I stared at the necklace around Bach Nhuoc Dao’s neck.

I knew it immediately.

My grandmother had given it to me before she died.

I kept it inside a locked drawer in my bedroom.

“Take that off.”

Nhuoc Dao touched the pendant.

“This?”

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“Canh Hoai gave it to me.”

I slowly turned toward him.

Luc Canh Hoai’s face went pale.

“Ninh, listen—”

“Did you open my jewelry drawer?”

“It was just sitting there.”

“It was locked.”

Silence.

I looked toward my office.

Locked.

My bedroom had been searched.

My belongings had been packed and thrown outside.

My necklace was around another woman’s neck.

Suddenly, I stopped being angry.

“Hua Nam Chi was right,” I said.

Luc Canh Hoai frowned.

“What?”

“Arguing with you is pointless.”

The doorbell rang.

Hua Nam Chi arrived with building management and a locksmith.

I showed them the ownership documents on my phone.

Then I opened the smart-lock application.

“Last night, Luc Canh Hoai attempted to add her fingerprint without authorization.”

The system log was still there.

Nhuoc Dao’s confidence disappeared.

Luc Canh Hoai stepped closer.

“An Ninh, we were together for three years. Do you really need to humiliate me like this?”

I looked at him.

“You told your girlfriend my apartment was yours.”

“You let her wear my clothes.”

“You let her search my bedroom.”

“And now my jewelry is around her neck.”

I pointed toward the door.

“Leave.”

Nhuoc Dao immediately protested.

“Canh Hoai lives here!”

“Not anymore.”

At exactly 12:03, management deactivated his temporary access.

The locksmith changed the lock.

I recorded the condition of every room before either of them left.

Then I reached the office.

When the door opened, even Hua Nam Chi stopped smiling.

My computer had been moved.

Several drawers were open.

And beside the printer was a stack of photocopies.

House deed.

Loan settlement certificate.

My identification documents.

Even copies of my signature.

Hua Nam Chi picked up one page.

“An Ninh.”

Her voice changed.

“This isn’t about staying in your apartment.”

She showed me the document.

It was a draft property authorization agreement.

My name appeared as the owner.

Luc Canh Hoai appeared as the authorized representative.

At the bottom was a signature resembling mine.

But I had never signed it.

I looked toward him.

“What were you planning?”

His face drained of color.

Nhuoc Dao grabbed the paper.

“What is that?”

Apparently, she hadn’t known either.

Hua Nam Chi turned to me.

“Keep recording. Don’t touch anything else.”

Then Nhuoc Dao’s phone rang.

Her mother.

She answered instinctively.

“Dao Dao, have you asked Tieu Luc about the apartment transfer? Your father already prepared the deposit for the wedding. Once the house is transferred into both your names—”

Nhuoc Dao slowly looked at Luc Canh Hoai.

The entire room became silent.

“Transfer?” she whispered.

He said nothing.

Her expression collapsed.

“You told my parents this apartment would become ours after we got married.”

I almost laughed.

So that was it.

He wasn’t merely pretending my home belonged to him.

He had been preparing to make that lie real.

I picked up my grandmother’s necklace from the table after Nhuoc Dao finally removed it.

Then I looked at the man I had once loved for three years.

“You wanted one more night because you needed access to my documents.”

“No, An Ninh—”

“Save it.”

Management escorted them out.

But just before the elevator doors closed, Nhuoc Dao suddenly turned around.

“Wait.”

She looked at me strangely.

“There’s something else.”

Luc Canh Hoai grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t.”

She pulled free.

“Last week he asked me to pretend to be you during a video verification call.”

My expression froze.

Hua Nam Chi immediately stepped forward.

“What verification?”

Nhuoc Dao swallowed.

“I don’t know. He only told me to stay off camera and answer several questions.”

Then she looked directly at me.

“But the person on the call wasn’t asking about this apartment.”

A terrible feeling settled in my stomach.

“What were they asking about?”

She answered quietly.

“Another property.”

I stared at her.

I owned no other property.

At least none that Luc Canh Hoai should have known about.

Then Hua Nam Chi looked down at the documents scattered across my desk.

She pulled one sheet from underneath the others.

It wasn’t a copy.

It was an original property registration notice.

The address was unfamiliar.

But the owner’s name wasn’t.

Kieu An Ninh.

And according to the date printed beneath it, the property had been registered in my name eleven years ago—

when I was still in university.