Chu Lam Xuyen’s expression softened for a second.

“Chieu Vi, you’re making this bigger than it is.”

I looked at him through the curtain of rain.

“No. I’m finally seeing it at its actual size.”

He opened his mouth, but I stepped back.

“Go take To Di home.”

Then I turned and walked toward the subway entrance.

That night, Chu Lam Xuyen called seventeen times.

I didn’t answer once.

To Di sent me a long message.

Chieu Vi, I’m sorry if my existence caused misunderstandings between you two. I’ve always seen Lam Xuyen as an older brother. I hope you won’t throw away seven years of friendship over something so small.

I read it twice.

Then replied with one sentence.

“Tomorrow at nine, return every case file under my name.”

She immediately called.

I declined.

The next morning, I arrived at the firm before eight.

Our managing partner, Attorney Zhou, was already inside.

I placed three folders on his desk.

“What are these?”

“Corrections.”

He opened the first one.

It was To Di’s draft from two weeks earlier.

Then another.

And another.

Every page contained tracked revisions.

Wrong statutes.

Incorrect dates.

Missing evidence references.

Arguments copied from unrelated cases.

For nearly a year, I had quietly corrected her work before submission because she was my best friend.

When supervisors praised the team, I never explained who had actually rewritten everything.

Attorney Zhou’s face gradually darkened.

“You did all these corrections?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought she was inexperienced.”

“And now?”

I looked through the glass wall toward the office entrance.

To Di had just arrived.

“Now I think I’ve helped her for too long.”

At nine sharp, she entered my office carrying several files.

Her eyes were swollen.

“You really removed me from the Hengyuan case?”

“Yes.”

“That case could make me senior associate.”

“No.”

I closed my laptop.

“Winning that case could make you senior associate. But you didn’t win it.”

Her face stiffened.

“We worked on it together.”

“You attended meetings.”

“I also prepared documents.”

“The documents I rewrote.”

She went silent.

I pushed a folder toward her.

“From today onward, submit your work directly to Attorney Zhou.”

Her face changed.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything to you.”

I smiled.

“I’m simply no longer doing things for you.”

That distinction apparently frightened her more than anger would have.

At lunchtime, I heard whispers around the office.

To Di had cried in the pantry.

She told several colleagues that I had become jealous because of Chu Lam Xuyen.

By three, half the department knew.

At four, Chu Lam Xuyen appeared.

He walked straight into my office.

“We need to talk.”

“No.”

“Hua Chieu Vi.”

I continued reading.

“To Di called me crying.”

Of course she did.

“She says you’re deliberately destroying her career.”

I finally looked up.

“Did she tell you I wrote most of the documents she took credit for?”

His expression paused.

“She said you helped each other.”

I laughed.

“Then ask her to show you one case where she corrected my work.”

He frowned.

“Even if that’s true, you don’t have to punish her because of us.”

“There is no ‘us.’”

His face hardened.

“You seriously want to end six years over this?”

“Six years didn’t end yesterday.”

I leaned back.

“They ended little by little.”

“When you remembered her birthday but forgot mine.”

“When she called at midnight and you always answered.”

“When you drove forty minutes to bring her medicine but told me to order a taxi when I had a fever.”

“When you started knowing what she liked before she even had to ask.”

He stared at me.

I continued calmly.

“Yesterday was simply the first day I stopped pretending not to notice.”

For the first time, he had no excuse prepared.

Then his phone rang.

The name on the screen was clearly visible.

To Di.

Neither of us spoke.

He rejected the call.

Five seconds later, she called again.

I smiled.

“Answer.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You always did before.”

“Chieu Vi—”

I stood.

“Our conversation is finished.”

He remained there for several seconds before leaving.

I thought that would be the end.

It wasn’t.

Two weeks later, our firm held its annual promotion review.

To Di had been telling everyone she was almost certain to become senior associate.

That morning, Attorney Zhou asked her to present her independent case portfolio.

She walked into the conference room confidently.

Twenty minutes later, she walked out pale.

Without my revisions, the weaknesses were impossible to hide.

She wasn’t promoted.

That evening, Chu Lam Xuyen came to my apartment.

“I broke up with you because you asked me to choose,” he said.

I stared at him.

“I never asked you to choose.”

His jaw tightened.

“Fine. To Di and I are together now.”

There it was.

Not even three weeks.

I thought it would hurt.

Instead, I felt strangely relieved.

He watched my face carefully, perhaps waiting for jealousy.

I only nodded.

“Congratulations.”

His expression changed.

“That’s all?”

“What else do you want?”

“I thought…”

He stopped.

I understood.

He had expected me to regret leaving.

Expected me to realize To Di had “won.”

Expected me to ask for him back.

I opened the door wider.

“You should go. Your girlfriend probably doesn’t like you standing inside your ex’s apartment.”

A month later, To Di began openly showing their relationship online.

Flowers.

Expensive dinners.

Weekend trips.

Photographs from Chu Lam Xuyen’s passenger seat.

Our old friends sent screenshots.

I deleted every one.

Then something unexpected happened.

The Hengyuan case I had removed her from went to final judgment.

We won.

The client, impressed with my work, asked me to personally handle three additional corporate disputes.

Within six months, I became the youngest partner candidate in the firm.

And To Di?

Without me covering her mistakes, complaints began accumulating.

A missed filing deadline.

An incorrectly cited regulation.

A client memo containing confidential information from another matter.

Finally, Attorney Zhou called her into his office.

She came to find me afterward.

Her eyes were red.

“They’re suspending me from independent cases.”

I remained silent.

“You’re happy now, aren’t you?”

“No.”

I closed the document in front of me.

“I’m busy.”

She clenched her fists.

“You took everything from me.”

That finally made me look at her.

“No, To Di.”

My voice was calm.

“I stopped giving you what was mine.”

Her lips trembled.

“The cases.”

“The corrections.”

“The recommendations.”

“The introductions.”

“And yes, Chu Lam Xuyen too.”

She froze.

“I didn’t take him back.”

I smiled slightly.

“You wanted him.”

“So I left him where you found him.”

Three months later, they broke up.

Apparently, once there was no longer another woman to compete against, their relationship became much less exciting.

Chu Lam Xuyen called me that night.

I blocked his number.

To Di resigned from the firm shortly afterward.

Years later, someone asked whether I regretted losing my best friend and the man I once planned to marry at the same time.

I thought about that rainy night.

My soaked sleeves.

My coat covering someone else’s knees.

And the moment I finally understood that I had spent years making myself uncomfortable so two other people could feel comfortable.

I smiled.

“I didn’t lose them.”

“I stopped carrying them.”