Beside Giang Van stood Mr. Tran.

The moment I saw them, the last trace of nervousness disappeared.

Everything was ready.

Co Thua Tieu followed my gaze and frowned.

“Why is lawyer Giang here?”

I smiled.

“She came to witness something.”

“Witness what?”

Before I could answer, the MC announced our names.

Applause filled the ballroom.

Thua Tieu immediately recovered his perfect smile and offered me his arm.

I took it.

For the last time.

We walked onto the stage beneath thousands of white flowers.

His mother smiled proudly from the front row.

My mother quietly wiped her tears.

Then came the vows.

The MC handed Thua Tieu the microphone.

He looked into my eyes.

“To Niem, six years ago, fate allowed me to meet you when you needed someone most.”

My stomach turned.

“I promised then that I would protect you forever.”

Applause erupted.

He continued:

“Today, in front of everyone, I promise that no matter what happens, I’ll always be your strongest support.”

Support.

I almost laughed.

When the microphone reached me, I didn’t read the vows.

Instead, I looked toward Giang Van.

She nodded.

I turned to the guests.

“Before continuing the wedding, I have something I’d like everyone to hear.”

Thua Tieu’s smile stiffened.

“Nien Niem?”

I pulled out my phone.

Last night, while standing outside the office, I had recorded part of their conversation.

I connected it to the ballroom’s sound system.

Then pressed play.

Phuong Huc’s voice echoed through the hall.

“That year you arranged for someone to drug her at the bar. To this day, she still thinks it was an accident, right?”

The ballroom went completely silent.

Then came Thua Tieu’s voice.

“That’s right.”

His face turned white.

I didn’t stop the recording.

“For the rest of her life, she will always think that it was I who saved her…”

Gasps spread through the guests.

My mother’s hand flew to her mouth.

Thua Tieu lunged toward me.

“Turn it off!”

I stepped backward.

Giang Van immediately walked onto the stage.

“Mr. Co, I suggest you don’t touch my client.”

“Client?”

His mother stood abruptly.

“What nonsense is this?”

I let the recording continue until the most important sentence arrived.

“The blueprint of the anonymous studio in her hands is the key.”

Then:

“After getting married, common assets in marriage—you understand.”

And finally:

“It’s the harvest. After investing so much money, it’s time to put the net away.”

I stopped the audio.

No one applauded now.

No one even whispered.

Thua Tieu stared at me.

“You were outside?”

“Yes.”

His face changed repeatedly.

Shock.

Fear.

Then calculation.

“Nien Niem, listen to me. That conversation wasn’t serious.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you admitted planning what happened six years ago?”

His lips tightened.

“Or the part where you called our marriage a harvest?”

His father stood.

“Miss To, family matters should be discussed privately.”

I looked at him.

“This stopped being a family matter before I ever became part of your family.”

Giang Van opened her briefcase.

“Last night, all copyrights, designs, project files and associated intellectual property belonging to Vo Danh Studio were formally documented as Ms. To Niem’s independent property.”

Thua Tieu’s eyes widened.

“What?”

I removed the engagement ring.

“You wanted the studio.”

I placed the ring on the table between us.

“Unfortunately, you’re getting neither the studio nor the wife.”

His mother rushed forward.

“You can’t cancel a wedding in front of three hundred people!”

I looked toward my mother.

She was crying.

But this time, her back was straight.

“Watch me.”

I turned toward the MC.

“The wedding is canceled.”

Chaos erupted.

Thua Tieu grabbed my wrist.

“Nien Niem, don’t be impulsive.”

I looked down at his hand.

“Let go.”

“You’re misunderstanding everything.”

“No.”

My voice was remarkably calm.

“For the first time in six years, I understand everything perfectly.”

Mr. Tran finally approached.

Thua Tieu saw him and immediately released me.

“Director Tran.”

His expression changed instantly.

“I’m sorry you’ve witnessed this. Regarding the West Lake cultural complex, our company—”

Mr. Tran interrupted him.

“Our company?”

He looked confused.

Mr. Tran turned toward me.

“Designer To, we’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”

A murmur swept through the ballroom.

Thua Tieu stared at me.

“What did he call you?”

I met his eyes.

“Vo Danh is mine.”

He froze.

“I am the principal designer.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“You told me you only handled coordination.”

“Because every time I mentioned my work, you told me not to exhaust myself.”

His face became increasingly pale.

Mr. Tran continued:

“The West Lake project was shortlisted because of Ms. To’s design proposal. Our interest has always been in her team.”

Thua Tieu’s father immediately stepped forward.

“Director Tran, perhaps we can discuss—”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

Mr. Tran’s tone remained professional.

“The project has no connection to the Co family.”

I watched the realization finally reach Thua Tieu.

He hadn’t merely lost a bride.

He had spent six years constructing a trap around an asset that had never belonged to him.

And now three hundred witnesses had watched it collapse.

I stepped off the stage.

My mother immediately came toward me.

“Nien Niem.”

I hugged her.

“Mom, let’s go home.”

Behind us, Thua Tieu shouted my name.

I didn’t turn around.

Then Giang Van’s voice stopped everyone.

“Mr. Co.”

She handed him an envelope.

“This concerns the events from six years ago.”

His expression changed.

“What is it?”

“A formal notice preserving evidence and requesting an investigation.”

For the first time, real fear appeared in his eyes.

He looked at me.

“Nien Niem, you wouldn’t.”

I finally turned.

“You were right about one thing.”

“What?”

“For six years, I believed you saved me.”

I looked at the man who had built our entire relationship on manipulation.

“Now I’m going to find out exactly what you did.”

---

Three weeks later, I moved into the attic office permanently.

Vo Danh received the West Lake contract.

My mother helped me sew curtains for the windows.

Giang Van handled the legal matters.

And every morning, I woke knowing my life belonged to me again.

Thua Tieu called constantly.

I blocked every number.

Flowers arrived.

Returned.

Letters arrived.

Unopened.

Then, one evening, Giang Van appeared at my office unexpectedly.

Her expression was strange.

“We found the person who worked at the bar six years ago.”

My pencil stopped.

“Did he confess?”

“Partially.”

“What does that mean?”

She closed the door.

“He admits Thua Tieu paid him.”

I felt no surprise.

I had already heard enough.

But Giang Van didn’t sit down.

“There is something else.”

“What?”

“The plan wasn’t originally Thua Tieu’s.”

My hand went still.

She placed an old bank transfer record on my desk.

“Someone paid him first.”

I stared at the account information.

“Who?”

“We traced the originating account.”

She hesitated.

Then pushed the document toward me.

The surname printed on it wasn’t Co.

It was To.

My surname.

I looked up sharply.

“That isn’t possible.”

“I checked three times.”

My eyes dropped to the account holder’s name.

And suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

Because the person who had apparently financed the beginning of my six-year nightmare wasn’t a stranger.

It was someone who had been sitting among the wedding guests.

Someone who had watched me expose Thua Tieu without saying a word.

Someone from my own family.

And for the first time, I wondered whether the wedding had really been the trap—

or whether Co Thua Tieu had merely been one piece of something much larger.