The Contract Engagement 

The cold reality of my termination hit me like a physical blow. Just moments ago, I was Lâm Thính Hạ, a diligent project manager, my three years of hard work, late nights, and sacrifices culminating in a prestigious ‘Employee of the Month’ trophy gleaming inside the box I now held. But on my very first day under the new management, Mr. Hoắc, the new CEO, had casually pronounced my dismissal in front of the entire company: “Lâm Thính Hạ. Termination, effective immediately.” No reason, no explanation—just a clean, clinical severing of my career.

Clutching the heavy box, I walked out of the towering corporate building, feeling like the unluckiest person alive, sensing the mixed gazes of pity and schadenfreude from my former colleagues. I dragged my exhausted body home, anticipating only the solace of my worn-out twenty-year-old apartment.

But the real shock awaited me in the living room.

Seated regally on my old sofa, sipping tea with my father as if he owned the place, was the very man who had executed me: Hoắc Viêm.

My mind screamed: What the hell? Why is that bastard CEO here?

He was the picture of untouchable perfection: a bespoke suit that hugged his broad shoulders and lean waist, legs crossed in a posture of arrogant ease. His face—strikingly handsome with sharp eyebrows, bright eyes, a high nose, and thin, aloof lips—was a weapon in itself. This was the executioner, the man whose icy voice I had heard only hours ago. Now, he was here, in my home, completely shattering my sense of reality.

My father’s beaming voice cut through the thick, incredulous silence. “What are you standing around for, Tiểu Hạ? This is Hoắc Viêm, Uncle Hoắc’s son. He’s your fiancé!”

Fiancé.

The word detonated in my skull. I froze, the time stretching into a grotesque, unbelievable tableau. Hoắc Viêm finally lowered his teacup. His eyes, cold and assessing, fixed on me. It was the same look of contemptuous scrutiny he had given me in the office—as if evaluating a piece of cheap, flawed merchandise. Under his gaze, the trophy in the box at my feet mocked me, turning my years of effort into a pathetic punchline.

A furious, uncontrollable heat surged from my soles to my head. I slammed my heavy briefcase against the shoe cabinet, the loud thud making my father jump and his smile vanish.

“What is wrong with this girl?” he mumbled nervously.

Ignoring him, I marched straight to the sofa and stared directly at Hoắc Viêm. “Why?” My voice trembled with suppressed rage.

Hoắc Viêm slowly raised an eyebrow, his tone dismissive, as if addressing an annoying insect. “What ‘why’?”

“Don’t pretend!” I nearly yelled. “By what right did you fire me today?”

My father, terrified, tried to pull me away. “Tiểu Hạ, what are you saying? Apologize to Hoắc Viêm immediately!”

“Apologize?” I yanked my arm free, my chest heaving. “Dad, do you know what he did to me today? And ‘fiancé’? Since when am I getting married? Did you even consult me?” I pointed a shaking finger at Hoắc Viêm.

My father’s face flushed with shame. He turned to Hoắc Viêm with an anxious, placating smile. “Hoắc Viêm, please don’t mind her. I’ve spoiled her too much.”

Hoắc Viêm finally placed his cup down, the sharp clink against the saucer echoing in the room. He rose, towering over me, his powerful presence instantly dominating the small space. He smiled—a slow, withering smirk of utter disdain.

“Uncle Lâm,” he began, “it seems your daughter has strong opinions about why she was dismissed.” He turned his icy gaze back to me. “You want to know why? Fine.” He adjusted his suit cuff, every movement steeped in pride.

“Because your capability does not match the standards of my company.”

The words exploded in my mind. My self-worth, built on three years of tireless work, was instantly demolished. The sleepless nights, the sacrifices—he reduced it all to a mere “lack of capability.” Before I could even protest, he continued, his voice dripping with venom.

“Employees like you, who only think of cutting corners during office hours, are not needed in my company.”

His eyes paused on me for one heavy, unbearable second.

“And as for the position of fiancée… you are not worthy of that, either.”

The sheer, naked humiliation made the blood rush from my head. My limbs felt cold, only my heart was a frantic, painful drum against my ribs.

My father, desperate, intervened. “Hoắc Viêm, that’s too much! Tiểu Hạ really tries hard!”

“Hard work?” Hoắc Viêm cut him off with a cynical laugh. “Uncle Lâm, effort and results are two different things. If effort was enough, why would genius exist?” He was an overgrown child raised on privilege, utterly devoid of respect.

In my extreme anger, an unnatural calm descended. I looked him in the eye and retracted every word he had just said. “I demand an apology for what you just said.”

He leaned back, amused by my resistance. “And what if I don’t?” His eyes were teasing a cornered, angry cat.

I took a deep breath, and without a second thought, snatched the still-steaming teacup from the table and threw the hot liquid and tea leaves straight into his face.

The room froze.

Hot tea splashed over Hoắc Viêm’s expensive suit, leaving dark, messy stains. My father gasped, wordlessly horrified. Hoắc Viêm wiped the water from his face, his eyes twin flames of cold, consuming fury. I braced myself for a physical retaliation, but he only stared, his gaze more painful than any strike—a look of icy, contemptuous disgust.

Finally, he spat out, “You are something else, Cô Lâm.” He grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the house shook.

The door’s echo was the signal for my father’s meltdown. “You… you little wretch! Do you know what disaster you’ve just caused?”

The tears, held back by anger, finally streamed down my face. Not tears of fear or regret, but of profound hurt—the feeling of being abandoned, misunderstood by my own father, and utterly crushed by the world. I fled to my room, locking the door. Face buried in my pillow, I sobbed out all the unfairness: unemployment, public humiliation, and a broken engagement. My world had imploded in a single, catastrophic day.

The next morning, I woke with dry, swollen eyes. My father stood outside my door with a bowl of steaming rice porridge. He looked utterly exhausted.

“Eat something, Tiểu Hạ,” he sighed.

Over a strained silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “Tiểu Hạ, your father is at fault.” He explained that the engagement had been arranged years ago with his old comrade, Uncle Hoắc, who had saved his life. “Uncle Hoắc became successful, but your mother passed away, and I was just a man alone, unskilled. I only wanted to find you a good, secure life so you wouldn’t be bullied.” He spoke with deep remorse. “The Hoắc family has been kind to us. I… I really don’t know how to cancel it.”

I understood his Chinese parent’s mentality—prioritizing face and debt of gratitude above all else, believing wealth guarantees happiness. “Dad,” I put down my spoon. “A debt of gratitude is one thing; marriage is another. You saw Hoắc Viêm yesterday. He doesn’t respect me or us. I can’t pay a debt with my marriage.”

We were at an impasse when the doorbell rang. It was Hoắc Viêm.

He was in casual wear but no less intimidating. Ignoring me completely, he went straight to my father, presenting a few subtly wrapped gifts. “Uncle Lâm, I was too hot-headed yesterday. I came to apologize to you.”

His sudden change was completely artificial, but my father was overjoyed. “Oh, Hoắc Viêm, please come in! You shouldn’t be so polite!”

Hoắc Viêm entered, his gaze skimming over me with the same cold indifference. He got straight to the point. “Uncle Lâm, regarding the engagement between Tiểu Hạ and me, I have a compromise.”

My father’s eyes lit up. “Tell me, tell me! Canceling the engagement now is not realistic. Both families would object.”

Hoắc Viêm tapped his finger rhythmically on the table. “I propose a contract engagement.”

“A contract engagement?” Both my father and I were stunned.

“Yes.” Hoắc Viêm looked at me as if I were a particularly annoying object. “We will publicly announce the engagement to satisfy our elders. The term will be three months. During this time, we both play our roles. After three months, I will use ‘incompatible personalities’ as the reason to propose a breakup to the elders. This way, everyone saves face.”

My father looked dazed, actually considering it a decent idea. “So… these three months?”

Hoắc Viêm’s eyes narrowed on me, the warning clear. “Lâm Thính Hạ, you must be obedient and sensible and play the role of my fiancée properly.” He deliberately emphasized ‘obedient’ and ‘sensible.’ “I have one condition: during these three months, you are forbidden from mentioning returning to the company. I will transfer a monthly living allowance to you, enough for you to live in dignity.”

His message was blunt: I’m buying three months of peace. Don’t cause me trouble.

I felt like a puppet with a clear price tag, my self-respect crushed under his heel. My father chimed in, “Tiểu Hạ, look, Hoắc Viêm has made such a big concession. This is the best way now.”

The best way? To be insulted with money, treated as a disposable decoration? I looked at Hoắc Viêm’s condescending, benevolent face, and the repressed fire in my heart flared up again. He thought money could control my life? He fired me, and now he was trying to bind me with a ridiculous contract?

Fine. Very fine.

I suddenly laughed, surprising both him and my father. I stood up and looked down at him. “Alright,” I said, sharp and decisive. “A contract engagement. I agree.“

A flicker of surprise crossed Hoắc Viêm’s eyes. He hadn’t expected such quick compliance. But deep in his gaze, I still caught a fleeting thread of contempt. He must have believed I only agreed for the monthly allowance.

It didn’t matter what he thought. What mattered was that he had successfully ignited my full fighting spirit.

Hoắc Viêm, you think I’m incompetent and unworthy of your company? You think I can’t survive without your charity? I will show you. I will not only return to your company, but I will make you personally admit that firing me was the biggest mistake of your life.

This three-month game had just begun.

On the surface, I became Hoắc Viêm’s ‘obedient’ contract fiancée, an ‘unemployed parasite.’ I slept in, shopped, had afternoon tea, and spent the allowance he transferred. My father, seeing I was no longer rebelling, finally relaxed, thinking I had come to my senses. Hoắc Viêm came over a few times a week to play the role of the devoted son-in-law, playing chess and drinking tea with my father. Every time he saw my ‘degenerate’ state, his eyes showed a fresh dose of contempt. We barely spoke, but the gunpowder smell in the air was palpable. He probably thought he had completely tamed me into a dependent, spendthrift hanger-on.

But every night, the light in my study was on. I hadn’t looked for a new job because if I was going back, I had to go back on my own terms.

On my personal laptop, I had copies of every project I had worked on over the past three years. I focused on the last one before my termination: Project Nebula, a new-generation smart office system. I remembered meticulously reviewing the core data the night before submitting the final plan.

When I compared the backup copy on my laptop with the company’s compromised final version, I discovered the issue: three core parameters related to the user data algorithm had been deliberately altered. These three minor changes were the exact reason the project failed the later pressure test, resulting in a ‘fail’ assessment. This ‘fail’ report appeared just before Hoắc Viêm officially took office.

My heart sank. This wasn’t an accident. Someone had deliberately modified the data after I submitted the plan.

Who? Who would use such a vicious tactic to ruin me?

I reached out to former colleagues, but my messages vanished like stones thrown into the sea. Only Ms. Lý, a department assistant who was close to me, called back, her voice laced with guilt and difficulty. “Tiểu Hạ, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but the company is extremely tense. The new boss is ruthless. After you were fired, everyone was terrified. No one dares to associate with you for fear of being implicated. You should just stay low for now.”

A profound sense of disappointment and powerlessness enveloped me. The friendly colleagues I once knew had scattered under pressure and self-interest. Just as despair started to creep in, my phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number: “Ms. Lâm Thính Hạ? I’m Tiểu Nhã, the intern.”

Tiểu Nhã. The shy girl I had mentored. I immediately replied. She called back, her voice tight with tension. “Ms. Lâm, I saw you message Ms. Lý. They won’t answer you. I had to use this new number to contact you secretly.”

A surge of warmth hit my chest. “Tiểu Nhã, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. You helped me a lot,” she paused, her voice dropping lower. “Ms. Lâm, about your termination, I think something is wrong. After you left, Project Nebula was handed over to Tống Thi Thi.”

Tống Thi Thi. Her face, always perfectly friendly and cunningly sweet, flashed in my mind. She was a rival, aggressive and focused on quick success.

“And then?” I pressed her.

“Then Ms. Tống Thi Thi only took a week to fix the bug in the plan and bring the project back to life. Now, the new CEO Hoắc respects her highly. I heard she’s being promoted to Project Director.”

A week. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. That specific algorithm was the project’s core, incredibly complex. It would take me at least half a month to fix it from scratch. How could she do it in a week?

Unless… unless she had the original, correct data plan all along.

The silhouette of the person who modified my plan and pushed me into the abyss was becoming clearer. I clenched my phone, my knuckles white. Tống Thi Thi. I memorized the name. Everything I lost, I would take back with my own hands. My passive situation finally had a crack for a breakthrough. I was no longer a prisoner waiting for judgment. The prey was turning into a hunter.

Now that I had a suspect, the next step was finding proof. I needed leverage to prove Tống Thi Thi’s fraud, not just her competence. I began orchestrating ‘chance’ encounters with her. Knowing she frequented a gym near the office, I bought a membership and wore the simplest sportswear during her usual time slot.

“Oh, Tống Thi Thi! What a coincidence!” I feigned surprise and delight.

A flicker of panic and distaste crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her professional, perfect smile. “Lâm Thính Hạ. It is you. How have you been?” She sized me up with a look of evaluating old, discounted goods.

“Don’t ask,” I immediately put on a demoralized look. “Haven’t found anything since I was fired. Too much free time, so I came to the gym.” I then looked at her with feigned admiration. “You’re amazing. I heard you saved Project Nebula and are about to become a Director, right? Congratulations!”

My flattery clearly pleased her. A smug smile mixed with false modesty appeared on her face. “Oh, no, no. Just luck. It’s also thanks to the good foundation you laid, so I didn’t have to put in too much effort.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” I waved my hand with mock distress. “The later stages of the project, especially those algorithms, gave me a splitting headache! I could never figure them out. How did you fix them? Teach me a trick, so I can at least brag in interviews later.” I intentionally put myself in the lowest position, a defeated supplicant begging for knowledge.

Tống Thi Thi’s vanity was satisfied to the maximum. She began to boast enthusiastically about her process, painting herself as the heroine who rescued the company from disaster. But I keenly noted that when she talked about fixing the core algorithm, she used a lot of vague, generalized terms like “optimizing the low-level logic” or “restructuring the data model.” When I asked about a specific technical detail, she noticeably stumbled and quickly changed the subject. “Ah, those technical details, you wouldn’t understand. I just made it happen.” Her eyes showed clear contempt for a ‘tech illiterate’ like me.

I smiled coldly inside. She understood nothing. She was just a thief, a mere scavenger of someone else’s achievement. Even her explanations were vague and superficial. This ‘chance’ meeting only confirmed my suspicion.

Meanwhile, my cohabitation with Hoắc Viêm continued in a tense, frozen-fire deadlock. He adhered to the contract, coming over a few times a week to play the role of the dutiful fiancé, but he barely glanced at me. Every time he saw me watching entertainment shows, surfing the web, and shopping, his eyes were practically overflowing with contempt.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it. When my father went into the kitchen to scoop soup, Hoắc Viêm leaned closer and spoke in a low, cold voice meant only for me. “Lâm Thính Hạ, are you planning to live your whole life as a parasite?”

I was watching a comedy show. I didn’t even bother looking up. “Why not?” I replied slowly, sarcastically. “Didn’t CEO Hoắc graciously open the door to a comfortable, poverty-free retirement for me? Of course, I have to enjoy it.” I deliberately emphasized ‘poverty-free retirement.’

His face immediately darkened. “I gave you money, not for you to waste it frivolously.”

“Oh?” I paused the video, turned to look at him, and smiled innocently. “Your money transferred to my card is my money. Do I need to report to you how I spend my money?”

“You—” He choked, unable to utter another word, his chest heaving with anger.

“CEO Hoắc,” I dropped the smile, my eyes chilling. “Don’t forget our contract. You pay, I play your fiancée. We are temporary co-stars. You have no right to interfere in my life. Remember, your dignity is yours to earn, and I am merely an actress you hired.”

I ignored his reaction, put on my earphones, resumed the show, and turned the volume to the maximum. Hoắc Viêm glared at me, his eyes sharp enough to bore holes in me. I knew my disguise and this counter-attack had insulted him and made him feel a loss of control. Excellent. I want him to lose control, because the real show has just begun.

The breakthrough came from Tiểu Nhã, the intern. She risked everything during her lunch break to secretly download the latest internal report of Project Nebula submitted by Tống Thi Thi. “Ms. Lâm Thính Hạ, please be careful. Ms. Tống Thi Thi is the most favored person in the company now. Don’t let her find out.” Tiểu Nhã’s voice on the phone was full of worry.

“I know, Tiểu Nhã. Thank you so much for this.”

I hung up and immediately cross-referenced the report with my original plan. Under the desk lamp, line after line of code and numbers flew past my eyes. My heart hammered like a war drum. Finally, on page 73, in the user behavior prediction model section, I found it: the fatal flaw.

To showcase her merit, Tống Thi Thi had added a ‘self-optimized’ algorithm based on my initial plan. But she didn’t realize that this ‘optimization’ seriously conflicted with the encryption protocol at the lowest layer of the entire project. In a short-term test, this flaw might not be apparent, but once the system went live, facing massive user traffic, it would inevitably collapse completely within a week. A ticking time bomb capable of destroying the entire project and severely damaging the company’s reputation.

And only someone who had built the entire project framework from the ground up, who understood every line of the original data like me, could immediately spot this loophole.

This was the ironclad evidence. The direct proof that Tống Thi Thi had stolen my achievement but lacked the competence to manage it. My hands trembled with excitement, a powerful surge of adrenaline flooding my body. The thought of imminent revenge made me glow.

I gathered all the evidence: the comparison between the two plan versions, the line-by-line analysis of the system error. I meticulously organized and saved everything onto an encrypted USB drive. Tống Thi Thi, your days are numbered.

But before I could celebrate, an unexpected storm hit, as fierce as lightning on a clear day.

That evening, I had just finished showering and was about to finalize my counter-attack plan when the doorbell rang repeatedly, violently, as if someone wanted to break the door down. Who would come so late? My father is already asleep. I hesitated for a second, looking through the peephole. My heart clenched.

It was Hoắc Viêm.

He stood outside, his face dark, radiating a terrifying killing intent. I paused, then decided to open the door. The moment it cracked open, he stormed in and slammed it shut behind him.

“Lâm Thính Hạ!” he roared my name, his eyes bloodshot like a provoked lion. He grabbed my wrist, the force so strong I thought my bones would shatter. “What game are you playing?”

I was stunned by his sudden rage, my wrist throbbing numbly. “Are you crazy? Let go!”

He didn’t let go; he tightened his grip. He pulled a printed document from his jacket pocket and slammed it onto the table in front of me.

It was a system operation log, clearly displaying the IP address and time of modification. The modification was of the crucial parameters in Project Nebula, altered the night before I was fired. The most chilling part was the technical department’s conclusion: The IP address originated from a cafe on Bách Hoa Street, South City.

That cafe was located right beneath my building.

“Do I need to explain anything else?” Hoắc Viêm’s voice was ice. Every word felt like a knife. “The night before I took office, you deliberately modified the data, causing the project to fail dramatically, dumping the whole mess on the company. Then what? You waited for me to fire you, put on a pitiful act, and now you plan to use it to blackmail me?”

His chest was heaving with fury, a vein bulging on his temple. “I truly underestimated you, Lâm Thính Hạ. You are not just greedy, you are terrifyingly cunning.”

I looked at the IP log, then at his face, which was screaming ‘clear evidence,’ and I felt a strange, choking humor. He thought I had sabotaged my own project, caused my own termination, and was now playing the victim to elicit sympathy and extort money. How could he have come up with such a ridiculous scenario?

Anger and disappointment twisted inside me, fire and ice clashing. I had thought Hoắc Viêm, though arrogant, at least had the capacity for judgment. Now I knew I had overestimated him. Inarticulate was the only emotion I felt. All the evidence pointed at me, and he had quickly pronounced his sentence without giving me a chance.

I could almost see the fury in his eyes when he saw that report, and how certain he must have been that firing me was a brilliant move. He came here with his ironclad evidence to convict me, his eyes full of the hatred of a man who feels deeply betrayed by who he believes is a manipulative demoness.

The excitement in me instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, bone-chilling shock. The misunderstanding had reached its peak. I looked at him, the man who was rapidly becoming the biggest obstacle to my counter-attack plan. My initial anger subsided, replaced by a calm resolve. If I couldn’t explain myself with words, I would let the truth speak. He had his ironclad evidence, and I had mine.

Facing Hoắc Viêm’s thundering accusations, I didn’t panic, cry, or argue as he probably expected. I quietly pushed his hand away and gently rubbed my now red wrist. My calmness only seemed to infuriate him more.

“Speechless? Caught red-handed and silent?” He laughed coldly, his eyes turning into daggers of derision.

Ignoring his mockery, I turned and walked into my study. He followed, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed like a supervisor, his gaze cold and watchful. I opened a drawer, took out the encrypted USB drive, plugged it into my laptop, and turned the screen toward him.

“Before you pass judgment, CEO Hoắc, I suggest you look at this first.” My voice was quiet but clear and steady, devoid of any tremor.

Hoắc Viêm frowned, reluctantly stepping closer. When he saw the comparison report with detailed images and annotations on the screen, his expression clearly froze.

I didn’t give him a chance to think and immediately began my presentation. “This is the backup of my original Project Nebula plan, and this is the final version the company is currently using.” I pointed to the two data columns. “Look here. The altered algorithm parameters were the direct cause of the failure assessment. And this,” I opened another file, “is the latest report submitted by Tống Thi Thi that Tiểu Nhã gave me. This is the optimized version.”