Luc Chinh stopped in the middle of the lobby.

“What did you say?”

Assistant Tieu Vuong repeated carefully:

“Niem Chi Vi informed us this morning that they will terminate the cooperation agreement.”

Luc Chinh frowned.

“That’s impossible. Their annual procurement contract is one of our largest accounts.”

“Yes.”

“Who made the decision?”

Tieu Vuong hesitated.

“The founder.”

Luc Chinh continued walking toward the elevator.

“Arrange a meeting.”

“I already tried.”

“And?”

“They refused.”

The elevator doors closed.

Luc Chinh looked at his reflection in the metal panel.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered me standing in the kitchen with flour on my hands.

Niem Chi Vi.

To Niem.

He had heard the similarity hundreds of times and never thought twice about it.

After all, my bakery was only fifteen square meters.

The chain had more than a thousand locations.

What could those two things possibly have to do with each other?

At ten, the emergency meeting began.

The sales director placed several documents on the table.

“If Niem Chi Vi leaves, our logistics subsidiary loses almost twenty percent of its annual volume.”

Luc Chinh’s expression darkened.

“Why are they leaving?”

“No reason was given.”

“What about renewal negotiations?”

“Canceled.”

“Who is their founder?”

Silence.

Several managers exchanged glances.

Finally, someone said:

“The founder has always kept a very low profile. Most public appearances are handled by professional managers.”

Luc Chinh leaned back.

“Then contact the chairwoman.”

“We did.”

“And?”

“She said all decisions regarding our account now require approval from the founder personally.”

His phone vibrated.

Tien Vi.

“Lunch together?”

He stared at the message and suddenly felt irritated.

He put the phone face down.

By noon, another problem appeared.

Niem Chi Vi’s affiliated investment company withdrew from negotiations over a warehouse project.

At two, a supplier asked to renegotiate payment terms.

At three thirty, the company’s finance director entered Luc Chinh’s office without knocking.

“We have a cash-flow issue.”

“How serious?”

“If Niem Chi Vi’s contracts disappear completely, we’ll need another credit line within sixty days.”

Luc Chinh stared at him.

For the first time, the six thousand yuan I supposedly earned every month no longer felt like an unrelated detail.

He opened a search engine.

Typed:

NIEM CHI VI FOUNDER.

Old articles appeared.

Interviews with regional managers.

Brand expansion reports.

Franchise statistics.

One business feature caught his attention.

The founder had begun with a single fifteen-square-meter bakery in an old neighborhood.

Luc Chinh’s fingers stopped.

Fifteen square meters.

He read the sentence again.

Then another.

The first shop still existed.

It had never been converted into a franchise.

Its address was listed.

Luc Chinh stared at the screen.

His face slowly lost color.

It was my shop.

The bakery he had refused to enter because flour dust stuck to his expensive coat.

The place he had once described to Tien Vi as “my wife’s little hobby.”

He stood so abruptly that his chair rolled backward.

Thirty minutes later, the black Porsche stopped at the entrance to the old alley.

There was already a line outside.

Luc Chinh pushed through the door.

I was behind the counter.

Apron.

Hair tied back.

Hands covered in flour.

Exactly the woman he had divorced two days earlier.

Except this time, there were three people in business suits sitting at the small table beside me.

One of them stood.

“Chairwoman To, the final termination documents are ready.”

Luc Chinh froze.

I looked up.

Our eyes met.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then I wiped my hands on my apron.

“Why are you here?”

His lips moved.

“Chairwoman?”

I glanced at the executive.

“Give me five minutes.”

They nodded and walked into the back room.

Luc Chinh stared after them.

Then at me.

“Niem Chi Vi belongs to you?”

“No.”

His expression loosened for half a second.

Then I added:

“The stores belong to twelve separate subsidiaries.”

His face stiffened again.

“I own the holding company.”

Silence.

Outside, customers continued talking.

An oven timer rang.

Everything in my life moved normally.

Only Luc Chinh seemed unable to move.

“You never told me.”

I almost smiled.

“You never asked.”

“That’s not true.”

“When?”

His mouth closed.

For three years, he had asked how much I earned.

Why I smelled like butter when I came home.

Why I didn’t dress more elegantly.

Why I wasted time kneading dough instead of finding a respectable office job.

He had never once asked how many employees I had.

How many stores existed.

How I paid his debts when he had nothing.

He finally whispered:

“The year-end bonuses…”

“Yes.”

“My mother’s hospital bill?”

“Yes.”

“The startup debt?”

“Yes.”

His face became paler with each answer.

“Why?”

I looked at him.

“Because you were my husband.”

He flinched.

Past tense.

Then his expression hardened.

“So you deliberately canceled our contract after the divorce?”

“No.”

“You expect me to believe that timing?”

I calmly pulled a document from under the counter.

“The review began three months ago.”

He took it.

His company’s performance had declined.

Delivery failures.

Pricing problems.

Repeated service complaints.

I had delayed termination twice.

Because he was my husband.

After signing the divorce papers, I simply stopped protecting his company from consequences.

Luc Chinh stared at the document.

“You could have warned me.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“Every time I told you your logistics division was becoming unreliable.”

His face changed.

He remembered.

He had always answered the same way:

“You run a bakery. Don’t lecture me about corporate management.”

I turned back toward the dough.

“That conversation is over.”

Luc Chinh grabbed the edge of the counter.

“To Niem.”

I looked up.

For the first time, there was no contempt in his eyes.

Only confusion.

And something dangerously close to regret.

“Why did you let me believe you earned six thousand?”

“I do earn six thousand.”

He stared.

“My salary from this shop is six thousand.”

I paused.

“My dividends are separate.”

He closed his eyes.

The distinction was almost cruel.

Then my phone rang.

Giang Van.

I answered.

“Yes?”

Her voice came quickly.

“The acquisition is approved.”

I glanced at Luc Chinh.

“What acquisition?”

I hadn’t realized he could hear her through the speaker.

Giang Van laughed.

“The controlling stake in Eastbridge Logistics.”

Luc Chinh’s expression changed instantly.

Eastbridge was the company his board planned to acquire to rescue their distribution network.

I turned slightly away.

“When does it close?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

I hung up.

Luc Chinh stared at me.

“You’re buying Eastbridge?”

“Yes.”

“Our company has been negotiating with them for six months.”

“I know.”

His voice sharpened.

“So this is revenge?”

I shook my head.

“Business.”

“After the divorce you suddenly terminate my biggest contract and buy the company I need?”

“No, Luc Chinh.”

I looked directly at him.

“You’re still making the same mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“You think my decisions revolve around you.”

He went silent.

I continued:

“Niem Chi Vi needed its own logistics network. Eastbridge fits our expansion plan. Your company simply happened to need the same thing.”

His phone started ringing.

Chairman Chau.

Then the finance director.

Then Tien Vi.

Luc Chinh ignored all of them.

He only looked at me.

Finally, he asked:

“That letter…”

My hand stopped.

“What letter?”

His expression changed.

He knew.

He had found it.

“Why did you write all that and still leave?”

I looked at him calmly.

“Because the letter explained the past.”

Then I turned toward the oven.

“It wasn’t an invitation to return.”

The timer rang again.

I opened the oven, and warm bread scented the entire shop.

Luc Chinh stood there, surrounded by the smell he had once been ashamed of.

Then one of my executives returned from the back room.

“Chairwoman To, the lawyers are ready for tomorrow’s Eastbridge signing.”

I nodded.

Luc Chinh finally stepped aside.

But before leaving, he turned back.

“To Niem… if I had known who you really were—”

I interrupted him.

“That’s exactly why it’s too late.”

His face froze.

“Because I was already worth respecting before you knew.”

And for the first time since signing our divorce papers, Luc Chinh understood that he had not divorced a woman earning six thousand yuan a month.

He had divorced the person who had quietly spent three years holding up the life he was so proud of.

And tomorrow, when Eastbridge changed hands, he was going to discover that losing me personally had only been the first consequence.