For three seconds, none of us spoke.
Pho Kinh Trach stood beneath the hallway light.
Giang Le had just slid from his back.
Her high heels were still hanging from his fingers.
My suitcase was beside me.
Our eyes met.
His brows immediately tightened.
“Where are you going this late?”
Not Why are you crying?
Not Why do you have a suitcase?
The first thing in his voice was irritation.
As though I had somehow interrupted them.
I looked at Giang Le.
She quickly hid behind him, rubbing her ankle.
“Sister Lam Mat, don’t misunderstand.”
“We were drinking with friends. I twisted my ankle, so Brother Kinh Trach carried me back.”
Pho Kinh Trach frowned.
“Why are you explaining?”
Then he looked at me.
“Lam Mat isn’t unreasonable.”
I almost laughed.
Three years together.
A wedding.
A honeymoon I had spent months planning.
And apparently his greatest confidence in me was that I would always be reasonable enough to tolerate anything.
I picked up my suitcase.
“Move.”
Pho Kinh Trach finally noticed something was wrong.
His eyes dropped toward the luggage.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“This is your home.”
“No.”
I looked around the apartment behind him.
“It was.”
Giang Le’s expression changed slightly.
Pho Kinh Trach’s voice became colder.
“Are you starting again because of A Le?”
Starting again.
Interesting.
I hadn’t even begun.
“What did I do?”
“You’re dragging a suitcase out in the middle of the night.”
“So?”
“A Le hurt her ankle. I carried her for a few steps.”
“I didn’t ask.”
That silenced him.
He stared at me.
I continued:
“I didn’t ask why you carried her.”
“I didn’t ask why you disappeared for three days.”
“And I’m not asking why our honeymoon suddenly became her birthday trip.”
His face changed.
Giang Le froze.
Pho Kinh Trach looked sharply at her.
Then at me.
“How do you know about that?”
I smiled.
That was his first concern.
Not whether I was hurt.
How I knew.
I held up the pink tablet.
Giang Le immediately touched her bag.
“My tablet!”
Her face went white.
“You looked at my private messages?”
I handed it to her.
“It was left in Kinh Trach’s car.”
She grabbed it.
“You had no right—”
Pho Kinh Trach interrupted.
“Enough.”
He looked at me.
“If you already know, then we don’t need to hide it.”
Hide it.
So casual.
“So you canceled your ticket?”
“Yes.”
“And changed it to travel alone with her?”
“A Le has wanted this for years.”
“And I wanted our honeymoon.”
His expression showed impatience.
“We can travel another time.”
I nodded.
“Exactly.”
He seemed surprised.
“What?”
“You can travel another time.”
I pulled the suitcase handle upright.
“With someone else.”
His face darkened.
“Lam Mat.”
I walked toward the elevator.
His hand caught my wrist.
“Stop behaving like a child.”
I looked down at his fingers.
Then at him.
“Let go.”
Perhaps something in my eyes frightened him.
Because he did.
Giang Le whispered:
“Sister, don’t fight because of me. If you really care that much, I won’t go.”
I looked at her.
“You should go.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Take the trip.”
Then I looked at Pho Kinh Trach.
“Enjoy yourselves.”
He frowned harder.
“Where are you going?”
“Australia.”
This time, he laughed.
“You hate long flights.”
“I’ll get used to them.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then when are you coming back?”
I pressed the elevator button.
“I’m not.”
The smile disappeared from his face.
The doors opened.
He stepped forward.
“Lam Mat.”
I entered with my suitcase.
He seemed to realize I was serious only when the doors began closing.
He caught them with one hand.
“Enough.”
His voice lowered.
“I know you’re angry.”
“I’m not.”
That was the truth.
The anger had already passed.
What remained was something much worse for him.
Indifference.
Pho Kinh Trach stared at me.
“We just had a wedding.”
“But we never registered.”
He went completely still.
Behind him, Giang Le’s face changed.
Perhaps she remembered the group chat.
We still don’t know who will share household registration with whom.
I smiled faintly.
“Your friends were right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A wedding without registration is very convenient.”
His fingers tightened around the elevator door.
“Lam Mat, don’t say things you’ll regret.”
“I won’t.”
“You think moving abroad will punish me?”
“No.”
The elevator alarm began beeping.
I looked at him one last time.
“I’m not leaving to punish you.”
“I’m leaving because there is nothing here worth staying for.”
His hand slowly dropped.
The doors closed.
The final thing I saw was his expression.
Not heartbreak.
Not yet.
Disbelief.
Because for years he had assumed that no matter how many times he chose Giang Le first…
I would remain where he left me.
The next morning, Pho Kinh Trach woke at eleven.
Giang Le was asleep in the guest room.
He had taken her there after I left because, according to him, her ankle hurt too much to go home.
At first, he wasn’t worried.
He called me.
Rejected.
Again.
Rejected.
The third time went directly to voicemail.
He opened WeChat.
My profile had disappeared.
Then he noticed something else.
Our shared calendar had been deleted.
The honeymoon itinerary.
Gone.
Hotel reservations.
Canceled.
Photographer.
Canceled.
Private yacht dinner.
Canceled.
Even the custom couple’s photo session I had spent weeks arranging had disappeared.
He called the travel agency.
“Mr. Pho?”
“Yes. My wife canceled our honeymoon package.”
The agent hesitated.
“Miss Lam canceled her portion yesterday.”
“What do you mean her portion?”
“Your reservation had already been modified before that.”
Pho Kinh Trach went silent.
The agent continued:
“Your ticket was changed to travel with Miss Giang.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“So Miss Lam requested a refund for the remaining accommodations under her name.”
“When did she do that?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
Hours before she saw him carrying Giang Le.
That meant the suitcase had not been impulsive.
She had already decided.
He hung up.
For the first time, unease entered his chest.
He walked toward the wardrobe.
Then stopped.
Half of it was empty.
Not dramatically empty.
I had not smashed anything.
Had not torn photographs.
Had not left some emotional letter.
I had simply taken what belonged to me.
My passport.
My certificates.
My jewelry.
My laptop.
Even the ceramic mug I used every morning.
Gone.
Pho Kinh Trach called his friend.
The same man who had warned him in the group.
“Did Lam Mat contact you?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
There was a pause.
“Why?”
“She says she’s going to Australia.”
The friend went silent.
Then:
“Kinh Trach…”
“What?”
“Did you really cancel your honeymoon for A Le?”
His expression hardened.
“It’s one trip.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“What did you say?”
“You married Lam Mat six days ago.”
“We haven’t registered yet.”
“That makes this worse.”
Pho Kinh Trach said nothing.
His friend continued:
“Do you know why she wanted Australia before?”
“What?”
“Her mother offered her a position there years ago.”
Pho Kinh Trach frowned.
“What position?”
“I don’t know. Something with her family’s company.”
“What company?”
Now it was his friend’s turn to sound confused.
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Before he could answer, the bedroom door opened.
Giang Le came out wearing one of my robes.
“Kinh Trach, do you have anything to eat?”
He looked at her.
For some reason, seeing her in my clothes irritated him.
“Why are you wearing that?”
She blinked.
“My clothes were dirty.”
“Take it off.”
Her smile froze.
“What?”
“That belongs to Lam Mat.”
Giang Le’s expression immediately became hurt.
“She left you.”
“She went home to calm down.”
“Didn’t she say she was moving to Australia?”
Pho Kinh Trach’s eyes hardened.
“She says things when angry.”
Giang Le smiled again.
“Exactly.”
She came closer.
“She’ll return.”
That sentence should have reassured him.
Instead, something inside him became more uneasy.
Because it sounded exactly like what he had believed.
And suddenly he didn’t know why he had been so certain.
Three days later, I landed in Sydney with my mother.
The moment we left immigration, a woman in a dark blue suit approached.
“Miss Lam.”
She bowed slightly.
“Welcome back.”
Pho Kinh Trach had known me for three years.
Yet he had never seen anyone address me like that.
My mother handed me a folder during the drive.
“Your office is ready.”
I stared at it.
“Mom, I’ve been gone too long.”
“Three years.”
She looked out the window.
“The position remained yours.”
“I need time.”
“You’ll have it.”
She paused.
“But there is something you need to see before deciding.”
Inside the folder was a corporate acquisition proposal.
I read the company name.
Then stopped.
PHO INTERNATIONAL TECHNOLOGY.
Pho Kinh Trach’s company.
I slowly looked at my mother.
“What is this?”
“His company has been seeking Australian expansion funding for eight months.”
I knew that.
Kinh Trach had spent endless nights talking about the project.
He called it the most important deal of his career.
“What does that have to do with us?”
Mother looked at me.
“Our fund is the lead investor.”
I stared at her.
He had mentioned the investor repeatedly.
Southern Cross Capital.
He said their chairperson was impossibly difficult to meet.
He had no idea my mother controlled it.
She continued:
“The final investment committee meeting is next week.”
My fingers tightened around the file.
“Cancel it.”
Mother raised an eyebrow.
“Because of him?”
“No.”
I turned another page.
Revenue projections.
Debt.
Unreported liabilities.
Something caught my eye.
“Kinh Trach never showed me these numbers.”
“Why would he?”
My mother’s voice was calm.
“He believed you knew nothing about finance.”
I almost smiled.
Then I reached the final appendix.
There was an executive expense account.
Dozens of payments.
Designer goods.
Travel.
Luxury hotel suites.
Every expense approved under one code.
Special Client Relations — G.L.
Giang Le.
My expression changed.
Mother noticed.
“You know that name?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I closed the folder.
“She was supposed to be his childhood friend.”
Mother’s eyes turned cold.
“She’s also listed here as a consultant.”
“What?”
“No formal employment contract.”
She tapped the page.
“Yet she received nearly 4.8 million yuan from Pho International over eighteen months.”
My heart sank.
So the canceled honeymoon was merely the surface.
I took out my new phone.
There was one message waiting.
From an unknown international number.
Lam Mat, it’s me.
Then another.
I know you’re in Australia.
Then:
Don’t sign anything connected to Southern Cross.
I stared at the screen.
My mother asked:
“Pho Kinh Trach?”
I shook my head.
Because the next message contained a photograph.
Giang Le.
Sitting beside Pho Kinh Trach’s father.
Inside a private bank office.
On the table between them was a contract.
I enlarged the image.
My name appeared on the first page.
LAM MAT — PERSONAL GUARANTOR.
My breathing stopped.
I had never signed anything.
Then the final message arrived.
Your honeymoon wasn’t the reason Kinh Trach needed you to stay married.
Ask him why his family filed a marriage-registration application using your documents two days after you left.
