The genealogy book landed on the table with a dull thud.
For the first time that evening, Vu Doanh Doanh stopped crying.
Her eyes moved from the thick book to my mother, then to Ta Van Tranh.
“Why bring out the genealogy?” she asked.
My mother did not answer her.
She opened the book.
The Ta family genealogy had been maintained for generations. Births, marriages, deaths, inheritance rights—everything was recorded there.
My mother turned several pages and placed one finger beneath a name.
“Read it.”
The butler bowed.
“Ta Tri Y. Youngest daughter of Ta Minh Duc and Tham Lenh Nghi. Biological younger sister of Ta Van Tranh.”
Silence.
Someone’s wineglass slipped onto the carpet.
Vu Doanh Doanh stared at me.
“Biological… sister?”
I smiled.
“Congratulations. You finally discovered my fourth identity.”
A few guests couldn’t suppress their laughter.
Her face turned crimson.
The evidence she had displayed so confidently now became absurd.
I could enter the Ta residence because it was my home.
I could stay in the family courtyard because I had grown up there.
The trust money belonged to me.
And the man she accused me of seducing was my brother.
The genealogy confirmed precisely the question her accusations had raised about my place in the family.
Vu’s mother recovered first.
“This is just a misunderstanding.”
“Again?”
I looked at her.
“Your daughter publicly called me a mistress, an adopted child, and a woman of unclear status.”
I counted on my fingers.
“That’s quite a lot of misunderstandings for one evening.”
Father Vu stood.
“Miss Ta, Doanh Doanh only recently returned to our family. She doesn’t understand these complicated relationships.”
My brother finally spoke.
“She didn’t understand, yet she investigated my sister’s residence records and financial transactions?”
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
Father Vu stiffened.
Van Tranh turned toward Doanh Doanh.
“Who gave you those records?”
Her lips trembled.
“I…”
“You cannot obtain Ta family access records simply by searching online.”
Nobody laughed anymore.
“And the trust transaction screenshots,” he continued, “contain information available only to trustees and authorized auditors.”
Doanh Doanh’s face became pale.
The floating yellow words appeared before me again.
[Finally.]
[Don’t watch her face.]
[Watch the bracelet.]
My gaze dropped.
The wide bracelet she had hidden earlier was visible beneath her sleeve.
The same bracelet another guest had complimented—the one she had immediately tried to cover.
There was a small emblem engraved inside its clasp.
I recognized it.
My smile disappeared.
“Where did you get that bracelet?”
Doanh Doanh immediately pulled down her sleeve.
“My mother gave it to me.”
Mother Vu nodded too quickly.
“Yes. It belonged to her when she was little.”
My mother suddenly stood.
“No.”
One word silenced everyone.
She walked toward Doanh Doanh.
“Show me.”
Doanh Doanh stepped backward.
“Why?”
“Because that bracelet doesn’t belong to the Vu family.”
My mother’s voice had changed.
For the first time all evening, there was fear in it.
“It belongs to the Tham family.”
My heart skipped.
Mother Vu grabbed her daughter’s wrist.
“We’re leaving.”
My brother blocked their path.
“No one leaves.”
Father Vu slammed his palm against the table.
“Van Tranh! This is your engagement banquet!”
My brother looked at Doanh Doanh.
“Not anymore.”
Her face went blank.
“Van Tranh…”
He removed the engagement ring from the ceremonial tray and placed it on the table.
“I can forgive ignorance.”
He looked toward the projected screenshots.
“I don’t marry people who manufacture scandals against my family.”
Doanh Doanh burst into tears.
“You’re ending our engagement because of her?”
“Because of you.”
That answer shattered whatever composure she had left.
She suddenly pointed at me.
“She isn’t innocent!”
Her scream echoed through the hall.
“She knew everything!”
I frowned.
“Knew what?”
Doanh Doanh froze.
The yellow words flashed.
[She said too much.]
My mother stepped forward.
“What exactly does Tri Y know?”
Mother Vu grabbed Doanh Doanh.
“Stop talking.”
That made everyone look at her.
I slowly approached them.
“Give me the bracelet.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll tell everyone why you’re hiding it.”
Her pupils contracted.
I was bluffing.
But she didn’t know that.
“Fine!”
She ripped the bracelet from her wrist and threw it onto the table.
It rolled twice before stopping beside the genealogy book.
My mother picked it up.
Her hands began trembling.
Inside the clasp was a tiny engraved character.
YI.
My childhood name.
I stared at it.
“That…”
My mother whispered:
“It was yours.”
A strange chill crawled down my spine.
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“You wore it when you were born.”
The banquet hall seemed to disappear around me.
My mother looked toward Mother Vu.
“This bracelet vanished twenty-four years ago.”
Mother Vu’s face became gray.
Father Vu stared at his wife.
“What is she talking about?”
No answer.
My brother took out his phone.
“Call the police.”
“NO!”
Mother Vu screamed.
Too late.
Everyone heard it.
Doanh Doanh stared at the woman she had called mother.
“Why are you scared?”
Mother Vu’s lips shook.
“Doanh Doanh, don’t listen to them.”
But Doanh Doanh suddenly grabbed her arm.
“You told me this bracelet proved who I was.”
My father slowly stood.
“Proved what?”
Doanh Doanh realized her mistake.
Again.
The yellow comments exploded.
[There it is.]
[She wasn’t recognized through DNA.]
[The Vu family recognized her because of the bracelet.]
My brother understood at the same moment.
“You used an item belonging to my sister to establish your identity?”
“No!”
Doanh Doanh backed away.
“The bracelet was with me when they found me!”
Father Vu turned toward his wife.
“You said the DNA test confirmed her identity.”
Mother Vu began trembling.
“I…”
“You said you personally received the report.”
She said nothing.
That silence was enough.
Doanh Doanh’s expression changed from panic to disbelief.
“Mom?”
Nobody moved.
Then my mother reached for my hand.
Her fingers were ice cold.
“Tri Y.”
I looked at her.
She wasn’t watching Doanh Doanh anymore.
She was staring at the inside of my wrist.
“Show me your birthmark.”
“What?”
“The mark beneath your wrist.”
I pulled back my sleeve.
A small reddish crescent sat near the base of my palm.
I had possessed it for as long as I could remember.
My mother closed her eyes.
Then she whispered:
“The baby bracelet had two identification marks.”
She lifted the bracelet.
“One engraved name.”
Her finger touched my birthmark.
“And one medical notation describing this mark.”
I stared at Mother Vu.
“So someone had my identification bracelet.”
My brother’s expression became terrifyingly cold.
“And used it twenty-four years later to fabricate Doanh Doanh’s identity.”
Doanh Doanh shook her head desperately.
“I didn’t know.”
For once, I believed her.
Because she looked genuinely terrified.
Then the butler returned.
But he wasn’t alone.
An elderly man followed him into the banquet hall carrying a sealed document envelope.
My mother went rigid.
“Doctor Chen?”
The old man looked at her.
“Madam Ta.”
My father’s face darkened.
“I thought you were overseas.”
“I was.”
His eyes moved toward me.
Then toward Doanh Doanh.
“I returned after receiving your housekeeper’s call.”
He placed the envelope beside the genealogy.
“What is this?” my brother asked.
Doctor Chen did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked directly at me.
“I was the pediatrician on duty the night Miss Tri Y was born.”
My heartbeat quickened.
He opened the envelope.
Inside were two faded hospital identification forms.
Not one.
Two.
Doctor Chen swallowed.
“Twenty-four years ago, there was something I was ordered never to tell the Ta family.”
My mother turned pale.
“What?”
He placed the two forms side by side.
Both carried my mother’s name.
Both had the same date.
But beneath “Infant,” one was marked A.
The other—
B.
My mother staggered backward.
My father caught her.
“What does that mean?”
Doctor Chen looked toward Doanh Doanh.
Then at me.
His answer changed everything.
“Madam Ta did not give birth to one daughter that night.”
His voice dropped.
“She gave birth to two.”
And somewhere across the banquet hall, Mother Vu quietly began moving toward the exit.
