Billionaire Invites Ex-Lover to Wedding, Only for Her to Bring 5 Children Who Look Exactly Like Him, Leaving Everyone Stunned.

Aquí tienes la traducción completa de la historia al inglés, estructurada y redactada para mantener el mismo tono cinematográfico y emocional de la versión en español, respetando todos los detalles de la trama proporcionada.

 

A suffocating heat hung over the alley. The air was too lazy even to stir the tattered rags hanging from the window of the rental room. A smell of braised fish wafted in from somewhere, mixing with a neighbor’s kitchen smoke, making the air heavy and oppressive.

Thư was hunched over, diligently washing children’s clothes, when a voice boomed from the alley entrance.

“Is there a Nguyễn Thị Thư here? You have a special delivery!”

She jumped. It had been so long since anyone had called out her name like that, in the middle of the crowd.

Outside, several neighbors poked their heads out, curious. An old woman fanning herself in the shade muttered, “Heavens, who sends letters to Thư? She’s so poor she can’t even afford instant noodles.”

Thư dried her hands on her skirt and walked quickly to the entrance. The delivery man, a skinny young man wearing an old straw hat, handed her a pale cream envelope with a simple but elegant filigree border.

“Miss Thư, please sign here.”

Before she could ask anything, the young man started his motorcycle and disappeared. She stood frozen for a few seconds, looking at the envelope printed with luxurious raised ink. On the surface, meticulous calligraphy read: “Respectfully invites Nguyễn Thị Thư.”

Accompanying it were the names of the bride and groom: Trần Thành Nam and Nguyễn Thanh Hân.

Her hands trembled. Her eyes stopped on the first line. Her name was printed right beneath the groom’s name, like a personal invitation, a message that needed no explanation.

Suddenly, she was thrown back ten years. Those blazing sunny afternoons, the two of them crossing the Thị Nghè bridge on a bicycle. Those nights, that young man sitting in front of her student dorm, playing the guitar and singing. Those rainy days when she leaned her shoulder to shield him, getting soaked herself. And then, the silent tears, the hurried farewell. Without a clear reason. Just that his family wouldn’t accept her. Just a “I’m sorry.”

She hugged the envelope and returned in silence. The rental room was barely ten square meters, a space where six souls—she and her five children—crammed together every night. An electric fan hummed, but its breeze was too weak to dry the sweat on her back. Five children played on the floor; the oldest was folding clothes, the youngest crawled on the worn tiles.

“Mommy! What letter is that, Mommy?” asked little Mây, the youngest daughter, her clear, innocent eyes fixed on her.

Thư collapsed onto the mat and opened the envelope again. Inside was an exquisite wedding card, with a map pointing the way to the luxurious restaurant. She stared at it for a long time, then looked up at her children.

“It’s a wedding invitation. From an old acquaintance.”

Mây snuggled into her mother’s lap, patting her back with her tiny hand.

“Don’t be sad, Mommy. I don’t like seeing you sad.”

Thư felt a lump in her throat. She clenched her lips tightly, as if opening them would make her burst into tears.

She said nothing more. She spent the entire afternoon sitting silently by the window, her gaze lost. Her head was spinning. She could have thrown the invitation away. She could have pretended she never received it. But why wouldn’t her heart leave her alone? Did she want to confront the man from her past? Did she want her children to know who their father was? Or did she simply want, for once, to stand tall and show that she wasn’t as weak as they had thought?

On the wedding day, cheerful nuptial music resonated throughout the restaurant’s spacious courtyard, decorated with red lanterns and shining golden silk ribbons. Guests, dressed in luxurious attire, chatted and took photos. The atmosphere was festive.

In the midst of that scene, a solitary figure quietly entered through the main door. Her pale pink áo dài (traditional Vietnamese dress) moved gently with the breeze. Beside her, five children—three boys and two girls—all neatly dressed, but with evident confusion on their faces.

A guest near the entrance whispered:

“Who is that? Why is she bringing a bunch of children and walking straight toward the honored guest area?”

Her friend narrowed her eyes.

“My God! Isn’t that Thư, Nam’s former girlfriend?”

Thư remained calm. Her eyes paused for a second on the sign with the groom’s name, Trần Thành Nam. She let out a long sigh, as if releasing ten years of pent-up anguish. The children clung to her dress, overwhelmed by the luxury, the bright lights, and the unfamiliar music.

“Don’t run around, understand?” Thư whispered, holding the hands of the two youngest. “We’ll only be a moment and then we’ll leave.”

Before she could proceed further, a man in a suit with an “organizer” badge approached.

“Miss, please. This way. You have a reserved seat at the honored guest table.”

Thư froze. An ironic smile, that wasn’t quite a smile, played on her lips. The honored guest table? Right next to the main stage? She said nothing, simply followed the man.

The entire hall began to murmur. Eyes fixed on her and the five children.

“Who the hell is that?” they whispered. “And look at those children… They look so much like Nam.”

Thư seated her children. The youngest tugged at her hand.

“Mommy, is this a birthday party?”

“No, darling,” she smiled softly. “It’s an old friend’s wedding.”

On the stage, the master of ceremonies announced the entrance of the bride and groom. Thành Nam, impeccable in a black suit, stepped out. The lights bathed him, making him look like the perfect groom… if not for the absolute terror that appeared in his eyes the instant he saw Thư.

He froze. His face turned paper-white, his hands clenched into fists.

Diễm Trang, the bride, radiant in her white, beaded dress, came out with him. But noticing Nam’s fixed gaze, she followed its direction. Her eyes hardened and her painted lips tightened.

“Who is that?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Nam didn’t answer. His eyes remained glued to the thin but dignified face of the woman sitting among five small children.

Suddenly, one of the children shouted, loud enough for nearby tables to hear:

“Daddy! Why isn’t Mommy sitting with you?”

The air in the hall froze. Several guests turned, horrified. Diễm Trang, feeling slapped, turned around and ran back to the dressing room. Nam, his gaze still fixed on his past, was forced to follow her.

In a corner, Nam’s Aunt Bảy, muttered to herself: “How strange. Those children are identical to Nam when he was little.”

The next day, the news exploded on social media: “Former girlfriend appears at CEO Thành Nam’s wedding with five ‘miniature copies’ and leaves the bride standing.” Photos of Thư and the children, all looking at Nam, went viral.

In the Thành family mansion, the atmosphere was icy. Bà Dung, Nam’s mother, was livid.

“Do you want to disgrace me in front of the whole family?” she yelled at Nam. “You let your ex-girlfriend bring a whole pack of children to sabotage your wedding!”

Nam remained silent, unsure what to explain. Diễm Trang herself was furious:

“I’ve already hired someone. I’ll distribute photos of those children to all kindergartens and primary schools. I’ll find out who they are.”

Meanwhile, Thư tried to carry on with her life. She went to her vegetable stall at the market, but the harassment was immediate.

“Look at them, they’re identical to the CEO yesterday,” said a customer spitefully.

“Who knows,” added another. “Nowadays, maybe each one is from a different father.”

Thư felt a shiver, but continued to work in silence. At noon, the market manager approached.

“Miss Thư, this is a place of business. Everyone is talking about you, it’s affecting us. Please find somewhere else.”

“I beg you,” pleaded Thư, knowing what was coming. “I just need to sell. I won’t talk to anyone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thư stood paralyzed, her basket of vegetables half-full under the blazing sun. Desperate, she fell to her knees.

“I beg you, sir. Let me sell just for today. I owe the rent… my children…”

The man frowned and left. Thư bowed her head, and her tears fell onto the hot asphalt. Little Mây ran to her. “Mommy, are you okay?”

Just then, a luxury car braked sharply at the market entrance. Thành Nam got out, his shirt sleeves rolled up and deep circles under his eyes. He saw Thư’s emaciated figure, kneeling on the dirty ground, under the sun, while a little girl tried to cover her with a tiny umbrella.

He stood motionless. Their eyes met. They were no longer former lovers, nor enemies. Just two people who shared a youth and were now caught in a scandal, unsure what to call each other.

As if the heavens were responding to the tension, a torrential downpour began. The rain instantly soaked Thư, plastering her hair to her cheeks. Nam stood next to his car, getting wet too. Market vendors watched from the shelter of their stalls.

“That must be the bastard who abandoned her,” someone muttered.

Nam heard it but didn’t react. He walked toward her, without an umbrella.

“Get in the car. We need to clear this up.”

Thư didn’t move.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

“You left in silence for ten years,” Nam’s voice was heavy, “and suddenly you come back and put me in this situation. Do you think that’s fair?”

Thư let out a laugh, a cold, short laugh.

“Fair? Ten years ago, who left in silence? Who forced me to leave?”

Just then, Mướp, the second daughter, tugged at her mother’s hand, looked at Nam and asked in a timid voice:

“Miss… Is that man our Daddy?”

The question resonated louder than the thunder. Nam felt as if he had been punched in the chest.

He pulled a laminated paper from his shirt pocket.

“This is a DNA test order. You just need to sign it. If the result is positive, I will take responsibility.”

Thư looked at the paper. Rain was sliding down Nam’s hand.

“Since when,” her voice was a tired whisper, “since when does the love you talked about need a piece of paper to be proven?”

“I need the truth,” he insisted.

Thư nodded. She took the paper, looked at the box for “Child’s Legal Guardian” and then, instead of signing, she let it drop. The paper landed in a puddle of mud, the plastic broke and the ink began to run.

Nam stood petrified. When he bent down to pick it up, Thư had already turned away, taking her daughter’s hand.

“Believe it or not?” she said without looking back. “You are no longer worthy of knowing.”

Nam remained alone in the rain, holding the wet paper, his face pale.

That night, the rain did not stop. In Thư’s small room, the five children slept crammed together. Thư was sitting against the wall, exhausted, when urgent knocks sounded at the door.

She jumped, her heart pounding, remembering the knocks on the night she was told her father had died.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“It’s me. Nam. Open the door. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She hesitated, then opened it. Nam was soaked, his face pale from the cold. He entered, and the smell of dampness, un-dried clothes, and poverty hit him.

“You have to explain everything,” he demanded. “Why did you leave? Why did you never tell me about them?”

Thư looked at him, her eyes no longer held anger, just an infinite emptiness.

“When you left for the city to work, your mother came to see me. She gave me two options: disappear or see my father go to jail.”

Nam paled.

“What?”

“They framed my father for assault in a fight where he was only a witness. I was young and terrified. I chose to leave. I was already pregnant then, but I didn’t dare tell you. I was afraid you would despise me, like your mother did.”

Nam broke down, clutching his head.

“Why didn’t you look for me afterward?”

“I tried. But before the first one turned one, I was already pregnant with the second. And then the third. It reached a point where I thought of abandoning them and taking my own life.”

“Are you serious?” Nam looked at her, horrified.

“But I couldn’t,” she smiled sadly. “Every time they saw me sad, they would surround me, asking, ‘Mommy, why aren’t you smiling today?’”

Just then, Tí, the youngest, woke up and snuggled against her.

“Mommy, don’t cry anymore,” he murmured, half-asleep. “I don’t need a Daddy.”

Nam gasped. He watched Thư cradle the child, and a guilt he had never felt before consumed him.

“I need to know,” Nam said, his voice broken. “For them.”

Thư got up, went to an old wooden wardrobe and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside were five birth certificates. She handed them to him.

Nam took them. His eyes scanned the lines. In the “Father’s Name” box, all five were blank. Only the mother’s name: Nguyễn Lệ Thư. He needed no more proof. The children’s resemblance didn’t lie, but those blank spaces screamed the truth of her sacrifice

Nam spent the night in his car, in the darkness, staring at the five certificates. Why hadn’t she put his name down? If she wanted to blackmail him, she would have. But she chose silence.

He returned to his luxurious mansion, now cold and strange. He opened an old chest from his university days. He found old photos. Him, smiling at his graduation; Thư by his side, with a look of absolute trust in him. He pulled out the photos of the children that the press had taken. The resemblance was undeniable.

The next morning, a tiny voice called him from the mansion gate. It was Bé Nấm, another of the girls.

“Uncle Nam! I brought you an early birthday present. Mommy doesn’t know.”

It was a small bun stuffed only with pickled vegetables and a packet of salt and chili.

“I made it myself,” she said proudly. “I don’t have money, so I thought you would like the same thing we like.”

Nam felt his heart break. He knelt down to the girl’s height.

“If… if I were really your Daddy, would you be angry with me? For not coming sooner?”

The girl tilted her head.

“No. Mommy says people sometimes get lost.”

The innocence of that phrase crushed him. Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Daddy is sorry,” he said, using the word for the first time.

Meanwhile, Diễm Trang and Bà Dung were meeting at a cafe.

“We can’t let this escalate,” said Bà Dung. “The family’s reputation is at stake.”

“Don’t worry,” said Diễm Trang coldly. “If they are indeed his children, we will crush this news before it explodes.”

Bà Dung called an emergency family meeting.

“I will not allow this family to be a laughing stock!” she declared.

“Mother…” Nam intervened, “we still don’t know the truth.”

Diễm Trang then dropped the bomb:

“Nam, I don’t want to lose you. Especially now… that I’m pregnant.”

The room held its breath. But Nam’s father, Ông Lộc, who had been silent, spoke:

“And what if those children are truly my grandchildren? Are we going to repeat the mistakes of the past?”

An elderly aunt added quietly: “I also had a child from this family. No one acknowledged him. My son still asks me who his father is.”

Nam slammed the table.

“I will do the tests! But I warn you: don’t touch Thư or the children.”

Fate intervened again. Nam received a call from an unknown number. It was the principal of Phú Hòa Primary School.

“Mr. Thành Nam? I’m the teacher of class 2B. Could you come for a moment? It’s about little Mây.”

Nam’s heart skipped a beat. When he arrived, the principal, an older woman who turned out to be his own fifth-grade teacher, Cô Hạnh, explained the situation.

“Mây is a wonderful child. But this morning, in art class, she drew her family: her mother and her five siblings. A classmate tore up her drawing, yelling: ‘Fatherless bastard!’”

Nam felt a wave of rage and shame. He went out to the courtyard. He saw Mây, huddled on a bench, crying while hugging a broken teddy bear.

He sat next to her.

“Mommy is working. I came instead.”

Mây looked at him, her eyes swollen.

“Everyone says I don’t have a Daddy. Is it true, Uncle?”

Nam swallowed, feeling smaller than ever. He put his arm around her.

“Starting today, if anyone asks you who your father is, you tell them it’s Thành Nam.”

The girl stared at him and then threw herself into his arms, sobbing hard.

“Uncle, don’t leave us again!”

For the first time, Nam cried openly, hugging his daughter. As he left the school, heartbroken but strangely determined, his phone rang again. It was his assistant.

“Mr. Nam, it’s urgent. Your mother is meeting with the lawyers. It seems she is preparing a restraining order to prohibit Miss Thư and the children from approaching you or the family.”