I walked out of the private room without looking back.

Behind me, Pho Bac Vong was still shouting.

—Tham Kieu! You’ll regret this!

I pressed the elevator button.

The doors opened.

I stepped inside.

Only when they closed did I take out my phone.

There were already three missed calls from my lawyer.

I called back.

—Send him the divorce agreement.

Attorney Tran paused.

—Tonight?

—Now.

—And the company shares?

I watched the floor numbers descend.

—Execute the second document too.

There was silence.

Then he understood.

—You’re withdrawing?

—Every share registered under my family’s investment fund.

—Understood.

I hung up.

Pho Bac Vong had forgotten something very important.

When he became deputy president of Minh Thinh Technology three years earlier, everyone congratulated him on his talent.

He believed it too.

What almost nobody knew was that my father controlled twenty-seven percent of Minh Thinh through three investment companies.

And another fourteen percent was held by me personally.

Bac Vong wasn’t deputy president because he had conquered the company alone.

He had gotten that position because, when the board doubted him, I had voted for him.

Twice.

I never told him.

Love had made me stupid enough to protect his pride.

The next morning, I arrived at headquarters at nine.

The atmosphere was strange.

Employees whispered when I passed.

Clearly, last night’s birthday dinner had already become company gossip.

Luc Uyen had apparently posted a photograph of her bruised knee in the staff group.

Below it, she wrote:

“I don’t blame anyone. I only hope everyone can work peacefully.”

Very clever.

She didn’t mention my name.

She didn’t need to.

By ten o’clock, half the company had already decided I was a jealous wife abusing a powerless assistant.

I entered the boardroom.

Bac Vong was already there.

Luc Uyen sat beside him.

When she saw me, she lowered her head immediately.

Bac Vong’s expression hardened.

—Why are you here?

I took my seat.

—Board meeting.

He laughed coldly.

—You’re not part of management.

I looked at him.

—Correct.

Then the chairman entered.

Everyone stood.

Chairman Nguyen was sixty-eight and had worked with my father for more than twenty years.

He didn’t look at Bac Vong.

He looked at me.

—Director Tham, all documents are ready.

The room became quiet.

Bac Vong frowned.

—Director?

I opened the folder in front of me.

—Let’s begin.

The chairman announced the first item.

The Tham family fund was terminating its proxy authorization.

Effective immediately, the voting rights attached to our shares would return directly to me.

Bac Vong’s face changed.

—What shares?

I slid a document toward him.

His eyes moved across the page.

Twenty-seven percent.

Then fourteen percent.

His fingers stopped.

—Forty-one percent?

—Correct.

He looked up sharply.

—You own forty-one percent of Minh Thinh?

—My family and I do.

For the first time, Luc Uyen stopped pretending to look fragile.

Her eyes widened.

I almost smiled.

Bac Vong’s voice became hoarse.

—Why didn’t you tell me?

—You never asked.

The chairman continued.

Second item.

A review of executive conduct.

Third item.

The deputy president’s use of company funds.

Bac Vong slammed his hand on the table.

—What does this mean?

Attorney Tran placed several invoices on the screen.

Hotel bookings.

Luxury restaurant expenses.

Designer handbags.

Weekend trips.

All submitted under “client entertainment.”

And several were connected to Luc Uyen.

Her face turned white.

—Those were work expenses!

I looked at her.

—Then explain why one invoice includes a couples’ spa package.

Nobody spoke.

Bac Vong turned toward her.

—You told me finance approved everything.

Luc Uyen immediately grabbed his sleeve.

—Deputy President, I only followed your instructions.

He froze.

That sentence changed the room.

His instructions.

Not hers.

His.

The chairman removed his glasses.

—Mr. Pho, until the audit is completed, you are suspended from executive duties.

Bac Vong stood abruptly.

—You can’t suspend me over personal matters!

I finally spoke.

—This isn’t personal.

I pointed at the invoices.

—That’s company money.

Then I placed another document in front of him.

—This is personal.

Divorce agreement.

His jaw tightened.

—You’re really doing this?

—Yes.

—Because I defended Luc Uyen?

I looked at him calmly.

—No.

—Because when your wife kissed you, you wiped your mouth as if she disgusted you.

—But you happily drank from another woman’s cup.

—Because when she humiliated me publicly, you protected her.

—And when I said I was leaving, you threatened me.

The room was completely silent.

Bac Vong’s face slowly lost its anger.

For the first time, something resembling panic appeared.

—Tham Kieu…

—I loved you once.

I pushed the pen toward him.

—That was my mistake.

Luc Uyen suddenly started crying.

—Miss Kieu, I can resign.

—Please don’t destroy Deputy President Pho because of me.

I looked at her.

—You still don’t understand.

She froze.

—I don’t care whether you resign.

—I don’t care whether he chooses you.

—I only care that neither of you uses my money, my name or my family’s company while pretending I’m the problem.

Her lips trembled.

Three weeks later, the audit finished.

Several expenses were ruled improper.

Bac Vong repaid the company and resigned before the board could vote on his removal.

Luc Uyen left the same afternoon.

The divorce took another two months.

At first, Bac Vong refused to sign.

Then his lawyer explained that dragging the case out wouldn’t restore his position or my trust.

He signed.

Six months later, I heard that he and Luc Uyen were no longer together.

Apparently, devotion disappeared quickly when there was no executive office, company car or unlimited expense account around it.

I didn’t ask for details.

One evening, Bac Vong waited outside my office.

He looked thinner.

—Tham Kieu.

I stopped.

—Can we talk?

—You have two minutes.

His eyes lowered.

—I finally understand why you were so angry that night.

I shook my head.

—No.

He looked at me.

—I wasn’t angry because you shared her tea.

—I left because I finally understood where I stood in your heart.

His eyes reddened.

—Can we start over?

I smiled.

Not cruelly.

Not bitterly.

Just peacefully.

—Some things can be washed clean, Bac Vong.

I glanced at him once.

—Some things should simply be thrown away.

Then I walked past him.

On his birthday, he had wiped away my kiss as if it were something dirty.

Months later, he finally understood the irony.

The thing I threw away was never my dignity.

It was him.