When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was already spilling through the narrow gap in the curtain.
For several seconds, I didn’t know where I was.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar.
The mattress beneath my body moved gently.
Then came the rhythmic sound of wheels running over rails.
Only then did I remember.
I had left Hai Thanh.
I had left the Luc family.
And yesterday afternoon, I had officially divorced Luc Tram Chu.
A strange feeling rose in my chest.
I reached instinctively toward the bedside table, searching for my phone.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something else.
Before entering the station, the driver had taken my old phone, removed the SIM card, snapped it in half, and handed me a cheap replacement.
Only three numbers had been saved inside.
The hotel receptionist.
The driver.
And one number without a name.
I hadn’t called any of them.
I sat up and pushed aside the curtain.
Outside the window, mountains covered in morning mist stretched endlessly into the distance.
There were no skyscrapers.
No black luxury cars.
No servants waiting outside the bedroom.
No Luc Tram Chu.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
For the first time in five years, I had woken up without wondering what mood my husband would be in.
The realization made me laugh.
But halfway through the laugh, tears suddenly fell.
I wiped them away quickly.
“How useless.”
I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore.
At eight forty, the train attendant knocked and brought breakfast.
A bowl of porridge.
One boiled egg.
Two steamed buns.
I ate everything.
At the Luc family’s dining table, I had learned to eat slowly, elegantly, and almost silently.
Luc Tram Chu disliked noise.
His daughter disliked the smell of garlic.
His mother disliked women who ate too much.
Eventually, even hunger became something I learned to hide.
But today, no one was watching.
So I broke the steamed bun with my fingers and dipped it directly into the porridge.
It tasted wonderful.
I had just finished eating when, hundreds of kilometers behind me, the gates of the Luc residence opened.
A black Bentley entered the courtyard.
The old butler was waiting at the entrance.
Luc Tram Chu stepped out of the car.
He had returned from New York twelve hours earlier than expected.
His face showed the exhaustion of an overnight flight, but his voice remained indifferent.
“Where is she?”
The butler lowered his head.
“Young Master…”
Luc Tram Chu stopped.
Perhaps it was because the villa was too quiet.
Perhaps because there were no fresh flowers on the entrance table.
Or perhaps because, after five years, he had grown accustomed to coming home and seeing one particular figure somewhere inside that enormous house.
“Where is she?”
This time, his voice was colder.
The butler finally answered.
“Madam left yesterday.”
Silence.
Luc Tram Chu looked at him.
“Left?”
“The divorce procedures were completed yesterday afternoon.”
“I know.”
His answer came immediately.
Of course he knew.
The agreement had been prepared by his lawyer.
He had signed his portion before flying abroad.
To him, divorce had probably been nothing more than another document requiring his signature.
The butler hesitated before continuing.
“Madam returned afterward to collect her belongings.”
Luc Tram Chu’s gaze moved toward the staircase.
“What did she take?”
“A dress.”
“And?”
“A sandalwood hairpin.”
“And?”
“One flower.”
Luc Tram Chu frowned.
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
Something unreadable appeared in his eyes.
Five years.
Five years living as Mrs. Luc.
Jewelry filled an entire safe.
Designer bags occupied two cabinets.
There were dresses she had worn only once.
Properties had been placed under her name.
There were cars, paintings, antiques, investment accounts.
Yet when she left, she took one dress, one hairpin, and a jasmine flower.
Luc Tram Chu loosened his tie.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
His eyes immediately sharpened.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Madam walked out alone.”
“Which car?”
“She didn’t use one.”
“Driver?”
“No.”
“Bodyguard?”
“No.”
Luc Tram Chu stared at him.
For the first time, the butler realized something.
The man in front of him genuinely had not considered the possibility that his former wife could simply walk away.
“Check the surveillance.”
“Young Master…”
“Now.”
Ten minutes later, Luc Tram Chu stood inside the security room.
The footage played.
At 3:17 yesterday afternoon, I appeared at the front entrance.
A small suitcase behind me.
No jewelry.
No driver.
No one beside me.
I stopped outside the gate.
For nearly ten minutes, I simply stood there.
The surveillance camera captured me looking left and right at the street like someone who had forgotten how the outside world worked.
Luc Tram Chu’s expression gradually changed.
“Why was she standing there?”
No one answered.
He replayed the footage.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, the butler said quietly:
“Madam had not left the residence alone in five years.”
Luc Tram Chu’s hand froze over the mouse.
“What?”
The butler lowered his eyes.
“After the incident three years ago, you instructed security not to allow Madam to leave without approval.”
“That was for her safety.”
“Yes.”
“But she could ask.”
The butler remained silent.
That silence seemed to irritate him more than any answer could have.
“She could have asked me.”
Still nothing.
Because everyone in that house knew the truth.
For three years, I had asked.
At first, gently.
Then less often.
Eventually, not at all.
Luc Tram Chu abruptly stood.
“Find her.”
The head of security was summoned immediately.
Airports.
Train stations.
Hotels.
Bank transactions.
Traffic cameras.
Everything was checked.
At 10:26 that morning, they found the first clue.
A chain hotel near the residence.
Luc Tram Chu personally called.
“Did a woman check in yesterday afternoon? Around thirty. Long hair. Approximately—”
The receptionist interrupted politely.
“I’m sorry, sir. We cannot disclose guest information.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is Luc Tram Chu.”
“I understand.”
“Then you should know—”
“I know exactly who you are, Mr. Luc.”
The line went dead.
He stared at the phone.
Nobody had hung up on him in years.
At almost the same moment, my train entered a long tunnel.
My reflection appeared in the dark window.
I looked different somehow.
Not prettier.
Not younger.
Just alive.
Then the cheap phone inside my bag vibrated.
Once.
I froze.
There was only one message.
From the unnamed number.
“Someone has started looking for you.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
A second message arrived.
“Don’t panic.”
Then a third.
“Get off at Van Chau exactly as planned. A woman holding three white jasmine flowers will be waiting outside Exit 4.”
I stared at those words for a long time.
Finally, I typed:
“Who are you?”
The reply came almost immediately.
“Someone who owed your mother a promise.”
My breathing stopped.
Mother.
No one had mentioned her to me in years.
Before I could type another word, the message disappeared from the screen.
The train emerged from the tunnel.
Sunlight flooded the compartment.
Far ahead, beyond the mountains, Van Chau was waiting.
I touched the sandalwood hairpin in my hair.
For the first time, I understood that perhaps my escape had not begun yesterday.
Perhaps someone had been preparing for it long before I even knew I needed saving.
And back in Hai Thanh, Luc Tram Chu had just received another piece of information.
The hotel surveillance showed me entering.
But there was no footage of me leaving.
The station cameras had no record of my face.
No ticket existed under my name.
No payment had been made with any card connected to me.
It was as though I had walked into that hotel…
and vanished.
Luc Tram Chu stared at the final frame on the screen.
Then he noticed something.
In my hand was the small brocade bag that had belonged to my mother.
His expression changed instantly.
“Find out what was inside that bag.”
The butler went pale.
Because unlike Luc Tram Chu, he already knew.
And he also knew something his young master didn’t.
The jade inside that bag was not merely a family keepsake.
Twenty-seven years ago, it had belonged to the woman who once controlled half of Van Chau.
