I stared at the messages on the phone.

The person I had loved for six years had transformed me into a clingy former classmate.

Even more ridiculous, everyone believed him.

Hua Niem An folded her arms.

“Now you understand?”

“Thua Chu doesn’t love you.”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

Her triumphant smile appeared.

“I finally understand.”

Before anyone could speak, the elevator doors opened.

Luc Thua Chu stepped out.

The moment he saw me, his expression changed.

“Nam Chi?”

The entire lobby fell silent.

Hua Niem An immediately ran toward him.

“Thua Chu, she came here to cause trouble.”

He looked at the candy scattered around my feet.

Then at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

His face stiffened.

I glanced toward the enormous photograph of him and Niem An.

“You succeeded first.”

Niem An clung to his arm.

“Thua Chu, tell her.”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

“That I’m only your classmate?”

He avoided my eyes.

That was enough.

Still, I gave him one final opportunity.

“Luc Thua Chu.”

I pointed toward the promotional photograph.

“Remove everything involving you and Hua Niem An before tomorrow’s festival.”

His eyebrows drew together.

“Nam Chi, this campaign cost millions.”

“And?”

“Niem An was chosen as the female model because she represents the younger generation.”

I almost smiled.

“Then why does the advertising call her your fiancée?”

He hesitated.

Niem An answered first.

“It’s only marketing.”

“Good.”

I nodded.

“Then publicly clarify it.”

Her expression froze.

Thua Chu immediately said:

“Don’t make things difficult for her.”

There it was again.

Six years.

Whenever another person needed protection, I was expected to understand.

I took out my phone.

“Mom.”

My mother answered immediately.

“Nam Chi?”

“The support agreement.”

I looked directly at Thua Chu.

“Cancel it.”

His face changed.

“What support agreement?”

My mother remained silent for two seconds.

Then asked:

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“The total cooperation package is thirty-six trillion.”

“I know.”

“And once withdrawn, the Lu family may lose the Yunzhou financing channel permanently.”

I looked at the man who had just told another woman I was someone he couldn’t shake off.

“That’s no longer our concern.”

“Understood.”

I ended the call.

Thua Chu laughed in disbelief.

“What are you pretending to cancel?”

I slipped my phone into my bag.

“You’ll know soon.”

His phone rang before I reached the elevator.

He looked at the screen.

Father.

He answered.

Three seconds later, his face went white.

“What?”

Everyone in the lobby became quiet.

His father’s voice was loud enough that several people heard it.

“The Wen family withdrew!”

Thua Chu looked at me.

“What did you do?”

I pressed the elevator button.

“What your messages said I should do.”

The doors opened.

I stepped inside.

“You complained that my family connections prevented you from turning your back on me.”

I smiled faintly.

“Now you’re free.”

The doors closed.

That evening, Nam Thanh’s confession festival still opened.

But the giant screen no longer displayed Luc Thua Chu and Hua Niem An.

Emergency crews replaced the promotional material.

The announcement identifying her as his fiancée disappeared.

Too late.

Screenshots were everywhere.

More importantly, the Lu family finally understood why.

My mother called me.

“Come home.”

“I will.”

“And the wedding?”

“There won’t be one.”

She didn’t ask whether I was sure.

She only said:

“Then come home as my daughter.”

I cried after hanging up.

Not because I wanted Thua Chu back.

Because I’d spent six years believing walking away meant disappointing everyone.

Instead, the person I’d disappointed most by staying had been myself.

The next morning, Thua Chu appeared outside my hotel room.

He looked as though he hadn’t slept.

“Nam Chi.”

I didn’t invite him inside.

“The thirty-six-trillion agreement.”

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“No.”

His answer came too quickly.

I raised an eyebrow.

He corrected himself.

“Not only because of that.”

Almost funny.

“You knew?”

He demanded.

“Knew what?”

“That your family was behind Truong Dieu.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“From the beginning.”

His face changed.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because my mother wanted to know what kind of man you would become if you believed nobody powerful was watching.”

Silence.

He understood.

And he had given us the answer.

He rubbed his forehead.

“Nam Chi, Niem An and I aren’t what you think.”

“I don’t care whether you slept together, kissed, or never touched.”

He stared at me.

“You publicly gave another woman the position that belonged to your future wife.”

I continued calmly.

“You allowed your employees to humiliate me using lies you told about me.”

“You called me controlling because I asked you to return home and complete our wedding.”

“And you told Niem An that you loved her.”

His lips parted.

No explanation came.

“Those are facts.”

He finally whispered:

“The messages were complicated.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“They were extremely simple.”

I removed the engagement ring.

His expression collapsed.

“Nam Chi.”

I placed it in his palm.

“Our six-year agreement ends here.”

He grabbed my wrist instinctively, then immediately released it.

“Give me one chance.”

“You had six years.”

“Niem An is only twenty-two. She just graduated. She depended on me when she arrived here.”

“And I depended on you too.”

That silenced him.

“But you taught me something useful.”

I smiled.

“Depending on you was my mistake.”

I closed the door.

The withdrawal of my family’s support exposed problems inside Truong Dieu almost immediately.

Projects that looked profitable had been sustained by financing arrangements connected to my family’s network.

Without that backing, the Lu family had to restructure.

Thua Chu was recalled from Nam Thanh.

The board investigated the festival campaign because company funds had been used to promote what appeared to be his private relationship.

Hua Niem An’s internship ended.

I didn’t arrange it.

I didn’t need to.

Consequences didn’t require my participation.

Three months later, Thua Chu came to Yunzhou.

This time, he didn’t come to my house.

He waited outside the headquarters where I had returned to work.

“Nam Chi.”

I stopped.

He held a thick folder.

“I brought everything.”

“What?”

“Six years of project records.”

I frowned.

“I discovered something after you left.”

The Nam Thanh branch hadn’t simply been overspending.

Several promotional contracts connected to the lantern festival had been inflated.

Niem An hadn’t designed the scheme, but people around her had benefited from her closeness to Thua Chu.

And because he’d been so determined to protect her, he’d ignored warnings from experienced staff.

He handed me the folder.

“I was arrogant.”

“Yes.”

“I thought anyone questioning Niem An was targeting her because of me.”

“Yes.”

“I even thought you were jealous.”

I said nothing.

He laughed bitterly.

“I was the person who needed protecting from myself.”

At least he’d finally learned something.

Then he looked at me.

“Can the agreement be restored?”

“No.”

He closed his eyes.

After several seconds, he nodded.

“And us?”

“No.”

That answer hurt him more.

“I’ve corrected everything.”

“Good.”

“I apologized publicly.”

“I saw.”

“I cleared your name.”

“Thank you.”

“Then why—”

“Because correcting a lie doesn’t recreate trust.”

He stopped.

I continued:

“You keep treating love like one of your projects.”

“If something fails, restructure it.”

“If numbers fall, inject capital.”

“If someone leaves, negotiate.”

I shook my head.

“But I’m not an asset you can reacquire.”

He lowered his gaze.

That was the last time he asked me to return.

Two years later, Truong Dieu survived.

Smaller.

More cautious.

Thua Chu remained with the company, but he was no longer treated as the unquestioned successor.

He had to earn every promotion without my family’s support.

Perhaps that was the best thing I ever gave him.

Not thirty-six trillion.

Its absence.

As for me, I became responsible for my family’s strategic investment division.

At my first major industry summit, I stood onstage discussing a cross-border infrastructure partnership.

When I finished, the hall applauded.

Among hundreds of people, I saw Thua Chu.

He didn’t approach afterward.

He simply stood at a distance and nodded.

I returned the gesture.

Nothing more.

On the flight home, my mother asked:

“Do you regret those six years?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because they taught me the difference between supporting someone and carrying them.”

Outside the window, Yunzhou’s lights appeared beneath the clouds.

Six years earlier, my family had offered Luc Thua Chu an extraordinary opportunity because I believed in him.

He eventually mistook that support for his own invincibility.

He thought I was the woman clinging to him.

He thought my requests for respect were obstacles.

He thought another woman’s admiration was proof that he’d outgrown me.

So I gave him exactly what he claimed to want.

Freedom from my interference.

Freedom from my family’s protection.

Freedom from our engagement.

And only after losing all three did he finally discover the truth.

The thirty-six trillion had never been the most valuable thing I withdrew.

It was me.