My mother was silent for two seconds.
—You broke up?
—Not yet.
—Then why don’t I need to meet him?
I looked at the message where Co Thua Da had refunded my fifty yuan.
—Because by the time I arrive in Melbourne, he’ll be my ex-boyfriend.
My mother didn’t ask more.
—Then come home.
Home.
That word suddenly sounded better than anything I had heard all night.
I booked a flight for the following Friday.
Then I opened the spreadsheet where I had recorded every expense from my three-year relationship.
Movies.
Restaurants.
Taxi fares.
Trips.
Even the thirty yuan he transferred after refusing to pick me up from the airport.
Three years ago, Co Thua Da had established one rule: everything between us had to be divided equally so he could be certain I wasn’t interested in his wealth.
I had respected it.
So I decided to respect it until the end.
I calculated every unsettled expense.
Transferred him 1,842 yuan.
Then wrote:
“Final settlement. We owe each other nothing.”
His call came immediately.
—What does that mean?
—Exactly what it says.
—Huong Tinh, stop joking.
—I’m not joking.
His voice hardened.
—Are you angry because of Chieu Chieu?
I almost laughed.
Even now, he thought this was jealousy.
—No.
—Then what’s wrong?
—Nothing.
I paused.
—I’m simply ending our relationship.
Silence.
Then he said something that finally erased the last trace of hesitation.
—Is it because you realized I won’t spend money on you the way I spend it on Chieu Chieu?
I closed my eyes.
—Thank you.
—For what?
—For proving I made the right decision.
I hung up.
He called again.
I blocked him.
The next five days were surprisingly peaceful.
I resigned from my job.
Packed my belongings.
Closed the lease.
Transferred several work projects.
Friday morning, I boarded the flight to Melbourne.
Only after landing did I discover that Co Thua Da had sent messages through email.
The first was angry.
The second confused.
The third simply asked:
“Where are you?”
I deleted all three.
My parents’ driver was waiting outside.
When the car entered the villa district, I leaned back and closed my eyes.
For years, Co Thua Da had believed I came from an ordinary family because I never corrected him.
I had worked a normal job.
Rented an ordinary apartment.
Took taxis.
Compared supermarket prices.
My family’s business in Australia had nothing to do with the life I wanted to build for myself.
So when he revealed that he was the heir to the Co Group, I never told him my family’s assets exceeded anything he imagined.
I thought it didn’t matter.
Apparently, to him, it mattered very much.
Three months later, I joined my father’s company.
Six months later, I took responsibility for its Asia-Pacific expansion.
And nine months after leaving, I returned to China for a joint investment conference.
The moment I entered the reception hall, someone called my name.
—Huong Tinh?
I turned.
Trieu Chieu stood ten steps away.
Her smile disappeared.
She looked at my badge.
HUONG TINH
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
TINH NGUYEN INTERNATIONAL
—You…
Before she finished, my father approached.
—Tinh Tinh, Chairman Co is waiting.
Then another voice sounded behind him.
—Miss Huong.
Co Thua Da’s father walked toward us.
He shook my father’s hand warmly.
—Chairman Huong, it’s been too long.
Trieu Chieu stared at me.
Then Co Thua Da arrived.
He stopped completely.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally, he looked at my father.
Then at me.
—Chairman Huong is your father?
—Yes.
His expression became difficult to describe.
—Why didn’t you tell me?
I smiled.
—You never asked.
—You said you came from an ordinary family.
—No.
I corrected him.
—You decided that.
His face stiffened.
That was true too.
He had even casually described me as a girl from an ordinary family who had “never seen the big world,” while discussing expensive gifts and family dinners with Trieu Chieu.
After the conference, Co Thua Da waited outside my private meeting room.
—We need to talk.
—About business?
—About us.
—There is no us.
His jaw tightened.
—You disappeared.
—I broke up with you.
—By text!
—After three years of receiving half my taxi fare by transfer, I thought digital communication was appropriate.
His face darkened.
I almost smiled.
—Huong Tinh, I only asked us to split expenses because I was afraid women approached me for money.
—I understood that.
—Then why are you still angry?
—Because the rules changed depending on the woman.
He stopped.
I continued calmly.
—You wouldn’t drive fifteen kilometers to collect me from the airport.
—But you went at three in the morning for her.
His eyes shifted.
—You counted every meal we ate.
—But spent a million yuan welcoming her home.
I stepped closer.
—You asked me to pay half the food at a party organized for her.
His face slowly lost color.
—Then you told me she didn’t need to pay because you knew her family background and therefore trusted that she wasn’t interested in your money.
Finally, he understood.
It had never been about fifty yuan.
It was about what the fifty yuan represented.
—I wasn’t testing whether you were rich enough for me, he said quietly.
—No.
I nodded.
—You were testing whether I deserved your trust.
He said nothing.
—For three years, I kept passing tests I never asked to take.
I looked toward the conference hall.
—Meanwhile, Trieu Chieu was automatically trusted because of her surname.
His voice became hoarse.
—I’m sorry.
I believed him.
But apologies don’t automatically restore feelings.
Two weeks later, he asked to meet once more.
This time, he brought a thick folder.
Inside were records of every expense from our relationship.
I stared at him.
—What is this?
—My calculation.
He pushed it toward me.
—You overpaid.
Despite myself, I laughed.
—Seriously?
—Very.
He transferred 926 yuan.
I looked at my phone.
—Why?
—Because if we’re settling everything, it should actually be equal.
Then he placed another object on the table.
The thirty-yuan airport transfer.
Printed.
Framed.
I stared at it.
—Have you lost your mind?
—Possibly.
He smiled bitterly.
—I spent a million welcoming someone home and thirty yuan when the woman I supposedly loved asked me to pick her up.
His smile disappeared.
—I needed to see how ridiculous that looked.
For the first time, I didn’t feel angry.
Only distant.
—Thua Da.
He looked up hopefully.
—Understanding why you lost someone doesn’t mean you get them back.
The hope faded.
He nodded.
—I know.
We separated peacefully that afternoon.
No dramatic reunion.
No revenge.
Trieu Chieu wasn’t a villain who needed punishment.
She and Co Thua Da had a history and familiarity I could never compete with.
Eventually, I realized I shouldn’t have been competing at all.
A year later, my mother asked whether I regretted those three years.
I thought about it.
—No.
Because Co Thua Da had accidentally taught me something valuable.
Fairness isn’t splitting every restaurant bill exactly in half.
Equality isn’t transferring thirty yuan because a taxi costs sixty.
A relationship cannot be measured accurately with a calculator when one person receives suspicion and another receives unconditional generosity.
Three years earlier, I had accepted every condition because I wanted to prove I didn’t love his money.
In the end, I proved something much more important.
I could live perfectly well without his money.
And, eventually, without him.
