Chapter 2 — The Summer Contract of Western Beauty and Beasts

The next morning, Lam Viet Cuong came to pick up Nha Khanh in a shiny black car, carrying a brown leather briefcase and a familiar smile on his lips. He made an appointment with her at a small notary office in the central district, saying he chose this place to avoid press attention before the wedding day - a reason that sounded reasonable enough to make Nha Khanh not have any doubts.

"We'll finish signing early today, and in the afternoon I'll take you out to eat your favorite food," Viet Cuong said, gently holding her hand as he entered the empty notary office.

Nha Khanh smiled and nodded. She sat down on the leather chair in front of the large wooden table, watching Viet Cuong take out each piece of paper and place it in front of her, his finger pointing to the boxes that had been marked with a matte pencil.

"Sign here, here, and here," he said, his voice gentle as if he were instructing her on the simplest task in the world. "This is the procedure to open a joint account, and this is an authorization letter for the bank to handle the dowry part of your father's preparation. Sign quickly. I have to go to the ao dai shop later to adjust the sleeves."

Nha Khanh held the pen and glanced at the first few lines. The text was small, dense, full of legal terms she was unfamiliar with. There was a moment of hesitation that passed through her heart - the habit of being careful since childhood made her want to read more carefully - but then she looked at Viet Cuong and saw him looking at his watch, looking a little impatient but still trying to keep a gentle smile.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.

"No, it's just... too many words," she smiled wryly, feeling a bit embarrassed by her own hesitation. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Sure. Your father and I have checked everything thoroughly, you trust me, right?" Viet Cuong looked straight into her eyes, without a wave in his eyes.

That sentence, once again, had enough weight to quell all doubts in Nha Khanh's heart. She put down the pen and signed each marked box in turn, not knowing that each stroke of her signature was closing the door of a peaceful life, and opening another door full of storms.

The notary officer, a middle-aged man who seemed familiar with Viet Cuong, stamped quickly, without asking any further questions. The entire process took less than twenty minutes.

"Done," Viet Cuong collected the stack of papers and smiled brightly. "Let's go eat, what do you want to eat?"

Nha Khanh did not know that, in that stack of papers, there were only two pages actually related to normal banking procedures. The rest - a total of five pages - are loan papers in her name with an amount of up to tens of billions of dong, along with an authorization letter to transfer all the remaining shares that her family holds in Duong Phat company, to a company called "Kim Phat Dau Tu" - actually a cover set up by Trinh Khac Sang, in the name of a distant relative of his.

That afternoon, after saying goodbye to Viet Cuong, Nha Khanh returned home, feeling relieved because she thought the most troublesome part of the procedure was over. She did not know that at the same time, in another office not far away, Trinh Khac Sang was holding a copy of the stack of papers he had just signed, smiling with satisfaction.

"She signs so well," he said, handing the stack of papers to another man standing next to him, signaling to put them in the safe. "Now I just have to wait for the right day, everything will automatically be transferred to my company's name. As for the other debt, just leave it for a few months to let the mother pay the interest. At that time, even if you want to pay it, you won't be able to pay it off."

"What about Cuong?" the other man asked. "After this, he will probably get a bargain."

"Of course." Trinh Khac Sang smirked. "He took care of getting the girl to sign the papers. I'll take care of the rest. The wedding will still go on as planned. By the time everything breaks out, it's over. Even if the girl screams, it won't be enough."

Meanwhile, at his home, Mr. Duong Khai Phong sat alone in his office, his pale face staring at the computer screen. He had just received an email from an old friend in the banking industry, warning him that the company "Kim Phat Investment" - a strange name he had never heard of - had just submitted an application to transfer shares at Duong Phat, with all the valid signatures of his daughter.

He trembled and called Viet Cuong, but the other end of the line only rang and then hung up. Called a second or third time, but no one picked up. The fourth time, someone picked up the phone, but the voice that rang out was not Viet Cuong's, but the cold, unfamiliar voice of Trinh Khac Sang.

"Mr. Phong," the voice sounded mocking. "Are you calling to look for Mr. Cuong? He's very busy and won't answer the phone. Just tell me if there's anything, consider me your family's new partner from today."

Mr. Khai Phong was dumbfounded. Each fragmented puzzle in his head suddenly fit together into a complete and terrifying picture - the unusual meetings between Viet Cuong and some strangers recently, the times Viet Cuong cleverly sidelined him from "procedural" discussions with his daughter, and now this fateful phone call.

"You... you tricked my daughter," he said, his voice shaking with anger and panic.

"It's not a lie," Trinh Khac Sang smiled faintly. "Your daughter signed it herself, with all the signatures, and notarized properly. The law protects valid documents, Mr. Phong. You should think of a way to take care of your family instead of calling and bothering me."

Hanging up the phone, Mr. Khai Phong sat down in his chair, holding his head in his hands. He knew, if this matter reached Nha Khanh's ears in this way - suddenly, cruelly, without time to prepare - how devastated his daughter would be. But he also knew, he had no time to hide anymore. The wedding is only nine days away. If he doesn't act immediately, not only the company, but also his daughter's life and future will be caught in a storm that he, because of his blind trust, has accidentally pushed her into.

He stood up, walked out of the office, intending to find Nha Khanh to clarify everything. But when he arrived at his daughter's door and heard her laughing and talking happily on the phone with a friend about their honeymoon plans, he placed his hand on the doorknob but hesitated to open it.

He stood there for a long time, in the darkness of the hallway, listening to his daughter's clear laughter, his heart aching with a fear and regret that he never knew he would have to experience at this age. Finally, he let go of the doorknob, quietly turned and walked away, telling himself he would find another way — a way that wouldn't make his daughter face that cruel truth right away, although he wasn't sure how much time he had left to find that way.

That night, the city was still as bright as ever, but behind that light, a trap had tightened, just waiting for the right moment to collapse completely.

That same night, at a luxurious bar on the rooftop of a five-star hotel, Lam Viet Cuong sat opposite Trinh Khac Sang, a glass of red wine in his hand. The atmosphere between the two was much more comfortable than in the morning, like two people had just successfully completed a big mission.

"Mr. Phong called me in the afternoon," Trinh Khac Sang said, his voice calm as if telling a small story. "He heard the news from somewhere. He seemed very panicked."

Viet Cuong frowned and put down the wine glass. "He didn't say anything to Nha Khanh?"

"Not yet. Someone like him, whose reputation is higher than the roof of the house, will not easily admit that he let his daughter fall into such a trap. He will find a way to solve it himself first, at least try to borrow from everywhere to make up for the debt, or find a way to negotiate privately with me." Trinh Khac Sang took a sip of wine, his eyes flashing with pride. "But he'll soon realize there's no way he can raise that amount in the next few days."

"So will the wedding still take place normally?" Viet Cuong asked, a bit of worry flashing through his voice.

"Of course it has to happen." Trinh Khac Sang lightly tapped his finger on the rim of the glass. "The closer the wedding day gets, the less Mr. Phong dares to make a fuss, for fear of affecting the family's reputation in front of guests. That's why we chose this time. You just need to play the role of the perfect groom for a few more days, when the transfer papers officially take effect, you can cancel the marriage at any time. The blame at that time can even be placed on the bride's family for breaking the promise."

Viet Cuong was silent for a moment, looking out the large glass window, where the whole city spread out sparkling below. In his mind, the image of Nha Khanh smiling brightly while trying on a wedding dress flashed through his mind, her clear eyes trusting him absolutely. There was a small ripple that passed through his heart, but it was quickly extinguished by the huge commission numbers promised by Trinh Khac Sang.

"Okay," he said, raising his glass of wine. "Then follow the plan."

Two glasses touched each other, emitting a clear jingling sound, lost in the gentle jazz music playing in that luxurious bar - a sound that accidentally became a signal for the storm about to strike a girl who was still passionately dreaming of happiness, not far away, in her warm bedroom.

As for Mr. Duong Khai Phong, after that fateful call, he stayed up all night, calling everywhere for help - old friends, former business partners, even distant relatives whom he had not contacted for a long time. But the debt was too big, the time was too urgent, no one was capable or courageous enough to help him in this situation. Late in the morning, he sat absent-mindedly in front of his desk, looking at a family photo taken when Nha Khanh was a child, tears silently falling without even realizing it. He knew he had made an irreparable mistake, and the only thing he could do now was find a way to tell his daughter the truth, before everything became too late.