Chapter 5 — The Toast That Ended Ten Years of Marriage

Staring at the familiar document, he instantly grasped the gravity of the papers I had asked him to sign that day. His face drained of all color, turning as pallid as a sheet, as if every drop of blood had been siphoned from his veins. Those hands, which had once commanded boardrooms with such authoritative precision and held mine with such tender warmth, were now white-knuckled, gripping the agreement with a desperate, trembling intensity as if to crush the paper into dust.

"No... this is impossible!"

He roared, his voice fracturing into a pitch of sheer disbelief. "This is not my signature! How could I have ever signed this?"

Yet, the elegant, fluid strokes of the signature were undeniably his. Each line seemed a sharpened blade, driven straight into his heart. He stared at the name, his vision unfocused, as if the ink had not been spilled by his own hand but branded onto him by an unseen force. On the other end of the phone, I listened to the lawyer calmly recount the scene. My fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk, my heart utterly devoid of fluctuation.

"Mr. Co, you did not merely sign the divorce settlement," the lawyer’s voice was as cold and precise as a surgeon's scalpel, devoid of any emotional burden. "Among the supplemental documents, you also consented to forfeit your entire shareholding. According to the company articles, Ms. Lam is the original founder and benefactor. As of this moment, all ownership of the firm has reverted to her."

A thunderous crash echoed from the other side of the line—the sound of something heavy being shattered against the wall—followed immediately by the furious, primal howl of Co Van Diep.

"Lam Chieu Ha! You plotted against me!"

I hung up the phone with calculated composure and turned my gaze toward the window. The scene below the office building was framed perfectly: Giang Le Song was rushing into Co Van Diep’s arms, tears streaming down her face. Instinctively, he reached out to pat her back, his touch lingering in comfort. How touching. Even at the brink of ruin, his primary concern was whether she felt slighted. It was exactly like the years past, when he stood before me and swore on his life that he would never touch alcohol again. To him, promises had always been as light as a feather, destined to scatter at the slightest gust of wind.

My phone vibrated. A message from the lawyer confirmed that Co Van Diep had been stripped of everything; the legal procedures were finalized. Seeing the text, long-buried memories surfaced with chilling clarity. On the night my father suffered his fatal accident after driving under the influence, the police had told me the woman in the passenger seat was the mother of Giang Le Song—the secret mistress my father had kept in the shadows for years. So, that was it. Giang Le Song’s arrival in our lives had never been a coincidence. Every calculated step, every display of feigned innocence and gentle compliance, had been a slow-burn vendetta spanning a decade. She wanted to strip away everything I possessed, just as her mother had once hungered to destroy everything my mother held dear.

Only, both the daughter and the mother had failed to realize one thing: I am not my mother. I would never choose self-destruction to end the game. I would simply reach out and reclaim what was mine by right, then ensure those who betrayed me paid the ultimate price. This play had reached its final act.

Three days after Co Van Diep was ousted from the company, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting mottled patches of warmth across the floor. I was buried in the new quarter’s project report when the office door swung open with a violent thud. Giang Le Song stormed in, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor. The fragile, innocent veneer she usually wore had been completely stripped away; her eyes and brows were twisted with raw, undisguised malice. Without waiting for me to speak, she slammed a stack of photographs onto the desk. The sharp edges of the photos grazed the wood with a jarring, screeching sound.

"Lam Chieu Ha, do not be so smug just yet."

She loomed over me, looking down with a vicious, venomous glare.