Trieu Tan stared at the signed divorce agreement for almost a minute.
Then he called Manh Van Duong.
The number was disconnected.
He opened WeChat.
A red exclamation mark appeared beside his message.
She had blocked him.
For some reason, that irritated him more than the divorce papers.
Fifteen days.
He had only been gone fifteen days.
How could she move an entire house in fifteen days?
—Ms. Luu.
The maid stood nervously near the kitchen.
—When did she leave?
—Three days ago.
—With the baby?
Ms. Luu looked at him strangely.
—Of course with the baby.
That answer made his chest tighten.
The baby.
He suddenly realized something humiliating.
He didn’t even know whether it was a boy or a girl.
He had left while Manh Van Duong was still in labor.
During those fifteen days, he had never once asked.
His mother-in-law had called.
His wife had messaged him twice.
He hadn’t opened either message because Hua Vi had been emotionally unstable and he had convinced himself that Van Duong had her mother beside her.
There would always be time later.
Now the nursery was empty.
—Where did she go?
—I don’t know.
—You worked for us for three years.
—Madam dismissed me yesterday.
Trieu Tan frowned.
—Why?
Ms. Luu hesitated.
Then walked to a cabinet and pulled out an envelope.
—She asked me to give you this if you came back.
Inside were two hospital invoices.
One was for an emergency cesarean section.
The other was for neonatal intensive care.
Trieu Tan’s fingers stiffened.
—Why intensive care?
Ms. Luu’s eyes reddened.
—The baby had breathing problems after birth.
His face changed.
—Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Ms. Luu stared at him.
—They did.
She took out her phone.
There were screenshots.
His mother-in-law’s calls.
Messages.
One from Manh Van Duong at 3:17 that morning:
“The doctor says I need surgery. Please come back.”
Another at 5:42:
“The baby has been taken to neonatal care.”
A final message arrived at 8:10.
“Trieu Tan, I won’t call you again.”
All unread.
He remembered that morning clearly.
Hua Vi had cried because her former boyfriend had become engaged.
He had put his phone on silent and stayed beside her until she fell asleep.
Trieu Tan lowered his hand.
—Where is Van Duong now?
—Madam said not to tell you.
He turned sharply.
—I’m her husband.
Ms. Luu glanced at the divorce agreement.
—Maybe not for much longer.
For the first time, Trieu Tan had no answer.
He called his mother-in-law.
She answered on the third ring.
—What?
—Mom, where is Van Duong?
A bitter laugh came through.
—You remember my daughter exists?
—Where is she?
—When she was being taken into surgery, she kept looking at the door.
Trieu Tan closed his eyes.
—Mom—
—Don’t call me that.
Her voice trembled.
—The doctor needed a family signature. I signed.
—Her husband was at the airport taking care of another woman.
He gripped the phone.
—I didn’t know it would become an emergency.
—You didn’t know because you left.
Silence.
Then she continued:
—Your daughter was born at 4:36 in the morning.
A daughter.
Trieu Tan’s throat tightened.
—A girl?
His mother-in-law went silent.
That one question seemed to tell her everything.
—You didn’t even know.
The call ended.
That night, Trieu Tan didn’t return to Hua Vi’s apartment.
He sat alone in the empty nursery until dawn.
At seven, Hua Vi called.
—A Tan, are you coming for breakfast?
He looked at the dismantled crib marks on the floor.
—Did you know Van Duong was giving birth when you called me?
Silence.
Only half a second.
But he noticed.
—Hua Vi.
Her voice softened.
—I knew she was near her due date.
—That’s not what I asked.
She sighed.
—You told me yourself a few days earlier that she might deliver soon.
Trieu Tan stood.
—You called me from the airport and said you had nowhere to go.
—I really didn’t.
—Your parents live thirty minutes from the airport.
Another silence.
Hua Vi’s voice changed.
—Are you blaming me now?
—I’m asking a question.
—You chose to come.
That sentence hit harder than any excuse.
Because she was right.
He had chosen.
Hua Vi hadn’t dragged him away from the hospital.
He had walked away himself.
He hung up.
At nine, his assistant called.
—President Trieu, there’s a problem with the Hai Thanh acquisition.
—Handle it.
—We can’t.
—Why?
—The largest minority shareholder refused to sign.
Trieu Tan frowned.
—Who?
His assistant hesitated.
—Mrs. Manh.
He went still.
—Van Duong?
—Yes.
The assistant quickly explained.
Three years earlier, when Trieu Group had nearly collapsed during a financing crisis, an anonymous investment company had purchased twelve percent of Hai Thanh Holdings.
That company was now blocking Trieu Tan’s largest acquisition of the year.
—Who owns the investment company?
His assistant swallowed.
—We just received the beneficial ownership report.
—Say it.
—Manh Van Duong owns seventy percent.
Trieu Tan stared at the empty nursery.
For five years of marriage, he had believed his wife came from an ordinary family.
Quiet.
Gentle.
Financially comfortable but unremarkable.
He had never asked why his father respected her so much.
Never asked why certain senior shareholders always greeted her before greeting him.
—Find out where she is.
Two hours later, his assistant called again.
—President Trieu, we found her.
Trieu Tan grabbed his coat.
—Where?
—At Thanh Hoa Private Hospital.
His heart dropped.
—Is something wrong with the baby?
—I don’t know.
He drove there himself.
When he reached the VIP floor, he stopped outside room 1608.
Through the small glass panel, he saw Manh Van Duong.
She looked thinner.
Pale.
But she was smiling.
In her arms was a tiny baby wrapped in cream-colored fabric.
Beside the bed stood a man in a black suit.
He was leaning down, carefully adjusting the baby’s blanket.
Van Duong said something.
The man smiled.
Then the baby wrapped one tiny hand around his finger.
Trieu Tan pushed open the door.
—Van Duong.
Her smile disappeared.
The man beside her straightened.
Trieu Tan recognized him immediately.
Vu Kien Thanh.
Chairman of Thanh Hoa Capital.
The man whose investment decisions could move entire industries.
And one of Trieu Group’s most dangerous competitors.
Trieu Tan looked from him to the baby.
—Why is he here?
Van Duong calmly handed the child to her mother.
—You don’t have the right to ask.
He took a step forward.
—She’s my daughter.
For the first time, Van Duong laughed.
—Now you remember?
His face tightened.
—Come home. We can discuss everything there.
—There is no home.
She pointed toward the divorce agreement lying beside her hospital documents.
—Sign it.
—I’m not signing.
Vu Kien Thanh finally spoke.
—Then my legal team will handle it.
Trieu Tan turned toward him.
—This is between my wife and me.
Kien Thanh’s expression remained cold.
—No.
He placed a folder on the table.
—It stopped being only your family matter when you abandoned her during childbirth and then allowed your company to investigate her assets.
Trieu Tan froze.
—I never investigated her assets.
Van Duong looked at him.
Something changed in her expression.
—What did you say?
—I learned about Hai Thanh this morning. I didn’t know before that.
Kien Thanh and Van Duong exchanged a glance.
Trieu Tan immediately noticed.
—What?
Kien Thanh opened the folder.
—Someone accessed Mrs. Manh’s financial records four months ago using authorization from Trieu Group’s executive office.
—Impossible.
The signature was displayed.
Trieu Tan stared at it.
It was his electronic authorization code.
But he had never approved the request.
Then Van Duong’s mother entered carrying another envelope.
—Duong Duong, the hospital finally sent the surveillance files you requested.
Trieu Tan frowned.
—Surveillance?
She ignored him.
Van Duong opened the envelope.
Inside was a printed image from the maternity ward.
Timestamp:
The night she gave birth.
A woman stood outside the delivery room speaking with a nurse.
Beige windbreaker.
Silver suitcase beside her.
Trieu Tan’s face turned white.
Hua Vi.
Van Duong slowly raised her eyes.
—Your white moonlight wasn’t waiting alone in the apartment that night.
She slid another photograph toward him.
This one showed Hua Vi handing something to a hospital employee.
On the back was a record of a request to access Manh Van Duong’s newborn registration information.
Trieu Tan stared at it.
—Why would she want information about the baby?
No one answered.
Then Kien Thanh placed the final page on the table.
It was an old DNA laboratory request.
Submitted seven months before Van Duong gave birth.
Applicant:
Hua Vi.
Test subject:
Trieu Tan.
His blood seemed to turn cold.
—Why was she testing my DNA?
Van Duong looked at the baby sleeping in her mother’s arms.
Then at him.
—That’s what I want to know too.
Kien Thanh turned the page.
And beneath the request was another name.
A child.
Four years old.
Registered abroad.
Father listed as unknown.
Mother:
Hua Vi.
Trieu Tan stopped breathing.
Because attached to the file was a photograph of the boy.
And the child had exactly the same eyes as him.
