Seeing Trần Ngọc Linh suddenly fuming, Hoàng Hải Vân pried his hand off and asked,
"What now?"
His brows furrowed as he scolded her,
"I don’t want you being close to anyone else."
A pang of guilt hit her. When she had first time-traveled, she had slept next to Nguyễn Thế Anh—granted, it was in Trần Ngọc Linh’s body, but still, they had shared a bed. If he ever found out, who knew what kind of storm would break out?
Respecting his father’s will, Trần Ngọc Linh split the inheritance in half with Nguyễn Thế Anh. But instead of keeping the wealth, Thế Anh donated it all to charity, supporting orphanages and retirement homes. He continued his work as a lawyer, dedicated to seeking justice for the wrongly accused.
Trần Ngọc Linh, on the other hand, was neither a saint nor a villain. He transformed his gang into a legitimate business empire, expanding it to dominate the entire southern region. His ventures created countless jobs, and his business acumen, honed at RMIT since he was eighteen, propelled his wealth to astronomical heights.
As for Hoàng Hải Vân, fearful of her husband’s jealousy, she quit her job and opened a private clinic. Strangely enough, it remained eerily quiet, barely attracting any patients. She recalled that both Tezuka and Conan Doyle had been doctors who struggled in their practice but thrived as mystery novelists. Inspired, she began writing detective novels in her free time.
Meanwhile, her husband only became more irresistible by the day. His already flawless physique seemed to grow even more sculpted, exuding raw masculinity at every turn. She, however, felt she had lost some of her charm after giving birth. Determined to reclaim her figure, she started attending yoga classes with Thu Thảo. Though they had a home gym, going out felt more refreshing. After their workouts, they often sneaked off for seafood, dodging both her husband and her child.
Speaking of her child—her current situation was nothing short of a struggle. She still couldn’t understand why her husband had chosen to set her up in a graveyard of all places. Maybe that eerie setting had affected their child, or perhaps it was just genetics, but their kid was growing up to be an absolute menace. Despite being only a few years old, the child had a knack for interrupting their intimate moments, always knocking on their door at the worst times, claiming to be "scared of ghosts."
Ghosts should be the ones afraid of this kid.
Not only that, but whenever their child snuck into bed with them, they always insisted on sleeping in the middle. While Hoàng Hải Vân didn’t mind much, her husband absolutely hated it. He would glare, seethe, and mutter about "kicking that brat out of the room."
So they had no choice but to send the kid off to preschool during the day—just to make up for lost time at night.
 
To make things even more absurd, Hoàng Hải Vân’s husband had an obsession with acting like a CEO straight out of a romance novel—determined to master cooking. Until he could cook well, he refused to see himself as "perfect." The problem? His cooking skills hadn’t improved in years.
Every meal was a gamble for her digestive system. She would sit at the dining table, her face pale and weary, trying to stomach his creations. Seeing this, he would grow concerned, assuming she was unwell, and insist she eat more to regain her strength.
Whenever she offered to cook instead, he flatly refused.
Each time she sneaked off to eat seafood with Thu Thảo, she would rant about her husband's cooking. But even enjoying a simple plate of snails wasn’t easy—any time a man so much as glanced her way, her husband's "robotic bodyguards" would appear out of nowhere to chase them off.
Thu Thảo had grown used to her complaints. But every time she listened, she felt like she was being force-fed an entire pot of "love rice"—a metaphorical overdose of public displays of affection. Grinning, she teased:
"If you don’t want him, just give him to me. I thought he was incredibly charming back when I first met him."
Hoàng Hải Vân shot her a glare but soon laughed. Complain as she might, there was no way she would ever give him up.
Just as their laughter faded, her phone buzzed with an incoming video call. She answered, and as expected, her child’s cheerful voice chirped from the other end:
"Mommy, come home for dinner! Daddy’s almost done cooking!"
She showered kisses onto the phone screen, smiling warmly.
"I’m on my way home now."
After hanging up, she sighed in mock resignation, bid farewell to Thu Thảo, and left.
Thu Thảo remained at the table for a while, gazing at the quiet street, watching people pass by like streams of fate weaving through time.