Chapter 7 — CEO Phong, Stop Chasing Her—She Already Has a Marriage Certificate

Nhã Kỳ returned to her hotel room at nearly eleven o'clock at night, her body exhausted as if she had just experienced a serious illness. She didn't turn on the lights, just sat down on the floor next to the window, looking out at the sparkling Singapore city lights in the distance, letting the last tears she had held back all evening fall in the dark, where no one could see.

She cried without a sound, only her shoulders trembled every now and then, tears rolling down her cheeks and falling into her hands, where she still clutched the small box containing the silver bracelet - the gift she intended to give herself on her birthday, now lying silently as a quiet satire for all the naive hopes she had brought with her on the flight last night.

She has cried many times in the past seven years - times when she was lonely in the middle of the night when her husband was away, times when she felt sorry for herself when her husband's relatives compared her to more "reasonable" brides, times when she was tired from shouldering too many unnamed responsibilities in the family. But never before had she cried like tonight - a cry not because of simple self-pity, but because of the complete collapse of a belief she had nurtured, protected, and cherished for seven long years: the belief that with enough patience, her love would be returned.

Now, sitting alone in the dark, she realized that belief had probably never had a solid basis to exist. She loved a man the way she thought was right, but never really asked if that man really wanted to be loved that way, or if his heart had a hidden corner before she entered his life, a hidden corner that seven years with her could not reach, but only a few meetings with Diệp Uyển Thi could arouse.

Her phone lit up, a text message from Chính Nguyên: "Are you sleeping yet? I'm back at the hotel, Bảo Nhiên slept well." Not a single mention of her birthday, not a single word asking what she was doing, where she was, or if she was okay. It was just a short notification message, just like the thousands of other messages he had sent her over the past seven years.

Nhã Kỳ looked at that message for a long time, her finger hovering over the screen, not knowing how to respond. In the end, she just typed back two words: "Yes, good night." Then turned off the phone screen, placed it face down on the table, as if wanting to completely cut off the connection with the outside world in his weakest moment.

She stood up, walked into the bathroom, turned on the cold water faucet, and washed her face thoroughly to erase the traces of tears. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw a woman with red, swollen eyes and a tired face, but behind that broken appearance, something was gradually forming — a cold, sober determination, completely different from the resigned patience she had carried with her for the past seven years.

She remembered what Tú Anh said in the cafe a few days ago: "Promise you won't deceive yourself again. If it's not a miracle, but a different sign, then you must be brave enough to look straight at it."

Tonight, she saw that sign, clearer and more devastating than anything she could have imagined.

She didn't intend to confront Chính Nguyên right now, not because she was scared, but because she clearly understood that a confrontation while her emotions were still chaotic would only lead to meaningless words, half-baked explanations that she, in this hurt state, could easily believe because she was so desperate for comfort. She needs time to think thoroughly, to look at the whole problem as soberly as possible, before deciding on the next step in her life.

She opened her suitcase, mechanically folded her clothes, and prepared for the earliest possible flight the next morning. She didn't want to stay in Singapore another day, didn't want to have to face Bảo Nhiên's carefree eyes when asking her mother why she came here, didn't want to have to pretend to be calm in front of Chính Nguyên when inside her heart was broken.

She also decided not to reveal to anyone that she was present at the party tonight, not to reveal that she had witnessed it all with her own eyes. This is not because she wants to suffer in silence like the past seven years, but because she needs time - time to learn more clearly about the relationship between Chính Nguyên and Diệp Uyển Thi, time to prepare for herself a solid foundation, both mentally and financially, before making any landmark decisions.

Before leaving the room, she stood in front of the mirror one more time, took off her emerald green silk dress, folded it neatly and put it in the bottom of the suitcase, as if she were hiding the innocent, gullible version of herself in some deep corner that she didn't want to touch anymore. She changed into more simple clothes, tied her hair neatly, and no makeup remained on her face. She doesn't need to be beautiful for anyone to see anymore tonight, she just needs to be alert enough to take steady steps out of this place.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, reopened the flight booking application, looking for the earliest possible flight out of Singapore. Luckily, there was a flight at six in the morning with a few seats left. She booked the ticket immediately, without hesitation, her hands were still shaking a bit but her will in her heart was much stronger than a few hours ago. She texted Tú Anh briefly, just a few words: "I saw it. I will tell you when I get home," Tú Anh replied immediately, even though it was almost midnight: "I'm here, you just go home, everything will be fine." Just that one short sentence, but it was enough to make Nhã Kỳ feel that she was not completely alone in this dark night.

At four o'clock in the morning, when the city of Singapore was still asleep, Nhã Kỳ quietly left the hotel room, dragged her suitcase through the quiet hallway, went down to the lobby, and called a taxi to Changi airport. She didn't leave any message, didn't call to let Chính Nguyên know she was here and then left silently like that.

On the return flight, sitting next to the small window, watching the city of Singapore gradually shrink under the plane's wings, Nhã Kỳ felt a strange calmness creeping into her heart, replacing the extreme pain of last night. It was not the calm of someone who had calmed down, but the calm of someone who had just made an important decision, and now there was only a matter of taking it step by step, leaving no room for hesitation.

She opened the small notebook she always carried with her, took out a pen, and wrote down the first line of a new list - not a list of things to prepare for her husband's family like she had been used to doing for the past seven years, but a list of things she needed to do for herself: meet with a lawyer to advise on divorce procedures, reconnect with old friends in the fashion industry, learn about her own financial independence.

That was the first time, after seven years, that Nhã Kỳ wrote down a plan that did not revolve around pleasing anyone other than herself.

The plane landed in Hanoi on a chilly morning at the beginning of the season. Nhã Kỳ stepped out of the airport, took a deep breath of the familiar air of the city she had lived in all her life, feeling like she had just returned from a trip much longer than the actual few dozen hours. She called a car straight to the Phong family's villa, where Mrs. Ngọc Hân still did not know anything about what had happened, still thinking that her daughter-in-law was having a surprise, romantic trip with her husband and children in a foreign land.

Nhã Kỳ walked into her old office, put down her suitcase, and sat quietly in front of a desk covered with old sketches. She opened the drawer, took out a leather-bound notebook with frayed corners, and turned to the page drawing the evening dress inspired by the autumn moonlight that she had drawn the night before the wedding. She looked at it for a long time, then smiled slightly, a sad smile but not as weak as last night. Perhaps, it's time for her to complete what she left unfinished, not to prove anything to anyone, but to find the person she lost for seven long years.

Outside the window, the morning sunlight began to rise, shining into every corner of the room, clearly illuminating the thin layer of dust covering the rolls of fabric she had stored many years ago. Nhã Kỳ stood up, pulled the curtain aside to let more light in, then began tidying up the desk, neatly arranging each pencil, each tape measure, as if preparing for a new beginning that she herself had not yet fully imagined its shape.