The voice belonged to Co Thoi Xuyen.

He strode through the crowd with his face dark, pulled To Hieu Hieu behind him, and looked at me as if I were the intruder.

—What are you doing?

For a second, I almost laughed.

I was sitting against the cabinet, one arm aching from the dog attack, surrounded by white candles, funeral wreaths and a black-and-white photograph made from my own wedding portrait.

Yet he asked me what I was doing.

To Hieu Hieu immediately grabbed his sleeve.

—Thoi Xuyen, she wanted to hit me!

Her eyes reddened instantly.

—She insulted me, tried to throw me out and even called security to bully me. I only wanted to decorate the room because you said I could.

Co Thoi Xuyen looked at my injuries.

His expression changed slightly.

—What happened to you?

I answered calmly:

—Ask her dog.

Hieu Hieu interrupted:

—It only scared her a little! She provoked it first.

Co Thoi Xuyen frowned.

Then he looked at me.

—You knew Hieu Hieu has been emotionally unstable because of our wedding. Why did you have to provoke her the night before the ceremony?

I stared at him.

There are moments when disappointment burns.

And there are moments when it simply freezes.

This was the second kind.

—So that’s your conclusion?

He sighed impatiently.

—Tomorrow is our wedding. Can you stop making everything complicated for one night?

I looked around at the funeral decorations.

—You call this complicated?

—They’re decorations.

—For a funeral.

—Hieu Hieu was joking.

He actually said it.

A joke.

The black portrait.

The white candles.

The wreaths.

The dog.

The security guards holding me down.

All a joke.

To Hieu Hieu smiled behind him.

She knew she had won.

At least she thought she had.

I slowly stood.

—Co Thoi Xuyen.

—What?

—Do you remember the conditions we discussed when our families arranged this marriage?

His expression became annoyed.

—What does that have to do with anything?

Everything.

My mother had told me he had never loved anyone.

His family had said the same.

I didn’t need romance.

After years buried in confidential research work, I only wanted a quiet marriage with someone whose past was uncomplicated.

So when I agreed, I had asked one question:

“Is there another woman?”

The Co family answered no.

Co Thoi Xuyen himself answered no.

Now I looked at the woman clutching his sleeve as if she already owned him.

—Was your answer a lie?

He hesitated.

Only one second.

But that second was enough.

Hieu Hieu tightened her grip on him.

I smiled.

—Understood.

Then I took out my phone.

—The wedding is canceled.

The entire hallway went silent.

To Hieu Hieu’s mouth opened.

Co Thoi Xuyen stared at me.

—What did you say?

—I said there will be no wedding tomorrow.

He laughed in disbelief.

—Because of decorations?

—Because I don’t marry liars.

His face darkened.

—Do you think marriage is something you cancel whenever you’re angry?

—Yes.

I looked directly at him.

—Before it happens, that’s exactly what it is.

He stepped toward me.

—Our families have invited hundreds of people.

—Then notify them.

—My grandfather personally arranged—

—Then apologize to your grandfather.

His pride finally exploded.

—Who do you think you are?

That was when the elevator doors opened.

Six people stepped out.

The first was the director of my research institute.

Behind him were two officers from the organization, the apartment management chief, a military physician and the head of security for the residential compound.

Everyone around us immediately stopped speaking.

Director Han saw me.

Then saw the white funeral decorations.

Then my injured arm.

His expression became terrifyingly calm.

—Professor Lin.

Co Thoi Xuyen froze.

Hieu Hieu blinked.

Professor?

Director Han walked straight toward me.

—Why didn’t you report the injury immediately?

—Personal matter.

His eyes moved toward the guards.

—Who restrained her?

Neither guard spoke.

The compound’s security chief turned pale.

—Director Han, there may have been a misunderstanding.

—A misunderstanding?

Director Han pointed around the apartment.

—You allowed unauthorized civilians to enter a specially allocated residence, permitted them to alter the property, then detained its legal occupant?

The security chief’s face went white.

To Hieu Hieu suddenly spoke:

—This is Mr. Co’s apartment!

Everyone looked at her.

Director Han frowned.

—Whose?

She pointed confidently at Co Thoi Xuyen.

—His. It was prepared for his marriage.

The director actually laughed.

Not happily.

—Young lady, this residence was allocated by the institute to Professor Lin as recognition for completing Project Aurora.

Silence.

I saw Co Thoi Xuyen’s face change.

—Project… Aurora?

He knew the name.

Almost everyone in our field did.

For five years, Project Aurora had existed only in rumors.

A national-level confidential research program conducted under extreme field conditions.

Its technical team had never been publicly identified.

Director Han looked at him.

—You didn’t know who you were marrying?

Nobody answered.

He turned to me.

—The confidentiality review ended this afternoon. Your appointment notice was approved.

I frowned.

—What appointment?

He handed me a sealed folder.

On the first page were four words:

Deputy Chief Technical Director.

I stared at him.

—Director Han—

—Don’t argue with me tonight.

He glanced at my arm.

—You’ve done enough arguing with civilians.

Behind us, someone whispered:

—She worked on Aurora?

Another voice:

—She’s Professor Lin?

To Hieu Hieu slowly released Co Thoi Xuyen’s sleeve.

Her expression no longer looked triumphant.

It looked frightened.

She had spent the entire evening calling me a country woman who had somehow tricked my way into marrying the Co family.

She didn’t know that the “mountains” I had just returned from were restricted research zones.

She didn’t know the mud on my clothes came from field testing.

And most importantly…

she didn’t know this apartment had never belonged to Co Thoi Xuyen.

I looked at the security chief.

—Please remove all unauthorized personnel.

This time, nobody hesitated.

To Hieu Hieu immediately grabbed Co Thoi Xuyen.

—Thoi Xuyen!

He didn’t move.

The guards approached.

She became hysterical.

—You can’t throw me out! He said I could decorate this place!

Director Han looked at Co Thoi Xuyen.

—Did you authorize her to enter?

He went silent.

That silence was another answer.

I nodded.

—Record it.

The security chief immediately ordered the surveillance footage preserved.

To Hieu Hieu’s face changed.

—Why?

I looked at her.

—Because your dog attacked me.

Her arrogance disappeared.

—It was an accident.

—Then the recording will show that.

—You can’t make trouble over something so small!

I looked at my injured arm.

—Five minutes ago you thought it was funny.

She stopped talking.

The physician led me into another room to examine the injury.

When I came back out, most of the decorations had already been removed.

The funeral portrait lay face down beside the wall.

Co Thoi Xuyen was still there.

Alone now.

—Can we talk?

I looked at him.

—Five minutes.

He closed the door.

For the first time since I’d met him, he appeared uncertain.

—I didn’t know she would go this far.

—You gave her the key.

He looked away.

—She grew up with me.

—That wasn’t my question.

—My family likes her too.

I smiled faintly.

—Another thing your family forgot to mention.

—There’s nothing between us.

—Then why did she believe there was?

He had no answer.

I continued:

—Why did she believe she could turn my wedding room into a mourning hall and you would defend her?

Silence.

—Why did she believe that if she ordered me to kneel, I’d have to do it?

Still silence.

—Why did she believe you loved her?

His jaw tightened.

—I never told her that.

I nodded.

—Sometimes cowardice doesn’t require saying yes.

I looked at him.

—It only requires never saying no.

That struck him.

He whispered:

—I can fix this.

—No.

—Tomorrow we can still hold the wedding. I’ll make Hieu Hieu apologize publicly.

I stared at him.

He still thought the problem was tomorrow’s ceremony.

Not the marriage that would follow it.

—Co Thoi Xuyen, if I marry you tomorrow, every time she crosses a line you’ll tell me she didn’t mean it.

—That’s not fair.

—Every time I object, you’ll tell me not to embarrass the family.

His expression changed.

—And every time you need to choose between protecting my dignity and protecting her feelings…

I looked at the door through which he had entered shouting, “Let me see who dares to touch her!”

—I already know your choice.

His face became pale.

I took the engagement ring from my finger.

He stared at it.

—Don’t.

I placed it on the table.

—Tell your grandfather I’m sorry.

Then I added:

—Tell him the truth about why.

The wedding was canceled at 11:48 p.m.

By midnight, both families knew.

By one in the morning, my mother was calling me.

I expected her to persuade me to reconsider.

Instead, she asked:

—Did he really protect that girl after you were hurt?

—Yes.

Silence.

Then:

—Come home.

That was all.

The Co family reacted differently.

Co Thoi Xuyen’s mother called seven times.

His father called four.

His grandfather called once.

I answered him.

The old man’s first sentence surprised me.

—Did my grandson lie about another woman?

—Yes.

He sighed.

—Then don’t marry him.

I blinked.

He continued:

—I arranged a marriage, not a prison sentence.

For the first time that night, I laughed.

The next morning should have been my wedding.

Instead, at eight o’clock, investigators arrived at the apartment.

Not because I had demanded revenge.

Because a specially allocated residence linked to a confidential project had been accessed by unauthorized people.

The consequences expanded quickly.

The two security guards were suspended pending investigation.

The property manager was questioned about why he accepted To Hieu Hieu’s instructions without verifying ownership.

And To Hieu Hieu discovered that releasing a large dog toward someone, ordering workers to alter property without authorization and striking another person could not be dismissed as “venting anger.”

Her family tried to negotiate privately.

I refused.

—Handle it according to procedure.

That was the only sentence I gave them.

Then something even more embarrassing surfaced.

Several of the expensive decorations she had ordered had been charged to Co Thoi Xuyen’s family account.

She had also told the decorators that she was “the person who truly knew what Mr. Co wanted.”

There were voice messages.

One of them said:

“Tomorrow she may be the bride, but everyone in the Co family knows who Thoi Xuyen actually listens to.”

Another:

“I want her to understand her position before she marries in.”

Co Thoi Xuyen heard those recordings.

For the first time, even he could no longer call it a joke.

He came to see me three days later.

I had already moved into temporary institute housing while the apartment was restored.

He looked exhausted.

—Hieu Hieu says she did it because she couldn’t accept me marrying someone else.

I continued reading my report.

—That sounds like her problem.

—I told her we couldn’t see each other anymore.

I looked up.

—Congratulations.

He flinched.

—I mean it.

—So do I.

His voice became desperate.

—What else do you want me to do?

Nothing.

That was exactly what he couldn’t understand.

I didn’t need him to complete a series of tasks to win me back.

I had simply stopped wanting him.

—There isn’t anything left for you to do.

His eyes reddened.

—You agreed to marry me because you thought I’d never loved anyone before.

—Yes.

—What if I tell you I never loved her?

I thought about it.

Then shook my head.

—That’s worse.

He stared at me.

—Why?

—Because if you loved her, at least your behavior would have an explanation.

I closed the file.

—But if you didn’t love her and still let her humiliate your future wife, then you threw away our marriage for someone you didn’t even want.

He couldn’t answer.

That was our last private conversation.

My appointment became official two months later.

For the first time, part of my work on Project Aurora could be publicly acknowledged.

The newspapers didn’t print technical details.

Only a photograph of the award ceremony.

Director Han.

Several project leaders.

And me.

To Hieu Hieu apparently saw it.

She sent me one message:

“If I had known who you were, I wouldn’t have treated you like that.”

I stared at it for several seconds.

Then replied:

“That’s exactly why you deserved the consequences.”

Because respect that depends on status isn’t respect.

If I had truly been the poor country woman she imagined, would the dog attack have been acceptable?

Would the slaps have been acceptable?

Would turning my wedding room into a funeral hall have been acceptable?

No.

Her greatest mistake wasn’t failing to recognize my position.

It was believing someone without position could be abused safely.

I blocked her.

A year later, I attended an academic conference in the same city.

After the closing session, I ran into Co Thoi Xuyen outside the hall.

He had changed.

Quieter.

Less arrogant.

He congratulated me.

I thanked him.

Then he asked:

—Are you married?

—No.

Hope flickered across his face.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Then I added:

—I’m also not looking.

He smiled bitterly.

—Your mother still arranges introductions?

—Constantly.

—And you reject all of them?

I thought about that night.

The white candles.

The black portrait.

The words “If you dare take it down, be careful not to get married tomorrow.”

Then I smiled.

—I’ve learned that not getting married is much less frightening than marrying the wrong person.

He lowered his eyes.

Before leaving, he whispered:

—I’m sorry.

This time, I believed him.

But some apologies arrive after the door has already closed.

That evening, I returned to the apartment that had once been prepared as my wedding home.

I had kept it.

Not as a marital residence.

As my own.

The white curtains were gone.

The funeral wreaths were gone.

The black-and-white photograph was gone.

Near the window stood shelves full of research journals.

On the dining table were field maps for my next project.

The room had finally become what it should have been from the beginning.

Mine.

My mother once told me Co Thoi Xuyen’s greatest advantage was that his feelings were “pure.”

She was wrong.

Purity isn’t having no official girlfriend.

It isn’t saying you’ve never loved anyone.

It is knowing where your boundaries are and refusing to let another person trample the one you promised to protect.

Co Thoi Xuyen failed that test before our marriage even began.

Fortunately, he failed it one night early.

Because the shrine To Hieu Hieu built to curse my wedding eventually became something completely different.

It became the funeral of a marriage I was lucky enough never to enter.