A Proposal Amidst the Ruins

The wedding hall was draped in pristine white roses, but the air felt thick with humiliation. My groom, Chu Thien Tu—the man who had been my childhood sweetheart for a decade—threw a fleeting apology, leaped off the stage, and ran away with Lam Anh Tuyet, who was sobbing like a wilted lily.

I stood there alone, my white veil feeling like a joke, a shroud for ten years of wasted love. Lam Anh Tuyet was none other than my best friend, the girl I had supported financially since college. One was my lover, the other my confidante; both stabbed me in the back at the most sacred moment of my life.

As my parents fumed, declaring they would sever all ties with the Chu family, a man stepped out from the shadows behind the curtain. Chu Diem Hoi—Thien Tu’s young uncle, the true power behind the Chu Group empire. He walked toward my father, his voice calm yet commanding:

“Master Tham, your daughter will eventually have to enter a business marriage. If so, why not consider me? I am willing to transfer ownership of the Chu Group’s largest commercial complex to her name as a dowry. If we divorce, half of my assets, both pre-marital and post-marital, will belong to her.”

To everyone’s shock, I ripped off my veil and looked him straight in the eye: “I agree.”

By marrying his uncle, I would become Thien Tu’s “Young Aunt.” The traitor would have to bow his head and address me with respect. My life turned a new page right then and there.

The second wedding was hurried but incredibly grand. Chu Diem Hoi was nine years my senior—cold, deep, and unreadable. After the wedding night, he left me an unlimited black card and a message saying he had urgent business overseas, then vanished for a week.

I began the life of every woman’s dreams: limitless shopping and no husband to monitor me. I bought luxury bags by the dozen and changed cars like outfits. That was until one night, in a fit of excitement at my best friend’s birthday party, I called seven male models to join us.

Less than half an hour later, the police raided the place. My friends and I were taken to the station on suspicion of solicitation. And the man who came to bail me out was none other than Chu Diem Hoi, his face as dark as a storm cloud.

“Tham Nam Chi, do you want the whole world to think I can’t satisfy my wife, so you have to look elsewhere?” he growled in the car as we left the station.

I trembled, pressing myself against the car door. “I… I only looked! I didn’t even touch them!”

Back home, an ambiguous atmosphere took over. He was no longer the elegant gentleman from the magazines; he was a predator cornering his prey.

“Everyone plays their own game, you said?” He pinned me against the wall, his hot breath smelling of mild body wash fanning my ear. “How about this: you play with me, and I play with you. Fair, right?”

That night, the dim bedside lamp witnessed the collapse of our cold business contract. He was gentle yet fervent, his whispers of “Chi Chi, don’t be afraid” making my heart skip a beat. It turned out that behind that icy exterior was a fire that could incinerate my pride.

The next day, I accompanied Diem Hoi to the Chu family mansion for dinner. Ironically, Thien Tu also brought Lam Anh Tuyet to meet the family.

As we entered the hall, Thien Tu looked at me with a complex expression—half regret, half shock. Diem Hoi tightened his grip on my waist, his cold voice ringing out: “Thien Tu, don’t you see your Young Aunt? Where are your manners?”

Thien Tu gritted his teeth, his face flushing deep red, before finally squeezing out three words: “Young… Aunt… hello.”

The meal was incredibly tense. Lam Anh Tuyet tried to play the victim, using her pregnancy to gain sympathy and entry into the wealthy family. But my mother-in-law—Diem Hoi’s mother—was a sharp woman. She declared bluntly: “The Chu family only accepts the child, not a woman with such a wicked heart. Thien Tu, you are disinherited from this day forward.”

The sound of Lam Anh Tuyet’s crying and Thien Tu’s frustrated shouting echoed in the yard as they were kicked out. Meanwhile, I sat next to Diem Hoi, as my mother-in-law adorned me with auction-grade diamond jewelry.

“Chi Chi, Diem Hoi is older and a bit dull, please don’t be discouraged by him,” she said, holding my hand warmly.

I looked at the man who was calmly peeling shrimp for me and smiled inwardly. Dull? Last night, he was energetic enough to make me want to “shut down the world” just to sleep.

Under the table, Diem Hoi suddenly squeezed my hand and whispered in a husky voice, “Mrs. Chu, whether I’m ‘dull’ or not… I believe you know best, don’t you?”

My face burned hot; I wanted to disappear into the floor.

Before leaving the mansion that afternoon, I ran into Thien Tu in a corner of the yard. He looked disheveled, desperately explaining that Lam Anh Tuyet had set him up and that he still loved me.

I looked at him, feeling only disgust. “Chu Thien Tu, you didn’t just betray our love; you betrayed your family’s honor. Don’t say you love me—those words are cheap now.”

I turned my back and walked toward the car where Diem Hoi was waiting.

That night, before Diem Hoi left for a business trip to France, he held me tightly from behind. I asked him, “Chu Diem Hoi, why me? You could have had anyone better.”

He was silent for a long time, then whispered, “Chi Chi, do you remember what you said when you were seven? You said you wanted to sleep in your Young Uncle’s room. I’ve waited over a decade for those words to come true.”

I was stunned. It turned out this “accidental” marriage wasn’t just a rescue mission; it was the silent patience of a man who had watched me grow up, watched me suffer, and waited for the moment I would finally turn around and see him.

“From now on, just be yourself. I’ll take care of everything else.”

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against his steady chest. It turned out that after the great storm, the safest harbor was the man I had always called “Young Uncle.”