At eight the next morning, I was sitting across from my lawyer.

The document lay between us.

Six years ago.

My supposed signature.

My supposed renunciation.

And beside it, the Lu family seal.

I looked at it for less than ten seconds.

—It’s fake.

The lawyer nodded.

—We already sent it for forensic examination.

—But there’s another problem.

He opened a second folder.

The authorization had been submitted by Lu Dingxuan’s mother.

Mrs. Lu.

My former mother-in-law.

Attached to it was a copy of an internal company resolution.

And at the bottom—

Lu Dingxuan’s signature.

My fingers stopped.

—He signed this?

—Yes.

—Did he know what it was?

—We don’t know.

I laughed.

It wasn’t funny.

For eight years, whenever his mother placed papers in front of him, Dingxuan signed without reading.

He trusted her.

Just as I had once trusted him.

I picked up my phone.

—Freeze every transfer that can legally be frozen.

—Notify the bank that the renunciation document is disputed.

—And request preservation of every original record.

The lawyer nodded.

—What about the divorce?

I looked at the papers.

—Continue.

At eleven, Lu Dingxuan called.

I didn’t answer.

At eleven fifteen, he appeared at my office.

Meng Yao was with him.

Of course.

She wore a white coat and held his arm.

—Yi Yi.

Dingxuan walked toward my desk.

—What did you do to the Blue Bay funds?

I looked at him.

Again.

Not:

Why is your signature forged?

Not:

Are you okay?

Money.

I leaned back.

—I questioned a transfer made from an account connected to my father’s assets.

His face hardened.

—That money was committed to Blue Bay years ago.

—By whom?

Silence.

I pushed the copy of the waiver toward him.

—Did I sign this?

He looked at it.

His expression changed.

Meng Yao immediately leaned closer.

—Dingxuan, isn’t that the document Aunt Lu mentioned?

I turned toward her.

—Interesting.

—You know about it?

Her face stiffened.

—I only heard it casually.

I looked back at Dingxuan.

—Did you know?

He hesitated.

That hesitation told me everything.

—My mother said your father had agreed to support the company permanently.

I laughed softly.

—My father died nine years ago.

His face paled.

I continued:

—Six years ago, apparently, I “renounced” my rights to the funds.

—And you signed the supporting resolution.

Dingxuan picked up the paper.

—I thought it was a routine internal authorization.

—Exactly.

I smiled.

—You didn’t read it.

He said nothing.

For years, he had accused me of being too cautious.

Too involved.

Too controlling about finances.

The moment he pushed me out of company affairs, people around him discovered how easy his signature was to obtain.

Meng Yao suddenly spoke.

—Yi Yi, this can be discussed privately.

I looked at her.

—Why?

—Because if Blue Bay collapses, thousands of people could be affected.

—Then perhaps the people who forged my signature should have considered that first.

Her face went white.

Dingxuan turned toward her.

For the first time, suspicion appeared.

—Meng Yao.

—Why do you know so much about Blue Bay?

She froze.

The answer arrived two days later.

The bank’s internal records showed that the unknown company receiving the latest transfer belonged to Meng Yao’s older brother.

Not directly.

Through two holding companies.

But ownership records were clear.

The Blue Bay “initial payment” wasn’t simply funding a project.

Part of it was being routed into a company connected to Meng Yao’s family.

My former mother-in-law had approved it.

Dingxuan had signed documents without reading them.

And Meng Yao had known.

When investigators and auditors began asking questions, everyone started blaming everyone else.

Mrs. Lu claimed she was only “restructuring family capital.”

Meng Yao said her brother handled the companies.

Her brother claimed he believed the funds were legitimate investment money.

And Lu Dingxuan finally realized the one person who had questioned every account for years—

was the wife he had just asked to leave.

He came to my apartment that night.

I didn’t let him inside.

—Yi Yi.

He looked exhausted.

—Meng Yao and I are over.

I almost smiled.

—Congratulations.

His face tightened.

—She knew more than she told me.

—And?

—My mother too.

—And?

He stared at me.

—Don’t you care?

I looked at him calmly.

—Dingxuan, you divorced me because being with Meng Yao made you feel needed.

—Now that she has problems, go be needed.

He flinched.

Then whispered:

—I made a mistake.

—No.

I shook my head.

—You made many decisions.

—You let your mother control documents.

—You stopped letting me review company finances.

—You took my support for granted.

—You wanted another woman.

—And even after asking for divorce, you still expected me to prepare your breakfast and take care of your parents.

I paused.

—Don’t shrink eight years of choices into one “mistake.”

He lowered his head.

The forensic report arrived the following week.

My signature on the renunciation document had been falsified.

The document was invalidated.

The disputed transfer was frozen pending financial review.

The Blue Bay project did not disappear.

But it had to be recapitalized properly.

Lu Dingxuan sold personal investments and brought in new independent investors.

For the first time, his company had to survive without silently relying on my family’s money.

The divorce was finalized two months later.

I kept the villa because the source of my premarital contribution was documented.

My personal investments remained mine.

The company interests legally belonging to me were separately valued.

I didn’t take more.

I simply stopped giving away less.

On the day we received the final divorce certificate, Dingxuan stood outside the office for a long time.

Then he asked:

—Can we still be family?

I looked at him.

The same sentence from the night he asked for divorce.

Once, he had wanted a new wife while keeping me as his old support system.

Now he finally understood what he had been asking.

I smiled faintly.

—No.

His eyes reddened.

—Not even someday?

—Dingxuan.

I stepped back.

—You wanted a life without me.

—I’m finally giving it to you completely.

Then I left.

A year later, I heard that his company had stabilized.

Good.

I had never wanted to destroy it.

Meng Yao disappeared from his life.

His mother lost control over the company finances.

And Lu Dingxuan finally learned to prepare his own medicine.

His own breakfast.

His own luggage.

His own life.

For eight years, he believed I needed him because I was his wife.

The truth was the opposite.

He had built a life so dependent on my care, my money and my judgment that he stopped noticing who was holding everything together.

He asked me for a divorce because another woman made him feel needed.

So I granted it.

And when the forged documents were exposed, he finally learned the difference between being needed—

and being the person everyone had been quietly depending on all along.