked at the tiles in front of me.

That night, I finally understood why I had been so calm when I discovered the affair.

Because somewhere deep inside, I had already stopped being afraid of losing Tan Dich Phong.

He thought the cruelest thing he could do was replace me.

He was wrong.

The cruelest thing he had done was force me to see exactly what kind of man I had spent fourteen years protecting.

And once I saw him clearly…

there was nothing left worth fighting another woman for.