“Leave without taking anything?”

Trần Thụy stared at the last line of the agreement as though he had never seen those words before.

Then he laughed.

A nervous, forced laugh.

—Tống Dao, have you lost your mind?

He threw the document onto the table.

—That prenup was signed three years ago. Do you really think you can take everything from me because of one ridiculous video?

Lawyer Châu finally raised his eyes.

—Mr. Trần, the agreement does not say “one ridiculous video.”

He turned a page.

—Clause nine states that if either spouse maintains an intimate relationship with another person during the marriage and sufficient evidence exists, that spouse waives claims to assets acquired through the other party’s premarital capital.

Trần Thụy’s expression stiffened.

My mother-in-law immediately shouted:

—What intimate relationship?!

—Our Thụy was only eating barbecue with a colleague!

I picked up my phone.

—Then perhaps this will help.

I played the second video.

Not the one Lý Nguyệt had sent me.

Another recording.

Trần Thụy and Văn Lệ entering the same hotel.

His arm around her waist.

The timestamp was clear.

So was the date.

The night our son was born.

My mother-in-law stopped speaking.

Trần Thụy turned toward me sharply.

—Where did you get that?

My father answered.

—From the hotel your company paid for.

Silence.

Trần Thụy looked at him.

My father had barely spoken since arriving.

That made his next words even heavier.

—You used a corporate account to pay for three nights there.

—Unfortunately for you, I happen to know quite a lot about that company.

Trần Thụy frowned.

—What does that mean?

My father gestured toward Mrs. Vương.

She turned her laptop around.

On the screen was an ownership chart.

Trần Thụy stared at it.

Then leaned closer.

His face slowly changed.

—No.

Mrs. Vương spoke calmly.

—Three years ago, when Trần Minh Technology was still a small company with serious cash-flow problems, Tống Capital invested fifty million yuan.

—The investment was made through three holding companies.

—Combined ownership is forty-two percent.

My mother-in-law gasped.

Trần Thụy looked at me.

—You knew?

—No.

I looked at my father.

—Not until three days ago.

My father nodded.

—Dao Dao told me she wanted to marry you because she loved you.

His voice remained calm.

—I did not want you treating her differently because of our family.

—So I invested without revealing the ultimate beneficial owner.

He paused.

—You liked telling people you built everything yourself.

—I allowed you that fantasy.

Trần Thụy’s face turned red.

—Investment is investment. Those shares aren’t hers.

—Correct.

My father smiled faintly.

—They’re mine.

Then he looked toward Lawyer Châu.

—Which means I can also exercise my shareholder rights.

That was when Trần Thụy finally understood why a financial adviser was sitting in our living room.

Mrs. Vương opened another file.

—Tomorrow morning, Tống Capital will request an extraordinary board meeting.

—There will also be an audit of company spending during the last eighteen months.

Trần Thụy slammed his hand on the table.

—You’re threatening me because of a family argument?

I shook my head.

—No.

—I’m divorcing you because of our marriage.

—My father is reviewing his investment because you’ve been using company money to finance your personal life.

His face went completely still.

Văn Lệ’s hotel.

Her luxury handbag.

A car registered under a subsidiary.

Business-class flights listed as “client development.”

Mrs. Vương had found all of them.

My mother-in-law suddenly changed tactics.

She sat beside me.

Her voice became soft.

—Dao Dao, you just gave birth.

—Women become emotional after childbirth.

—Don’t make a decision you’ll regret.

I looked at the woman who had spent three years telling me that everything in this house belonged to her son.

Then I smiled.

—Yesterday you told me I was lucky Thụy was willing to support me.

She froze.

—Today you discovered my father owns forty-two percent of his company.

—I understand why you’re suddenly worried about my emotions.

Her face darkened.

Trần Thụy looked at the crib.

—What about my son?

I stood immediately.

—Don’t use him now.

—I’m his father!

—Then perhaps you should have remembered that while disappearing for three days immediately after he was born.

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Lawyer Châu pushed another document forward.

—Custody will be handled according to law and the child’s best interests.

—Ms. Tống is not preventing you from being a father.

He adjusted his glasses.

—But threats, financial records, caregiving history and your conduct will all be documented.

For the first time that afternoon, Trần Thụy sat down.

The arrogance was gone.

The divorce took four months.

He tried everything.

First anger.

Then apologies.

Then flowers.

Then promises that Văn Lệ meant nothing.

That sentence only made things worse.

If she meant nothing, then he had abandoned his wife and newborn child for three days for nothing.

Văn Lệ resigned the week the corporate audit began.

She had apparently believed Trần Thụy owned the company outright.

When she discovered he was losing control of the board, her affection became considerably less intense.

The audit found enough improper expenses for the board to remove him as general manager.

He kept his personal shares.

My father didn’t destroy him.

Neither did I.

Consequences did not need my help.

My mother-in-law moved out of the large villa shortly afterward because the house had never belonged to Trần Thụy either.

That was another surprise.

It had been purchased before my marriage.

In my father’s name.

He had allowed us to live there because I once told him:

“I want to build my own family.”

When I discovered the truth, I stared at him.

—Dad, how many things have you hidden from me?

He smiled.

—Enough to find out whether the people around you loved you or your surname.

Six months after the divorce, I returned to work at Tống Capital.

Not because I needed revenge.

Because I had spent too many years shrinking myself to make Trần Thụy feel larger.

One evening, he came to pick up our son for his scheduled visit.

He stood outside my new apartment holding a small bag of diapers.

He looked tired.

Quieter.

—Dao Dao.

—Yes?

He hesitated.

—If I hadn’t done what I did… would you ever have told me who your father really was?

I thought about it.

—Eventually.

—And all that money?

—Eventually.

His eyes lowered.

—Then I ruined everything.

I shook my head.

—No.

—You revealed everything.

He looked at me.

I continued:

—If you had known my background from the beginning, maybe you would have treated me wonderfully.

—And I might have spent my entire life believing that was love.

I handed him the baby’s bag.

—So in a strange way, I’m glad you never knew.

The door closed gently between us.

Three years earlier, Trần Thụy believed the prenuptial agreement existed to protect his future fortune from me.

He never bothered asking why my father had insisted so strongly that we sign it.

It wasn’t written because my family wanted his money.

It was written because my father already knew exactly how much money I had to lose.