I stared at the message for three seconds.

Then another arrived.

“Co Vong Nien is tearing the entire department apart looking for you.”

I almost laughed.

Yesterday, he had walked out after I told him exactly what would happen.

Today, apparently, he was surprised that I meant it.

I typed one sentence.

“I’m taking the day off.”

My colleague called immediately.

The moment I answered, she whispered dramatically.

“Taking the day off? Girl, your boyfriend looks like he’s about to fire the building.”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Silence.

“What?”

“We broke up.”

Another silence.

Longer this time.

Then she lowered her voice.

“Does he know?”

“He was present when it happened.”

That was apparently enough to destroy her ability to speak.

I ended the call before she could interrogate me.

My father was sitting across from me.

“Trouble?”

“Nothing important.”

He glanced at my phone.

“If it’s nothing important, stop looking at it.”

I turned the phone facedown.

He smiled.

“Shanghai needs someone who can make decisions quickly. The branch opens officially next month, but preparations have already begun.”

“When do I leave?”

“Friday.”

“Good.”

My mother nearly dropped her cup.

“That soon?”

“If I wait, people may start thinking I’m hesitating.”

Dad understood what I actually meant.

Someone might think he still had time to change my mind.

He didn’t.

That afternoon, I submitted my resignation electronically.

At 3:17 p.m., Co Vong Nien appeared outside my parents’ house.

I knew because the security guard called.

“He says he won’t leave without seeing you.”

“Then let him enjoy the scenery.”

Twenty minutes later, my mother walked into my room.

“He’s still outside.”

“I know.”

“It’s raining.”

I looked through the window.

Co Vong Nien stood beside his car without an umbrella.

His shirt was wet.

His hair stuck to his forehead.

Once, seeing him like that would have broken my heart.

I would have rushed downstairs.

Now I only remembered another rainy night.

The one when I waited for him.

The difference was simple.

Nobody had told him to stand outside.

He chose to.

My phone rang from an unfamiliar number.

I answered.

“Come downstairs.”

His voice was hoarse.

“No.”

“Why did you block me?”

“Because we broke up.”

“Stop saying that!”

For the first time, his composure cracked.

“I left for one night. I told you I’d deal with Kha Ngon and come back.”

“You didn’t come back.”

“She was drunk!”

“And apparently thirsty enough to drink from my glass.”

Silence.

So he had seen the post.

“That wasn’t what you think.”

“I don’t care what it was.”

He seemed stunned.

Perhaps that sentence hurt more than any accusation.

Because if I accused him of cheating, he could explain.

If I cried, he could comfort me.

If I screamed, he could apologize.

But indifference gave him nowhere to stand.

“I cooked because she hadn’t eaten,” he said quickly. “She spilled wine on her clothes, so she borrowed a shirt. Nothing happened.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Then come downstairs.”

“No.”

His breathing became heavier.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

Again, silence.

I walked toward the window.

He was still looking up at the house.

“Yesterday I gave you a choice,” I said. “You made it.”

“You were angry.”

“I told you I wasn’t.”

“I thought—”

“That’s your problem.”

My voice remained calm.

“You never listen to what I say. You listen to the version that’s most convenient for you.”

He went quiet.

I continued.

“When Kha Ngon embarrassed me at dinner, you knew what she was doing.”

“She apologized.”

“She performed.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And when she cried because you took me home, you still went back to her.”

“She was causing a scene.”

“So?”

I looked down at him through the rain-streaked window.

“Why was managing another woman’s emotions more important than respecting your girlfriend?”

He had no answer.

Finally, he whispered:

“I’ll fire her.”

“No need.”

“I’ll transfer her.”

“Still no need.”

“I’ll never see her privately again.”

I closed my eyes.

“Vong Nien, you still don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I’m not negotiating.”

I ended the call.

Friday morning, I flew to Shanghai.

I told almost nobody.

By Monday, I was sitting inside the conference room of my father’s new branch.

For years at Co Thi Group, I had started at the bottom.

I wrote reports other people presented.

I corrected proposals bearing someone else’s signature.

I worked overtime while colleagues joked that I only had my position because I was the boss’s girlfriend.

None of them knew my family owned a company large enough to become one of Co Thi Group’s most important potential partners.

Neither did Vong Nien.

My father had deliberately stayed out of my relationship.

He wanted me to choose my own life.

I had chosen badly.

That didn’t mean I had to continue choosing badly.

Three weeks later, the Shanghai branch announced its first major expansion project.

At the opening ceremony, I wore a black suit and stood beside my father while reporters took photographs.

That evening, my phone exploded.

Former coworkers.

Friends.

Even people who hadn’t spoken to me in years.

Apparently the photograph had circulated through business circles.

My former colleague sent me a screenshot.

“PLEASE EXPLAIN.”

Below it was another message.

“Co Vong Nien just saw this.”

I smiled and locked my phone.

Ten minutes later, someone knocked on my office door.

My secretary entered.

“There’s a visitor downstairs.”

“No appointment?”

“No.”

“Then tell him to schedule one.”

She hesitated.

“He says his name is Co Vong Nien.”

I looked up.

Of course.

“Tell him I have fifteen minutes.”

When he entered, he looked different.

Tired.

Thinner.

And, for once, uncertain.

His eyes moved around my office before settling on me.

“So this is why you left.”

“No.”

I closed the document in front of me.

“I left because we broke up. This is what I did afterward.”

“You never told me your family owned this company.”

“You never asked much about my family.”

That stopped him.

He sat opposite me.

“Kha Ngon resigned.”

I said nothing.

“She admitted she spilled the wine deliberately.”

Still nothing.

“She also admitted she posted those photos because she wanted you to misunderstand.”

I finally looked at him.

“And?”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“And?”

“Did she force you to leave my apartment?”

“No.”

“Did she force you to stay with her all night?”

“No.”

“Did she force you to cook for her?”

His jaw tightened.

“No.”

“Then her confession changes nothing.”

He stared at me.

“I made a mistake.”

“No. You made a decision.”

His face went pale.

I glanced at the clock.

“You have nine minutes.”

“Are you really going to treat me like a business appointment?”

“You arrived at my office without one.”

“Nien—”

He stopped himself.

For years, he had always been the one deciding when conversations started and ended.

Now he was sitting on the other side of my desk.

“I came because there’s something else you need to know.”

I waited.

He placed a folder in front of me.

On the cover was the name of the expansion project my father had assigned me.

I frowned.

“Why do you have this?”

“Because Co Thi Group is bidding for the logistics contract.”

My expression changed.

He continued quietly.

“And your father shortlisted us before he knew we had broken up.”

I opened the folder.

His company’s name was there.

One of three finalists.

Meaning that for the next several weeks, Co Vong Nien and I would be sitting across from each other repeatedly.

But this time, he wouldn’t be my boyfriend.

He would be a supplier trying to win my approval.

He stood.

At the door, he turned back.

“Will you remove us from consideration because of what happened?”

I looked at the proposal.

Then at him.

“No.”

Hope flickered across his face.

I smiled professionally.

“If your company deserves the contract, it can win it.”

His shoulders relaxed.

Then I added:

“But don’t confuse fairness with forgiveness.”

The hope disappeared.

“Your fifteen minutes are over, Mr. Co.”

He stared at me for several seconds before leaving.

The door closed.

I looked down at his proposal and felt strangely peaceful.

Once, I had entered his company from the lowest position just to stay close to him.

Now he had crossed half the country to stand inside mine.

The irony was almost perfect.

But neither of us knew yet that the final bidder on my desk had submitted something far more dangerous than a business proposal.

Inside their confidential ownership documents was a name I recognized immediately.

Tham Kha Ngon.

And beside her name was a percentage large enough to prove that the assistant who had spilled wine on me had never been merely an assistant.