The moment he first met Uyên, Vấn was instantly captivated by her. She possessed nearly every quality Vấn sought in a woman. She was beautiful and alluring; her speech was sweet and seductive. She was also well-educated. The only thing Vấn couldn't quite gauge was whether she was savvy at business or adept at making money. Yet, he no longer cared much about that. Uyên’s beauty had left him utterly entranced, and Vấn was determined to possess her—at any cost.

At first, Uyên paid Vấn no mind. She had far too many suitors chasing after her and vying for her attention. She couldn't even keep track of all those who were infatuated with her. There were those who desired only her body—men drawn solely to her sensual figure, gazing at her with eyes filled with lust and carnal craving. Then there were the more high-minded young men who wrote poetry and books to dedicate to her; those who flaunted their academic credentials in hopes of catching her eye; and the businessmen who threw money at her, longing only to hold her in their arms. Uyên dated many of these men, yet she never singled any one of them out for special attention—until she met Huy.

She fell in love with Huy; he was her first love. It was a love devoid of calculation—a love of pure passion and romance. It was a love of dates and weekend getaways; of camping trips in Yosemite with a close-knit group of friends; of nights spent dancing until two in the morning; and of shared dreams of one day walking down the aisle. But Uyên made a grave mistake when she gave her all to Huy—when she surrendered her innocence to him. Her selfless, unconditional love became the catalyst for the first heartbreak of her young life.
 
For once Huy had claimed her body and shared her intimacy, he began to change. She was no longer a mystery to be unraveled; she no longer held the allure of forbidden fruit. And so, Huy grew bored of her and moved on to pursue a new romance—one that offered him a greater thrill and a more elusive challenge. Uyên was consumed by such bitterness and resentment that she felt she could have taken her own life. Her dream of marrying Huy had vanished into thin air, leaving behind an indelible scar of bitterness.
 
For months on end, she had felt utterly disillusioned with life. Her first days working at Bank of America marked the period when Uyên’s emotional crisis reached its absolute peak. Vấn entered her life at just the right moment to offer some measure of solace and help soothe her wounds. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Vấn to catch Uyên’s eye; in every conceivable way, he simply could not compare to Huy. Yet, Vấn offered her at least a glimmer of restored self-confidence—reaffirming that she was still beautiful, still capable of captivating others, and that there were men willing to grovel at her feet for even a shred of her affection. And, after all, Huy wasn't the only man in the world!

Uyên agreed to marry Vấn out of wounded pride—because she simply could not accept the harsh, brutal reality that she had been cast aside. Discarded like a worthless rag. Drained of her essence, like a flower stripped of its pollen. She felt compelled to marry before Huy did—to prove to him that she didn't need him, and to demonstrate that casting her aside had been a monumental mistake.
 
Uyên married Vấn without a shred of love; she took him as a husband solely because she needed a man to fill that role—to provide her with a lavish, extravagant wedding reception at the grandest venue in all of Orange County. Vấn had appeared in Uyên’s life at the precise moment she needed him most. Their connection was brokered by the bank where she worked—a veritable temple of mammon, a sanctuary of commerce devoid of genuine emotion or human warmth. It was a place utterly bereft of the kind of beautiful, pure, and perfect love she had spent her entire life—since the days of her youth—dreaming of finding.

At times, Uyên felt she had made a grave error in agreeing to marry Vấn. She realized that marriage was not—and could never be—the remedy for her feelings of inadequacy, for the trauma of being abandoned by Huy, or for her desperate need to prove to her ex-lover that she could survive without him. She harbored absolutely no love for Vấn, nor could she find a single quality in him that inspired her respect. And sometimes, Uyên found herself wondering why she was still with Vấn!
 
 
Chapter 10
 
Uyên asked Lữ just as class was letting out:

"Do you know anything about cars, Lữ? The car I drove to school just stalled out; I’m not sure if it’ll even start up again when I go back out there."

Lữ asked in return:

"What did you say? Isn't your husband picking you up today? I know a thing or two about cars—let me go take a look for you."

Uyên pointed out where she had parked, then stood by watching as Lữ tinkered with the engine. She gazed at his muscular arms—taut and hard—and suddenly found herself comparing them to Vấn’s. Why hadn't she met Lữ sooner? Uyên leaned over to follow Lữ’s gaze down into the engine bay. She had never known what parts made up a car engine, or even where the battery was located. Uyên thought to herself that men were born into this world to handle such things for women. And other things, too! Uyên asked Lữ:

"How does it look? Can I drive it home?"

"I’m pretty sure the alternator is shot. I think you should just leave the car here for now; call a garage tomorrow to have it towed away for repairs. Let me give you a ride home."

"Would that be too much trouble for you? Nothing would be better than getting a ride home from you!"

Lữ smiled and shook his head. He found this woman—his classmate in the accounting course—to be increasingly charming and alluring. But where was her husband? Lữ was slightly surprised to notice that Uyên made no mention of calling to inform her husband about the car trouble. For the past few days, he had noticed that Uyên was driving herself to school, rather than relying on her husband to drop her off and pick her up as she had done before.

He escorted Uyên out to his car—Miriam’s Mercedes convertible! Uyên exclaimed in admiration:

"What a beautiful car! You must be really wealthy, Lữ!"

"It’s not actually mine! It belongs to a friend; I’m just borrowing it!"
 
Uyên looked at Lữ, narrowing her eyes:

"Which friend of yours lent you such a prized car? A Mercedes convertible—that’s strictly a woman’s ride. You really are a lucky man, aren't you, Lữ?"

 
Lữ simply smiled. He felt a twinge of guilt toward Miriam. At this very moment, she was standing there, waiting for his return—like a devoted wife. And waiting, too, for the nightly act of intimacy that served as her sleeping draught—an absolute necessity. Driving from Long Beach down to Huntington Beach to drop Uyên off, then turning back toward Santa Monica, would cost him another two hours. Lữ began racking his brain for a lie to tell Miriam—an excuse to explain away this delay.

Uyên sat pressed close against Lữ in the car. He could smell her scent enveloping him—a blend of expensive perfume and the natural fragrance of her skin. It was heady and intoxicating—much like Miriam’s scent, which he had grown accustomed to over the past few months. *Why is it,* Lữ wondered silently, *that beautiful, passionate women all seem to share the same intensely stimulating scent?*
 
While each woman’s fragrance seemed unique on the surface, Lữ was beginning to notice a common thread: the potent, stirring scent of sexual invitation—the natural aroma of passionate women harboring unfulfilled desires—was, in essence, identical. The specific perfume and the individual skin chemistry might provide the superficial differences, but deep within the core of that feminine scent lay the same primal call, the same seductive allure—beckoning to the man they had chosen, and to the desires that yearned to be satiated.

Lữ turned off the 405 Freeway onto Beach Boulevard. Uyên gave him directions to her house, leaning in even closer to him as they drove. Strands of her hair brushed softly against his face. The car came to a stop; she took his hand in hers, gazing deep into his eyes.

"Come inside for a little while," she whispered. "My husband went to San Francisco for a meeting; he won't be back until tomorrow!"
 
Lữ hesitated for a moment. He knew exactly what Uyên wanted. He, too, felt aroused by her invitation, yet his thoughts drifted to Miriam, waiting for him back home—and to Uyên’s husband. But Uyên gave him no time to think any further. She grasped his hand—her touch soft yet burning with heat—holding him fast as she drew him inside the house.

Uyên’s home was quite spacious and tastefully appointed. The living room featured modern furnishings, adorned with reproductions of paintings by renowned Impressionist masters. Uyên invited him to sit:

"Would you care for a drink, Lữ? How about some Martell with Perrier?"

Lữ nodded. Uyên poured herself a splash of Dubonnet. She took only a small sip, yet her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes seemed to sparkle even more brightly than before. Uyên turned to Lữ:

"What kind of music do you like? Vietnamese or American?"

"Anything is fine. Just put on whatever you feel like listening to."

Uyên smiled at Lữ, her eyes glistening. He had just addressed her informally—using the intimate pronoun *em*—for the very first time. Uyên thought to herself that a little alcohol certainly made a difference; Lữ no longer wore the guarded demeanor he had maintained earlier. She took out a Neil Diamond CD and placed it in the player. Uyên remarked:

"I usually listen to Vietnamese music, but I think this album feels more fitting for the moment."

Lữ nodded in agreement. He felt a surge of desire rising within him, growing stronger by the minute. The setting called for a specific atmosphere—one reminiscent of an American lifestyle, or perhaps a movie scene: uninhibited, carefree, lived entirely for the present moment without a single thought for the consequences. It was the perfect backdrop for the story of a beautiful, passionate, and alluring woman bringing a new acquaintance home for drinks and music on a day when her husband happened to be away at a meeting in a distant province.

Lữ set down the glass he was holding. He reached out and took Uyên’s hand:

"Dance this song with me."

Uyên’s living room floor was paved with marble. Lữ mused that the space could easily serve as a private ballroom. He wrapped his arms around Uyên’s waist and began to sway to the rhythm of the music. It had been years—so many years—since Lữ had last danced with a woman as beautiful as Uyên. He had frequented many dance halls back in the days when he returned from military campaigns prior to 1975.
 
Yet, from that time until now, he hadn't had the opportunity to visit one again. Miriam had taken him to American clubs, but Lữ hadn't cared for them; he felt absolutely no enthusiasm for dancing to jerky, rhythmic beats with Miriam—especially after having spent a full hour in bed with her just moments before!

Uyên held Lữ tight. Her breasts pressed firmly against him, and her thighs coiled around him like a slithering serpent—preparing to devour its delicious prey and feast upon a sumptuous banquet. Her lips parted slightly—a curving crimson line painted the fiery red of a burning flame. Her eyes, wide and luminous, gazed up at him in anticipation.
 
Lữ bent down and kissed her lips. Uyên seemed to burst instantly to life. She responded like someone who had long been starved, like a parched soul wandering the desert. She was voracious, devouring him with an intensity that left her breathless—as if she dared not pause to draw another breath, fearing that if she stopped, the moment would vanish, leaving her utterly alone with a raging fire that remained unquenched.

Lữ had never witnessed desire expressed with such raw intensity as Uyên displayed toward him. He had lived with Miriam for half a year, accustomed to her own ceaseless sexual demands. Yet, a level of craving as profound as Uyên’s—that, he had never encountered in any other woman, not even Miriam. Uyên was like a flash flood, surging forth, breaching every barrier in its path to engulf him completely—seeking release for her pent-up urgency within him, upon his very body.
 
She was a blazing inferno; the heat radiating from her breasts, her thighs, her lips, and her tongue enveloped Lữ, setting him ablaze. Uyên slipped her hands beneath Lữ’s shirt and began to unbutton it. They stood motionless, listening to the music and to the sound of each other’s breathing. And Lữ loved her right there, on the ice-cold marble threshold of her living room.

 
Chapter 11
 
Lữ drove back onto the 405 Freeway and headed north. It would take another full hour to get from Uyên’s house back to Santa Monica. And Miriam must surely be growing impatient, wondering why he was so late. Lữ smiled. Uyên had wanted him to stay the entire night; she was like a hurricane that had swept through—its violent storm now subsided, satisfied with the wreckage it left behind—yet the lingering drizzle remained, clinging to him as if to coax itself into a complete calm.

Lữ had to gently pry her hands away and take his leave. He wanted to dedicate the remainder of the night to Miriam. Because Miriam needed him. And Lữ needed her. For his new life in America. For his success. Miriam was the key that unlocked Lữ’s new world; he could not let his opportunity slip away, nor allow the bright, promising life of success he envisioned to vanish, to close off and drift out of his reach. Lữ knew he was fortunate to have Miriam’s love and her ardent devotion. He had to hold onto Miriam at any cost. And a little deception wouldn't hurt anyone.

Lữ felt no sense of guilt regarding his intimacy with Uyên. He viewed sexual desire as a natural impulse; the opportunity had presented itself at Uyên’s instigation, and he had been more than willing to indulge her. Lữ did not feel he was betraying Miriam. To him, that distinction was perhaps irrelevant; the only thing that mattered was ensuring Miriam remained blissfully unaware—and therefore untroubled—by his affair with Uyên. And that meant he absolutely could not let Miriam find out. Lữ smiled. He was surely an immoral man—but was morality truly of any consequence? Not in this society. Not in this cutthroat world where only the strong survive. And certainly not in this realm governed by primal instinct.

Lữ felt only a faint twinge of discomfort when he thought of Uyên’s husband—a man he had never met and did not know—who had now, unwittingly, become a cuckold. It was at Uyên’s insistence, yet also with his own complicity. The issue of betrayal was Uyên’s concern, not his. Yet Lữ still felt uneasy. He had focused solely on himself and Miriam; the thought of Uyên’s husband had truly never crossed his mind. Only now—driving along the vast, open highway, transitioning from the 405 onto the westbound 10—did the reality of the husband’s situation dawn on him, in the aftermath of his intimacy with Uyên.

But perhaps, in this world, there are men whom destiny has ordained to be cuckolded. Someone, somewhere, had written exactly that. What had transpired was merely the consequence of events that had already unfolded between Uyên and her husband. Lữ had merely served as a catalyst for an outcome that was inevitable. Lữ reasoned that he bore no responsibility toward a man he did not know—a complete stranger—and felt no need to dwell on the matter any further. Then, he made a sudden realization and burst into laughter. Perhaps, after all, he wasn’t entirely devoid of morality—for he *had* paused to think, to feel a flicker of unease, and to question the fate of the man he had cuckolded just an hour earlier!

As he neared the apartment complex where he and Miriam lived, Lữ pulled over. He popped the hood of his car, smeared a bit of motor oil onto his skin and clothes, and sprinkled a few drops of gasoline onto his hair to mask the scent of Uyên’s perfume. He opened the door and entered the apartment; Miriam was still awake, reading a book while she waited for him. Lữ spoke immediately:

"The car broke down on the road! It took me ages to fix it. I meant to call you, but I couldn't find a single place to make a call!"

Miriam urged him to take a shower. He went straight into the bathroom to change his clothes and wash himself thoroughly. Not a single trace—or scent—of Uyên remained. Lữ stepped back out. Miriam was waiting. She embraced him and kissed him passionately, as if welcoming home a lover who had been away for a very long time. Was there a flicker of suspicion in the corners of Miriam’s eyes?
 
Lữ couldn't be certain, yet he felt he still had to remain on guard. This fair-skinned, blonde, and green-eyed woman loved him—she was utterly infatuated, unable to tear herself away from him. For a newly arrived refugee, having a lover like her was a rare stroke of luck. But even more significant—and truly extraordinary—was the fact that she was the sole heiress to her father’s entire fortune, and he was currently being groomed to take charge of all of Don Lavitz’s enterprises.

Lữ realized he needed to be far more cautious. Even without Uyên, there were still plenty of other beautiful, passionate women in the world. But Miriam—and her fortune—were unique; there was only one of her. He had to keep the details of his affair with Uyên absolutely secret; he could not afford to let Miriam harbor even the slightest further suspicion.
 
And Lữ felt a sense of satisfaction, realizing he had been prudent enough not to squander all his energy on Uyên earlier. Miriam was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, arousing him just as intensely as Uyên had captivated him merely two hours prior. He felt no difficulty whatsoever in matching her ardor, and Lữ certainly did not let her down. Just as he had done on their first night—and every night since—he sought to ensure that she would be forever bound to him, utterly unable to break free—entangled as if in a potent sedative or an addictive drug, from which there was simply no escape.