Chapter 4 — I Won't Wait for You to Return

I let out a soft, hollow laugh. That line sounded all too familiar. Every time he refused to go public with our relationship, every time he became entangled in scandalous rumors with another starlet, he would inevitably use that same tired excuse.

"You are just overthinking things again."

"A script?" I retorted. "The script required you to interlock your fingers with hers before the entire nation, declaring her the one woman you wish to protect for the rest of your life?"

Silence stretched across the line for several seconds.

"That is all part of image building. Do you not understand how this industry works?" His voice dripped with condescension, as if he were addressing a stubborn child. "Do you have any idea how hard I had to struggle just to reach where I am today?"

"I am perfectly aware," I said, gazing down at the clear, glossy polish I had applied to my nails just yesterday. "I spent seven years as a nameless extra at your side, suffering through the same grind. How could I not know?"

"If you know, then why are you acting so petulant?" His tone softened slightly, echoing with the patronizing air of someone tossing crumbs to a beggar. "Where are you? I will have my assistant come pick you up. Just post something on social media later, saying we were only acquaintances from the past and that everything was just a misunderstanding."

"In the official statement, you explicitly claimed I was a fame-hungry stalker, didn't you?" I ignored his demands, cutting straight to the heart of his hypocrisy.

Zech-Vu paused, his voice turning sharp with irritation. "That was a press release drafted by my public relations team. I have a career to protect, Tran. Stop obsessing over a single sentence."

"Protecting your career justifies painting me as a crazed fanatic?"

"Tran, you have always been such a sensible girl," he sighed.

I remained silent, feeling a chill settle deep into my bones. Beside me, Ha-Nhan sat in a wicker chair, staring at her phone with a bitter, jagged smile. Zhu-Dien had sent her a long string of voice messages.

"Ha-Nhan, are you in Dali? Can you please grow up? Do you have to play the disappearing act every time something goes wrong?"

Ha-Nhan held down the recording button, her voice crystal clear. "I have grown up, grown up enough to refrain from hanging banners at your project defense."

Zhu-Dien replied instantly, his tone laced with a cold, detached pragmatism. "Do you have to speak like that? Must you always nitpick every little thing? My family has been hounding me about marriage, and this junior colleague just happened to be a convenient shield. I only used her to satisfy my relatives."

"Using her to satisfy relatives justifies taking her back to your hometown to meet your parents?" Ha-Nhan rolled her eyes. "Zhu-Dien, do you take me for an idiot?"

"We have been together for eight years. The spark has long since faded, and you know that as well as I do," Zhu-Dien began his familiar sermon. "I am about to enter a key project team, and this girl’s supervisor just happens to be the director of that program. Do not ruin my future at such a critical juncture."

Ha-Nhan laughed in disbelief, her fingers flying across the screen. "Your future is indeed blindingly bright; I wish you a swift rise to the top. But don't you feel a shred of remorse for stepping on me to curate your image as a 'devoted lover'?"

Zhu-Dien’s response was brief: "It is cold in Dali. Your stomach is sensitive, so stay away from icy drinks. Delete those old posts; don't let my junior colleague misunderstand."

Ha-Nhan stared at the words on the screen, her eyes rimmed with red, though not a single tear fell. For eight years, he had always been this way—offering a piece of candy with one hand while ruthlessly plunging a knife into one’s back with the other.

On my end, Zech-Vu heard me wince in pain. A burn on the back of my hand, sustained yesterday, had just brushed against the corner of the table.

"Did you burn yourself again?" He asked instinctively, a flicker of genuine worry in his voice. "I told you not to stand so close to the fire. Why are you always so clumsy?"

Looking at the angry red mark on my skin, a wave of profound sorrow washed over me. He remembered that I was afraid of pain; he remembered that I was prone to clumsiness. Yet, when he chose to announce another woman to tens of millions of people, why did he never stop to consider how much I would hurt? Back in our first year, when an investor forced me to drink at the table, he had stood by and watched it all.