Chapter 8 — The Toast That Ended Ten Years of Marriage

It looks like he is reaching his limit.

Through the narrow gap in the curtains, I watched Gu Yundie stumble. He looked like a tree hollowed out by termites, collapsing straight to the ground. The paper envelope in his hands slipped away, sending a few photographs scattering across the pavement. They were snapshots taken years ago, right in front of the small house we used to rent. In them, he was holding me, grinning so wide his two crooked teeth showed.

Call an ambulance.

I let the curtain fall, my voice as cold as ice. Do not let him die in front of my building; it is bad luck.

The moment I hung up, a message from my lawyer popped up on my screen. All assets previously under the name of Gu Yundie have successfully completed the transfer process, including the house he owned prior to our marriage.

Attached was a photograph. In it, Gu Yundie was signing papers inside a hospital room, an IV line still snaking into his wrist, his complexion paler than the paper he held. After he woke up, he said he did not want anything; he only begged to see you one last time.

I stared at the words for a long time before typing out three: It is unnecessary. Anything that belonged to him was already his to begin with. I have no interest in accepting such pathetic, meager favors.

As soon as I hit send, I blocked Gu Yundie on every platform, including the phone number we had shared for over a decade. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a mosaic of light and shadow across the new shareholder agreement. At the very top, the line reading Chairperson of the Board: Lam Chieu Ha stood out in sharp, elegant print.

My phone vibrated again. My assistant had sent an update on Gu Yundie’s status. He had fled the hospital and was now sitting on the flower bed beneath the company building, looking for all the world like a lost child. I picked up the fountain pen from my desk and signed my name on the document. The nib glided across the paper with a soft, rhythmic scratching sound.

Gu Yundie, perhaps even now, you still do not understand. From the very second you chose to lift that glass of wine that night, all that remained between us was a divide between Mr. Gu and Director Lam. The years of betrayal, the promises trampled into the dirt—those things should have long since rotted away in your gut, right alongside the poison you drank that night.

A year later, the light from the crystal chandeliers glittered brilliantly during our celebratory banquet marking the company’s overseas expansion. Everyone held a glass filled with vibrant, colorful fruit juice. Golden orange juice and crimson berry nectar swirled gently against the glass, making the silhouettes of the guests appear almost translucent.

My assistant, little Tran, held a glass of lemonade and stood by my side for a long moment before she finally couldn't help but speak, her voice tinged with hesitation. Director Lam, are you certain we shouldn't have prepared red wine? Our international partners might find this lack of tradition a bit unusual.

I was in the midst of a pleasant conversation with a foreign associate with golden hair and blue eyes. Hearing her, I tilted my head. The glass of grape juice in my hand caught the chandelier light, shimmering with a pristine, clear glow. I raised my glass toward her, a leisurely smile touching the corners of my lips. Then let them get used to it.

I surveyed the room and raised my voice, my words carrying clearly through the microphone to every corner of the hall. In this company, we do not celebrate with alcohol; we celebrate based on our own strength.

As soon as I finished, thunderous applause erupted. Our international partners raised their glasses in response, their eyes filled with undisguised admiration. I nodded and smiled in greeting. However, as my gaze swept toward the entrance, I suddenly froze.

A familiar figure stood there. Gu Yundie had grown deathly thin. The suit that had once fit him perfectly now hung loosely off his frame like a shroud. The cuffs were frayed, and his collar no longer held the crispness it once had. In his hand, he clutched a gold-plated invitation, the corners crumpled from his desperate, tight grip. It was the invitation he had used countless connections to obtain just a few days prior, finally finding his way here.