Pho Van Chau’s face filled the enormous screen.
Behind him, the riverside flowers were still visible.
Manh Van Van stood nearby in her wedding dress.
The hall immediately fell silent.
Van Chau frowned when he realized hundreds of people were watching him.
“Khuong Van Ninh?”
I looked up.
He sounded irritated rather than guilty.
“Why are you still there?”
I almost laughed.
“It’s my wedding. Where else should I be?”
His expression darkened.
“I told you Van Van isn’t feeling well. Stop making trouble.”
Manh Van Van leaned into the frame.
“Miss Khuong, please don’t blame President Pho. I only wanted to experience a wedding once. He felt sorry for me.”
A few guests exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Experience a wedding once?
Using someone else’s groom?
Van Chau continued coldly:
“Cancel everything. I’ll compensate your family later.”
I glanced at the clock.
Nineteen minutes had passed since my phone call.
One minute left.
“No need.”
“What?”
“I said there’s no need to cancel.”
Van Chau’s brows tightened.
I smiled.
“The wedding will continue.”
The guests burst into whispers.
Then Van Chau laughed.
“With whom?”
Before I could answer, the doors behind me opened.
A deep male voice came from the entrance.
“With me.”
Every head turned.
The laughter disappeared.
A tall man in a black suit walked into the hall, followed by two assistants.
To Duong nearly dropped her phone.
My father stood up.
Even Pho Van Chau froze on the giant screen.
Because everyone in that room recognized him.
Tran Canh Tham.
The man who had spent the last six years overseas.
The eldest grandson of the Tran family.
And the largest individual shareholder of the investment group that controlled nearly a quarter of Pho Group.
He stopped in front of me.
His eyes moved briefly to the wine stain on my wedding dress.
Then to the men who had been mocking me.
“Who did that?”
Nobody answered.
The middle-aged man who had touched my hand stepped backward.
I shook my head.
“Later.”
Canh Tham looked at me.
“You called.”
“Yes.”
“You said come marry you.”
“Yes.”
His expression remained calm.
“Are you serious?”
The entire hall seemed to stop breathing.
I answered:
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
“Then let’s get married.”
On the screen, Pho Van Chau finally reacted.
“Khuong Van Ninh!”
I looked at him.
“You said I could find a dog or cat to deal with the wedding.”
His face turned black.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
I smiled.
“Fortunately, I found someone better.”
Someone in the hall laughed before quickly covering their mouth.
Van Chau looked furious.
“You’re doing this to punish me.”
“No.”
I removed the engagement ring he’d given me.
“I am doing exactly what you told me to do.”
Then I placed the ring on the table.
“You chose your wedding.”
I looked at Canh Tham.
“And I’m choosing mine.”
The video call ended.
Not because Van Chau hung up.
I did.
The ceremony didn’t continue immediately.
Canh Tham took me into a private room.
The first thing he said was:
“You can still change your mind.”
I stared at him.
“You came all this way to tell me that?”
“I came because you called.”
His gaze was steady.
“But anger isn’t a good reason to marry someone.”
That sentence surprised me.
Pho Van Chau had abandoned me in front of hundreds of people.
Yet the man I’d summoned with one impulsive call was the one making sure I still had a choice.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Canh Tham studied me.
“Then one condition.”
“What?”
“We don’t pretend.”
I frowned.
“If this marriage is only to help you leave Pho Van Chau behind, tell me. If someday you want out, tell me that too.”
“Why would you agree?”
For the first time, something changed in his eyes.
“Because I’ve been waiting six years for you to call.”
I stopped breathing.
He didn’t explain further.
“Still want to continue?”
After several seconds, I nodded.
“Yes.”
Our families simplified the ceremony.
No exaggerated vows.
No performance.
My mother cried when Canh Tham respectfully greeted her.
My father pulled him aside for ten minutes.
When they returned, Father looked strangely satisfied.
Later I discovered why.
He had asked Canh Tham:
“If my daughter regrets this tomorrow?”
Canh Tham had answered:
“Then tomorrow I’ll help her fix it.”
That was the moment my father accepted him.
Meanwhile, the internet exploded.
The livestream had captured everything.
Pho Van Chau abandoning his bride.
The simulated riverside wedding.
His dismissive video call.
And Tran Canh Tham walking through the doors twenty minutes later.
By midnight, the romantic narrative surrounding Van Chau and Manh Van Van had completely reversed.
But I didn’t read the comments.
For once, strangers’ opinions didn’t matter.
Pho Van Chau returned at two in the morning.
He came directly to my parents’ house.
I was no longer there.
Canh Tham had taken me to a hotel suite with separate bedrooms.
My father answered the door.
“Where is Van Ninh?”
“Married.”
Van Chau’s face hardened.
“That ceremony was ridiculous. It can’t count.”
My father laughed.
“You abandoned your own wedding and performed another one beside a river. Now you’re concerned about what counts?”
“I need to speak to her.”
“No.”
“I’ve been with her for eight years!”
My father’s expression changed.
“And she begged you for twenty minutes.”
Van Chau fell silent.
“You couldn’t give her twenty minutes.”
The door closed.
The next morning, Van Chau called me from another number.
I answered once.
“What exactly do you want?”
“You can’t marry Tran Canh Tham.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t love him.”
I looked toward the balcony.
Canh Tham was drinking coffee outside.
“And did you love me yesterday?”
Van Chau became silent.
Finally he said:
“Van Van saved my life.”
“I know.”
“I owe her.”
“Then repay her.”
My voice remained calm.
“But don’t use me as the currency.”
He stopped speaking.
I continued:
“You’ve spent years giving her anything she wants because she once helped you. Your time. Your attention. Our plans. Yesterday you gave her my wedding.”
“Khuong Van Ninh—”
“You’ve repaid one debt by creating another.”
I ended the call.
Three days later, Canh Tham showed me something unexpected.
An old hospital report.
“Where did you get this?”
“Pho Group requested financing from our investment division last year. Their background records included Van Chau’s accident.”
I read it.
My hands slowly tightened.
Manh Van Van had indeed donated blood during the emergency.
That part was true.
But she wasn’t the person who pulled Van Chau from the damaged vehicle.
She wasn’t even the first donor.
Several people had contributed.
And the largest emergency blood donation credited in the records belonged to another person.
I recognized the name immediately.
To Duong.
My bridesmaid.
My best friend.
I called her.
She went silent.
Then sighed.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
“Because saving someone doesn’t mean they owe you their life.”
Those words struck harder than anything else.
To Duong had helped during the accident because she happened to be nearby.
Manh Van Van arrived later.
Somehow, over the years, the story had been simplified until she became Van Chau’s sole lifesaver.
And she never corrected it.
Van Chau investigated.
Within a week, he learned the truth.
He confronted Manh Van Van.
She admitted she knew the story had been exaggerated.
“But I did help you!”
“Yes.”
“I stayed at the hospital!”
“Yes.”
“I cared about you!”
Van Chau looked exhausted.
“Then why did you let me believe I owed you everything?”
Her answer was simple.
“Because whenever I reminded you, you gave me whatever I wanted.”
That finally broke something in him.
A month later, Manh Van Van resigned.
Van Chau publicly corrected the accident story.
He apologized to To Duong.
Then he came to see me.
Canh Tham was home.
He offered to leave us alone.
I shook my head.
“No need.”
Van Chau noticed.
That hurt him more than anger would have.
“I know the truth now.”
“I heard.”
“I was an idiot.”
“Yes.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“I thought you might disagree.”
“I don’t.”
He looked at Canh Tham.
Then back at me.
“Can you come back?”
“No.”
“I’ll never see Van Van again.”
“This was never about whether you saw her.”
I looked directly at him.
“It was about the fact that whenever she called, I became disposable.”
He had no answer.
“You didn’t lose me because she lied.”
My voice softened.
“You lost me because yesterday, when you believed she needed you, you looked at your bride and decided humiliating her was acceptable.”
His eyes reddened.
“I know.”
“Good.”
I closed the door.
My marriage to Canh Tham didn’t become a love story overnight.
For months, we lived almost like unusually polite roommates.
He traveled.
I worked.
We ate breakfast together when schedules allowed.
He never asked me to prove anything.
Never demanded gratitude because he’d rescued my wedding.
In fact, whenever someone called him my savior, he corrected them.
“She called me.”
One evening I finally asked:
“Why were you really waiting six years?”
He smiled.
“Do you remember university?”
I did.
He had been the quiet senior who always sat behind me in the library.
“You liked me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“For six years?”
“Unfortunately.”
I laughed.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were choosing someone else.”
His answer was simple.
“I wanted you. I didn’t want to take your choice away.”
That was when my feelings began to change.
Not because he had appeared dramatically at my wedding.
Because after arriving, he never once acted as though that gave him ownership of my future.
A year later, on our anniversary, Canh Tham placed a document in front of me.
I opened it.
Divorce papers.
Unsigned.
I stared at him.
“What is this?”
“One year.”
He sat opposite me.
“You’ve had time to recover from what happened. If you stayed because you felt grateful, you don’t have to anymore.”
My eyes burned.
“And if I don’t want a divorce?”
For once, Tran Canh Tham looked nervous.
“Then I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
He nodded.
“And ask my wife if she’d consider dating me.”
I laughed until tears appeared.
Then I tore the papers in half.
“Dinner first.”
His smile was unforgettable.
Three years after Pho Van Chau abandoned me at the altar, Canh Tham and I held another wedding.
Not because the first one wasn’t real.
Because this time, we wanted one that belonged entirely to us.
Before walking down the aisle, To Duong adjusted my veil.
“Any chance the groom runs away?”
I smiled.
“If he does, I’ll call someone else.”
From outside, Canh Tham shouted:
“I heard that!”
We both burst out laughing.
Then the doors opened.
He was waiting.
Exactly where he had promised to be.
And I finally understood the difference between someone who wanted to be needed and someone who wanted to be chosen.
Pho Van Chau spent years believing debt was love.
Canh Tham never asked me to owe him anything.
That was why, in the end, I chose him freely.
