CHAPTER 1: THE DIVORCE
856 Words
The rain fell heavily against the glass windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of cold gold.
Linh sat quietly at the dining table, her fingers resting on the edge of a porcelain cup that had long gone cold. The faint steam that once rose from it had disappeared, just like the warmth that used to exist in this house.
Three years.
Three years of marriage.
And this was how it ended.
The door opened.
She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.
Those footsteps—steady, controlled, indifferent—had become familiar in a way that no longer felt like comfort, but habit.
“Sign it.”
A stack of documents landed in front of her.
No greeting. No explanation. No hesitation.
Just two words that carried the weight of an ending.
Linh lowered her eyes.
Divorce Agreement.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
A faint smile curved her lips, though there was no warmth behind it.
“So… this is my anniversary gift?”
Silence.
He didn’t answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost bored.
“You should have known this was coming.”
Known.
As if love, betrayal, and abandonment were things people could prepare for in advance.
Linh’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.
For a brief second, something flickered in her memory.
A younger version of herself standing in the rain, holding an umbrella outside his company building… waiting for a man who walked past her without noticing the effort she made.
She blinked.
The memory disappeared.
She looked up at him.
Her husband.
Nguyen Khang stood there in a perfectly tailored black suit. Calm. Detached. A man who looked like he had never once belonged to her world.
Not a husband.
Not even a stranger anymore.
Strangers at least showed courtesy.
“You’re in a hurry,” she said softly. “Is she waiting?”
A subtle shift in his expression.
Barely there.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”
That was enough.
An answer without words.
Linh exhaled slowly.
Something inside her—something she had carefully preserved for years—finally cracked.
“I see.”
She reached for the pen.
No trembling.
No hesitation.
That calmness made him pause for the first time.
“You’re agreeing that easily?”
Linh looked at him.
And for the first time in years, there was no warmth, no expectation, no hope in her gaze.
Just clarity.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Silence.
Because it was.
From the beginning, this marriage had never been built on love.
Only obligation.
A contract between families.
And she had been the only one foolish enough to treat it like something real.
The pen touched paper.
One stroke.
Two.
Three.
Linh.
Simple.
Clean.
Final.
She pushed the documents back toward him.
“It’s done.”
The room stayed silent for a moment longer than necessary.
Then—
“Good.”
One word.
Cold. Sharp. Final.
Khang picked up the documents without looking at her again.
“Pack your things. You leave tonight.”
There was no emotion in his voice. As if he were dismissing a guest, not ending three years of marriage.
Linh let out a quiet laugh.
“Don’t worry. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”
She stood up slowly.
For the first time in three years, she walked past him without stopping.
Without turning back.
But at the door, she paused.
“One more thing.”
Khang frowned slightly. “What?”
Linh turned her head just enough for him to see her expression.
A faint smile.
Calm.
Almost peaceful.
“Don’t regret it.”
A beat of silence.
Then she left.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
And in that moment, something shifted in the air.
The house—once filled with routine, arguments, silence—suddenly felt too large for one man alone.
Outside, the rain had grown heavier.
Linh stepped into the storm without hesitation.
Cold water soaked through her clothes within seconds, but she didn’t stop walking.
Because stopping meant feeling.
And feeling meant breaking.
A black car was already waiting by the curb.
The driver hurried out, bowing deeply.
“Miss… the family has been waiting for your return.”
For a moment, she didn’t respond.
Her phone vibrated.
One message.
Only three words:
“It’s time.”
Her gaze darkened slightly.
Something changed in her expression—not sadness, not anger, but something far colder.
As if a door inside her had just reopened.
She looked back at the house once.
The place where she had learned silence.
Where she had learned patience.
Where she had learned to disappear.
“No need anymore.”
She got into the car.
“It’s time I go home.”
The door closed.
The world she had lived in for three years disappeared behind tinted glass.
But this time—
she was not leaving as a discarded wife.
She was returning as the only heir of a family that could shake the entire city.
And Nguyen Khang… had never known.
- Writer
