I answered on the fourth ring.
Chu Duy’s breathing was uneven.
—Wife, listen to me first.
I started the car.
—Speak.
—Last night was a misunderstanding. The employees drank too much. They were joking.
—Twenty-seven people joked together?
Silence.
He changed the subject.
—Where are you?
—Outside.
—Come home. We’ll talk face to face.
—I don’t need to.
His voice became anxious.
—Don’t be like this. The company shares are still in your name.
There it was.
Not I love you.
Not I’m sorry I humiliated you.
Shares.
I glanced at the folder on the passenger seat.
—Not anymore.
The other end went completely silent.
—What did you say?
—Exactly what you heard.
—What did you do?
I smiled.
Now he was awake.
Ten years earlier, Chu Duy had started his business with sixty thousand yuan.
Fifty thousand came from me.
The remaining ten thousand came from his father.
When the company almost collapsed in its second year, my parents mortgaged a small property and lent me another three hundred thousand.
At that time, Chu Duy held my hand and promised:
—When the company succeeds, half of everything will be yours.
Later, during the first financing round, investors insisted that a portion of founder equity be held separately for risk control.
So 38 percent was registered under my name.
For years, Chu Duy called those shares “ours.”
I believed him.
Last night, after seeing those photographs, I opened the shareholder agreement for the first time in almost two years.
Then I found something interesting.
Six months earlier, Chu Duy had tried to pledge part of my shares for a new loan.
My signature was required.
The document contained one.
It wasn’t mine.
At six forty that morning, before taking Nuan Nuan to school, I had already sent everything to my lawyer.
The shares hadn’t disappeared.
But my authorization for Chu Duy to exercise voting rights on my behalf had.
As of that morning, he could no longer vote with them.
For the first time since the company was founded, my 38 percent belonged entirely to me in practice as well as on paper.
Chu Duy understood immediately.
—You revoked the proxy?
—Yes.
—Are you insane?
There was the husband I knew.
Panic always stripped away tenderness first.
—We have a board meeting this afternoon!
—I know.
—We’re voting on the expansion!
—I know that too.
He lowered his voice.
—Are you trying to destroy me because of a photograph?
I pulled into the parking lot of my lawyer’s office.
—No.
—I stopped protecting you because of what the photograph revealed.
Then I hung up.
At ten, my cousin sent another screenshot.
The secretary’s name was Lin Yao.
Twenty-six years old.
She had posted a private photo from the party.
The necklace was clearly visible.
Caption:
Thank you for always giving me the best.
Posted at 11:18 the previous night.
Chu Duy had commented with a heart.
Three minutes later, the post disappeared.
Too late.
I saved everything.
Then I called the jewelry store.
I gave them the serial number from the photograph.
The salesperson hesitated.
—Mrs. Chu, this necklace was purchased from President Chu’s corporate card.
I closed my eyes.
—How much?
—Eighty-six thousand yuan.
My birthday gift had been twelve hundred.
Because the company was “short on cash.”
His secretary wore eighty-six thousand around her neck at the year-end party.
Using company money.
Suddenly this was no longer only a marriage problem.
At two in the afternoon, I entered the boardroom.
Chu Duy was already there.
So was Lin Yao.
She was no longer wearing the red dress.
No necklace either.
The moment she saw me, she stood.
—Mrs. Chu—
I ignored her.
Chu Duy approached.
—Why did you come?
I looked around.
—Shareholder meeting.
His jaw tightened.
—You never attend these.
—Things change.
The finance director began distributing reports.
Twenty minutes later, the expansion proposal reached the vote.
Chu Duy raised his hand.
—With the founder group and my wife’s proxy, we have enough—
The company secretary interrupted.
—President Chu, Mrs. Chu revoked her proxy this morning.
Everyone looked at me.
I raised my hand.
—Against.
Chu Duy’s face became rigid.
Without my 38 percent, the proposal failed.
After the meeting, he followed me into the hallway.
—What exactly do you want?
I turned.
—An independent audit.
He froze.
—Why?
I showed him the necklace receipt.
His face changed.
—You used company funds to buy personal jewelry.
—It was client entertainment expense.
—For your secretary?
Lin Yao, who had followed us out, immediately went pale.
I looked at her.
—Were you the client?
She shook her head.
Chu Duy snapped:
—Enough!
Several directors were still nearby.
Everyone heard him.
I smiled.
—Exactly.
Enough.
The audit took three weeks.
The necklace wasn’t the only problem.
Hotel rooms.
Luxury dinners.
Travel reimbursements.
A leased apartment listed as “executive accommodation.”
All connected to Lin Yao.
When confronted, Chu Duy insisted there had been no physical affair.
By then, I didn’t care.
He had used our company, our money and my silence to build another woman’s place beside him.
Whether they had crossed one final line in private no longer mattered.
The board removed his exclusive spending authority pending review.
Lin Yao resigned before disciplinary proceedings finished.
And I filed for divorce.
The night he received the papers, Chu Duy came home early.
He sat at the dining table where I had washed two bowls that evening weeks earlier.
—Can we start again?
I looked at him.
—Start from where?
—Before Lin Yao.
I shook my head.
—There is no “before Lin Yao.”
His eyes reddened.
—I neglected you. I know.
—No.
I sat opposite him.
—You became certain I would always clean the kitchen, raise our daughter, hold your shares and wait quietly while other people called someone else your wife.
He lowered his head.
—What about Nuan Nuan?
—She still has two parents.
I paused.
—She just won’t grow up believing that being a wife means accepting humiliation to keep a family intact.
He had no answer.
The divorce was finalized five months later.
I kept my shares.
Chu Duy kept his management position, but no longer controlled the company alone.
For the first time, I began attending shareholder meetings regularly.
Not because I wanted his office.
Because I finally remembered that I had helped build the company too.
One evening, after a meeting, Chu Duy stopped me at the elevator.
—Do you know what I regret most?
I expected him to say the party.
The necklace.
Lin Yao.
He didn’t.
—I regret that when you disappeared from my life, the first thing I was afraid of losing was your shares.
I looked at him.
At least he had finally understood.
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped inside.
—So do I.
The doors began closing.
He remained outside.
That year-end party had lasted only one night.
But it exposed a marriage that had been disappearing for years.
Chu Duy thought I went to sleep because I was too weak to confront him
He was wrong.
I slept because, for the first time, I no longer needed to stay awake waiting for a man who had already forgotten who the real owner of his home and half his success had been
