The reporter smiled toward the camera.

—President Bui, everyone online is calling tonight a declaration of true love. Is there anything you want to say to Miss Lam Ha?

Bui Tranh took her hand.

Behind them, the amusement park’s fireworks were already being prepared.

He looked directly into the camera.

—Some people enter your life because of responsibility.

Then he turned toward Lam Ha.

—Others are the person you were always supposed to find your way back to.

The comments exploded.

Lam Ha lowered her head shyly.

At that exact moment, three black cars stopped outside the park.

I stepped out of the first.

Lawyer Trieu followed me carrying two document cases.

Behind us came representatives from three banks and the financial director of Tham Group.

The security guards immediately blocked the entrance.

—Private event.

I looked at the illuminated sign overhead.

—Tell Bui Tranh his wife is here.

The guard hesitated.

Then someone recognized me.

Five minutes later, I walked through the amusement park while dozens of cameras turned in my direction.

Bui Tranh saw me from the stage.

His smile disappeared.

Lam Ha’s fingers tightened around his.

—Tham Niem?

I stopped beneath the stage.

Bui Tranh frowned.

—What are you doing here?

I smiled.

—You said our marriage exists only in name.

—I thought I should come hear the announcement personally.

The reporters instantly surrounded us.

Bui Tranh’s expression became colder.

—Today is not the time for your tantrums.

—Tantrum?

I looked around at the park he had rented while my father’s funeral was taking place.

—You’re right.

—I came for business.

Lawyer Trieu stepped forward.

He handed Bui Tranh a sealed envelope.

—Mr. Bui, formal notice.

Bui Tranh glanced at it without taking it.

—What notice?

—Immediate termination of Tham Group’s financial guarantee for Bui Group.

His face changed.

Lam Ha looked confused.

—What does that mean?

I answered for him.

—It means the money keeping Bui Group alive no longer exists.

Silence.

Three years ago, when Bui Group’s capital chain collapsed, my father had personally guaranteed its debt.

Banks extended credit because Chairman Tham stood behind Bui Tranh.

Suppliers continued delivering.

Investors stopped withdrawing.

The market believed Bui Group had survived because Bui Tranh was brilliant.

He had eventually begun believing it too.

What he apparently forgot was that my father had never given him that support permanently.

The power of attorney in my pocket contained a condition.

If my marriage ended because of Bui Tranh’s misconduct, or if he publicly damaged the interests or reputation of the Tham family, every guarantee could be withdrawn immediately.

My father had signed it two days before his death.

Bui Tranh finally tore open the envelope.

His hands stopped halfway down the first page.

—You can’t do this.

—Already done.

His phone rang.

Then another.

Then another.

Within thirty seconds, three executives were calling him simultaneously.

One of the bankers spoke calmly:

—Mr. Bui, your company has thirty days to replace the guarantees attached to its major credit facilities.

Bui Tranh stared at me.

—You’re using your father’s death to take revenge?

For the first time that night, anger rose inside me.

But my voice remained calm.

—My father was dying while you were arranging fireworks.

I stepped closer.

—He saved your company because I loved you.

—And today you publicly announced that you intend to replace me with another woman while demanding control of the company he left me.

I tilted my head.

—Tell me, Bui Tranh. Which one of us is using my father’s death?

Nobody spoke.

Even the livestream comments slowed.

Lam Ha tugged at his sleeve.

—Bui Tranh, you told me Bui Group had already become independent from the Tham family.

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Then Lawyer Trieu produced a second document.

—There is more.

Bui Tranh’s face hardened.

—What?

—Chairman Tham’s estate instructions.

I looked toward the cameras.

My father had personally transferred his controlling interest in Tham Group to me.

Not to my husband.

Not to the Bui family.

To me.

Effective immediately after his death.

Tong Ngoc Lan arrived twenty minutes later.

Apparently someone had called her from the funeral hall.

She rushed toward me.

—Tham Niem! What nonsense are you doing?

I turned.

—Mother-in-law.

—Withdraw the notice immediately!

—Why?

—Because husband and wife share honor and disgrace!

I almost laughed.

—Interesting.

I took out my phone.

—An hour ago you told me my father was dead and that I should hand over his company seal because I had nobody left to depend on.

Her expression froze.

Unfortunately for her, the conversation had been recorded.

I pressed play.

Her own voice filled the amusement park.

“From now on, the only person you can rely on is Bui Tranh.”

Then:

“Tomorrow morning, bring the seal of Tham Group and the share transfer form.”

The reporters went wild.

Tong Ngoc Lan lunged toward my phone.

A bodyguard stepped between us.

—Turn it off!

I did.

—Don’t worry. My lawyer already has copies.

Bui Tranh looked at his mother.

—You asked her for Tham Group?

She stammered.

—I was doing it for you!

That sentence destroyed whatever defense she still had.

Lam Ha quietly released Bui Tranh’s hand.

He noticed.

—Ha Ha?

She looked frightened now.

Not because of me.

Because the man who had seemed untouchable thirty minutes earlier was suddenly surrounded by calls from creditors.

—I think you should deal with this first.

He stared at her.

—You’re leaving?

—I didn’t say that.

But she was already stepping backward.

I almost admired the timing.

True love apparently had very sensitive financial instincts.

I turned to leave.

Bui Tranh grabbed my wrist.

—Tham Niem.

I looked down.

—Let go.

He did.

His voice lowered.

—What do you want?

That question made me smile.

He still thought everything was negotiation.

—Nothing from you.

—Then why do this?

—Because these guarantees belonged to my father.

My smile disappeared.

—And you don’t get to stand at an amusement park celebrating another woman while living on the foundation built by the man whose funeral you refused to attend.

I walked away.

Behind me, the fireworks never went off.

The company crisis unfolded faster than anyone expected.

Within a week, Bui Group’s stock price collapsed.

Several lenders demanded additional collateral.

Two major projects were suspended.

Partners who had once called Bui Tranh a financial genius suddenly remembered that his greatest expansion had begun only after Tham Group guaranteed him.

Lam Ha disappeared from his side almost immediately.

Her team released a statement saying they had been “only close childhood friends.”

The wedding of the century lasted less than twenty-four hours as an internet fantasy.

Bui Tranh came to see me on the seventh day.

My father’s mourning period had not yet ended.

He stood outside the Tham residence looking exhausted.

—Can we talk?

I allowed him inside.

He looked at my father’s photograph.

For the first time, guilt appeared on his face.

—I should have come to the funeral.

—Yes.

—I thought there would be another chance to apologize.

I looked at him.

—To a dead man?

He lowered his head.

Then he whispered:

—Your father saved me.

—He did.

—I forgot.

—No.

I shook my head.

—You remembered. You simply began believing you deserved it.

That hurt him.

He looked at me.

—If I apologize publicly and end everything with Lam Ha, will you restore the guarantees?

—No.

His face went pale.

—Then Bui Group may collapse.

—I know.

—That’s also your marital property.

I smiled.

—My lawyer filed for divorce this morning.

Silence.

He stared at me.

—You’re serious?

I almost found the question insulting.

—You announced our marriage was over to millions of viewers before my father’s funeral had even ended.

—Why are you surprised I believed you?

He sat down heavily.

—Tham Niem, I made a mistake.

—Many.

His eyes reddened.

—I can change.

Perhaps he could.

But some lessons arrive after the person you hurt no longer wishes to supervise your growth.

I stood.

—Then change.

He looked hopeful for half a second.

I finished:

—For yourself.

Our divorce became final four months later.

Bui Group did not completely disappear.

It sold assets, reduced operations and survived as a much smaller company.

Bui Tranh eventually stepped down as president.

Tong Ngoc Lan sold the mansion she once believed I should be grateful to enter.

Lam Ha married someone else two years later.

I never contacted any of them.

I took over Tham Group.

On the first anniversary of my father’s death, I returned to his grave alone.

I brought the tea he liked.

I sat beside him until sunset.

—Dad, I collected everything they owed you.

Then I smiled.

—Not the money.

—The respect.

The wind moved gently through the trees.

For a moment, I remembered Bui Tranh saying he wanted to cherish the person he had lost and found again.

Perhaps he eventually understood the irony.

He had spent my father’s funeral celebrating someone he thought he had recovered.

And in doing so, he permanently lost the wife, the family, and the empire he had believed would always remain behind him.

I touched my father’s photograph one last time.

Then I walked away.

Bui Tranh had thought my father’s death meant the Tham family had lost its protector.

He was wrong.

My father had spent his final days making sure that when he was gone, I would never again need protection from men like Bui Tranh.