A One-Year Contract: Where Shaking Hands Buckle the Seatbelt

If there were an award for the unluckiest person of the year, I would definitely sign up for a spot in the top three. The remaining two spots, without a doubt, would belong to my parents.

The story of my family, to put it elegantly, is the sudden decline of a once-promising enterprise, a company bankruptcy, and a daughter forced to bear an astronomical debt. To be blunt, my father trusted his friend too much, and that friend exploited his trust, leaving our entire family with a mountain of debt amounting to billions of dong. Now, instead of a stable life, my family is submerged in despair, and I—the only daughter—am the last, fragile hope.

The Beginning

That night, I stood before the hospital’s accounting counter, my hands trembling as I clutched the thick stack of bills for my mother. The hospital was cold, the long corridor stretching like a tunnel with no light at the end. Over fifty million dong, just the initial advance payment. My mother was in the emergency room, numerous tubes and IV lines connected to her fragile body. The doctor said that if we couldn’t pay, she would be transferred to another hospital tomorrow. A transfer, in this case, didn’t mean a better facility, but a cheaper one with inferior medical conditions, a risk my mother’s critical state absolutely could not afford.

I looked down, my bank account holding a mere 300,000 VND, and my wallet containing just two crumpled fifty-thousand notes. My credit card was blocked because I had maxed it out trying to cover previous expenses.

“Ms. An, the hospital fees,” the young nurse gently prompted.

I forced myself to look up, managing a dry smile: “Yes, I know. I promise I will find the money tonight.”

The promise sounded weak, like a withered leaf caught in the wind. Turning away, the cold wind from the hallway chilled me to the bone. It made me feel like a homeless person who had mistakenly wandered onto a movie set of luxury.

Just then, my phone vibrated, an unknown number.

“Hello, are you An Nhiên?” A man’s deep, calm voice echoed, carrying an unmistakable aura of cold authority and power.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your father owes me a sum. I’m calling you because he said you are the person capable of repaying it.”

I was stunned. Debt? More debt? What else was my father hiding?

“Who are you?” I struggled to maintain composure, my throat dry.

“Lục Thần.”

The name—even someone who only buried her head in work like me had heard it. The CEO of Lục Thị Group. The man the press hailed as a “young, ruthless CEO in the business world, with a clean private life.” So clean that he had no scandals, no rumors, no public girlfriends.

“I think you have the wrong number,” I bit my lip. “My father is just a salaried employee, how could he be involved with you?”

“He borrowed through someone else, but the money is mine,” his voice left no room for negotiation, cold as ice. “The total is three billion four hundred fifty million dong. Today is the final deadline.”

My entire body swayed, forcing me to lean against the cold marble wall nearby. Three billion four hundred fifty million dong. Even four hundred million alone was a figure I couldn’t conceive of, let alone this mountain of debt.

“Honestly, I will try to ask for more time…”

“Didn’t you hear me clearly? Today is the final deadline.” A moment of silence passed on the other end, then he continued, his voice laced with an undeniable threat. “I don’t like people who break their word, and I particularly dislike people who owe me money and then disappear.”

“Then what do you want? I… I truly don’t have the money.” My voice trembled with humiliation and helplessness.

I could picture him sitting comfortably in his high-rise office, dressed in a sharp black suit, while I stood here in flip-flops, a worn-out jacket, and my hair hastily tied back—like two worlds that would never intersect.

After a tense silence, his deep voice cut through, definitive as a verdict. “If you don’t want your father to go to jail for appropriation of assets… then tomorrow, 8:00 AM, come to Lục Thị and meet me. I will offer you a way to repay the debt.”

“What way?” I whispered.

“You’ll know when you arrive. Don’t be late.”

The call ended. I stared at the dark phone screen, only two words echoing in my mind: Go to jail. If my father went to jail, how could my mother bear it? How could this family endure it? That night, I stayed awake, huddled on a plastic chair in the hospital canteen, drinking tasteless plain water that felt like harsh, bitter liquor.

Development

The next morning, as dawn broke, I looked at myself in the hospital bathroom mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, tangled hair, and pale skin. I told myself that a “tyrant CEO” like Lục Thần would probably think I was a lost delivery person in this state. Although I had no time or inclination for fuss, I meticulously put on a simple white shirt dress and a carefully pressed old blazer. It was all for my mother, for my father, and for the 3.4 billion looming over my chest.

Ten minutes before eight, I stood before the Lục Thị building. Gleaming glass, a silver logo shimmering high above, exuding cold authority.

“The CEO Lục instructed me to take you straight up to the 38th floor.”

I followed the receptionist, my heart pounding so fast I could hear the thump-thump in my ears. The 38th floor—a place not meant for people like me.

The office door opened, and the scent of sandalwood, coffee, and a light cologne immediately enveloped me. The room was vast, the desk placed near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the waking city.

Lục Thần looked up. His deep, dark eyes were cold, but not emotionless. They resembled a night lake, still but impossible to gauge the depth of.

“An Nhiên?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Have a seat.”

I sat down in the chair opposite him, my back unconsciously straight, not daring to lean back. He closed the document folder and pushed it aside. His full attention was now on me.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” he stated directly. “Your father owes me 3.4 billion. With your current means, you couldn’t pay it back even if you worked a lifetime. But I have no intention of cornering your family. What I need is not money.”

“Then what do you need?” I tightened my grip on the edge of my skirt, slightly tilting my head to look him straight in the eye.

He looked at me for a long time, then pulled a stack of papers from a drawer and placed them in front of me.

“This is the contract.”

The first line nearly made me drop the paper. Marriage Contract, duration one year.

“You… are you kidding me?” I looked up abruptly, unable to hide my panic.

A slight curve formed on the corner of his lips, but the smile was not warm; it was the confident smile of a man who controlled everything.

“I don’t have a habit of joking about these matters,” he leaned back slightly. “You marry me as my wife in name for one year. In return, I will cancel all your family’s debts.”

“What do I have that makes you do this? I’m not beautiful, not talented, I have no background.”

“But I never said I wanted to marry for love,” he replied calmly. “Marriage to me is a kind of arrangement. I need a wife on paper: obedient, sensible, causing no trouble. As for you…” His gaze swept over me, cold yet direct. “…You need money more than anyone else.”

“Why did you choose me out of billions of people?”

“Because your father owes me,” he said indifferently, without an ounce of politeness, “Because you are the most logical choice, the least troublesome. And…” He tilted his head, his gaze briefly deepening. “Because I don’t like being refused.”

The last sentence sent a shiver down my spine.

I bent down to skim the terms: One year of marriage. Maintain a harmonious image in public. He clears the debt and provides a huge severance package upon divorce. That amount of money was enough for me to move my mother to a better hospital, pay off small debts, and restart a decent life. But the price was an entire year of my life.

“Can I have some time to think?”

He looked at his watch, his voice now laden with pressure. “You have one hour. Your father is at the police station, just waiting for the paperwork to be finalized before he is transferred to detention. They are awaiting my decision.”

I felt utterly frozen. This wasn’t a choice; it was a knife pressed against my throat, forcing me to choose: save my father or save myself.

One hour dragged by like a lifetime. My mother in the hospital, my father potentially going to jail.

“Have you decided?” Lục Thần walked out of the small conference room, calm but calculating.

I took a deep breath, feeling as if I was jumping off a cliff, not knowing if there was water or a chasm below.

“I sign,” my voice was hoarse.

He walked to the desk, pointing to the signature line. I took the pen, my fingertips too cold to feel the smooth surface. Each stroke of the name An Nhiên felt like etching a segment of my own life. When the final stroke dried, I felt an invisible click resonate—the door to my freedom had closed.

He signed his name, then made a quick phone call. “Withdraw the complaint. From now on, Mr. An’s matter is not to be mentioned again.”

I felt immense relief because my father was saved, yet overwhelming panic because my fate was now in this man’s hands.

“I’ll be back late tonight. Tell Aunt Trương to prepare an extra bedroom.” He instructed his secretary.

I bowed my head, grateful and formal.

He looked at me, his voice softening slightly: “Don’t thank me too quickly. Later, you will realize what you have to pay is not just a signature.”

That afternoon, Assistant Nam took me shopping and to complete the marriage registration procedures. I left the Lục Thị building, my mind blurred. A message from the hospital confirmed the fees had been paid. A message from my father: I owe you so much, my child. I only replied: Please rest, everything is fine.

But I knew my life was anything but fine.

Climax

That evening, I stood before the gate of his villa, a sprawling, opulent estate like an ecological park. The yellow light spilling from the large windows was luminous yet cold, exactly like the eyes of the man waiting for me inside.

“Madam An, the CEO is in the living room,” Assistant Nam bowed.

“Madam… please don’t call me that, I’m not used to it,” I stammered.

“You will get used to it,” he smiled mysteriously and left.

I pulled my suitcase into the house. The living room had high ceilings and was enormous, but my eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the far end of the sofa. Lục Thần was wearing a black shirt, the collar buttons slightly undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal his wrist with a cold silver watch. His eyes lifted from his documents and settled on me.

“You’ve arrived.”

“Yes.”

“Your bedroom is on the second floor, two rooms away from mine. Aunt Trương has prepared new clothes. You will wear those when you go out tomorrow.”

“I don’t need too many clothes…”

He looked directly into my eyes, gently but allowing no contradiction. “You are my legal wife. Even if it is fake, you must appear as the person standing beside me. I do not permit my wife to be seen as lacking.”

The way he said the word ‘wife’ made my ears burn. It wasn’t tender, but a strange kind of ownership, as if I belonged to him the moment I signed the paper.

He stood up, walking toward the liquor cabinet. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked without looking.

I froze. “Why do you ask?”

“Because every time I approach you, you step back.”

He turned around and walked toward me. I stood still, not daring to breathe deeply. The distance between us closed to half a meter. He leaned in slightly, adjusting the collar of my crooked blazer. The movement was slow and too close. His light scent made me lose focus.

“The next time you go out, don’t look down so much, straighten your back. Even as a contract wife, you must have the demeanor of Madam Lục.”

I felt my heart pounding like I was running a marathon.

“I’m going to my study. Tell Aunt Trương if you want dinner. Don’t wander around.”

“Yes, I won’t dare.”

He frowned slightly: “I don’t eat people.”

“I know.” But your human nature is more frightening than eating people, I thought.

He walked a few steps, then paused, without turning around. “An Nhiên. If you need anything, call me. Even if this contract is fake, for one year, you are still my wife.”

The next morning, I wore the simple yet exquisite white dress Aunt Trương had prepared, standing before the mirror. How will someone like me look next to the CEO?

Going down to the dining room, I saw him already seated, in a white shirt and black tie. He looked up. “It suits you.” Just those two words made my heart beat wildly again.

We drove to the registration office. When we reached the car, he opened the door for me, then leaned across. I froze, thinking he was about to say something, but instead, he reached over and personally fastened my seatbelt.

His hands were shaking slightly.

In that instant, I forgot he was the ruthless CEO; I only saw a man who seemed afraid of something. Panic, or perhaps nervousness from this unexpected gesture.

“Next time, remember to fasten it tighter; it’s too loose,” he murmured.

At the office, the staff immediately recognized him. When the red stamp was affixed, the clerk wished us: “Congratulations on a hundred years of happiness.”

I was about to say thank you, when Lục Thần unexpectedly turned to me, placed a light hand on my waist, and said clearly, loud enough for the whole room to hear: “Thank you. I will take good care of my wife.”

My face flushed crimson. Leaving the office, I asked him why he said that.

“In front of others, I must say that. Today, you officially became my wife.”

That night, as I was about to enter my room, I heard the sound of water running from the bathroom down the hall. Just as I was about to escape into my room, his voice called from behind.

“An Nhiên?”

He stood at the bathroom door, hair still damp, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, holding a towel. I swallowed. He walked closer, and I instinctively retreated until my back hit the wall.

“Are you that afraid of me?”

He braced one hand against the wall beside my shoulder, close enough for me to feel his light breath on my forehead. “If I truly wanted to frighten you, do you think you could run fast enough?”

He gave a slight laugh, then backed off. “Just kidding. Tonight, we discuss the rules of cohabitation in the living room.”

The rules: First, don’t avoid him. Second, maintain a public image. Third, separate bedrooms (I sighed in relief, which he noticed and teased me about). Fourth: Never lie to him.

After stating the rules, he paused at his bedroom door, turned back, and looked at me.

“An Nhiên, you are my wife. Your name stands next to mine on paper. If anything happens, call me first. I don’t like my woman suffering alone.”

“I… I am not your woman.”

He looked at me for a very long time, his eyes so deep I had to turn away. “You are my wife.”

The next morning, I found a cream-colored scarf on the table with a note in his handwriting: Use this. A CEO like him paying attention to a small detail like my scarf. My confusion about this man deepened.

That afternoon, returning to Lục Thị to drop off documents, I saw a stunning, sophisticated woman (Ms. Hà) walk straight into the VIP elevator. Employees whispered: “They were very close in the past.”

I felt completely out of place. That night, I couldn’t eat. The thought of him next to another woman made me intensely uncomfortable. The most frightening thing was that I was starting to feel jealous, an emotion I was not allowed to have.

He returned late. I was standing on the stairs. He looked at me, his face slightly tired. “Why are you still awake?”

“I had something to do.”

He walked closer, stopping right below the stair step, and then gently touched my wrist. I was startled.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low.

“I… I saw you had a female visitor at the company.”

“I thought I shouldn’t interfere with your affairs. We are only a contract. Who you meet, or see, is none of my business?” I tried to whisper.

He stepped up another stair, closing the distance to an extreme, pinning me against the wall. He braced a hand beside my head, the other still lightly holding my wrist.

“An Nhiên,” his voice dropped, his breath fanning my forehead. “Are you jealous?”

“I… I am not.”

“Don’t lie,” he cut me off. His eyes locked onto mine.

“I have no right to be jealous,” I whispered. “Because you are not mine.”

Three tense seconds of silence passed. Then he raised his hand and lifted my chin, forcing me to look straight into his eyes.

“Since when have I become not yours?” He continued, his voice low and slightly husky, as if holding back something. “You are my wife. On paper, by title… and in my eyes.”

I choked, unable to breathe.

“That woman is a former business partner, not my person,” he stated definitively. “I will not let you misunderstand that kind of thing again. I hate it the most when you misunderstand and then avoid me.”

He released my hand. I thought he would leave, but he paused, speaking softly enough for me to hear every word.

“An Nhiên, if you are jealous, at least let me be the first to know.”

I stood motionless. For the first time, I detected a hint of disappointment and expectation in his voice. A relationship that began with a contract, yet every word, every action—from the shaking hand that buckled my seatbelt to this possessive claim—pulled me closer, so close that I could no longer distinguish between the fake and the real in this fateful marriage.