The Hoai Corporation headquarters was a monolith of glass and steel, looming like a cold monument to power. As I stepped out of the elevator on the 55th floor, my heels clicked against the marble, echoing through the silence of the executive wing.
I was ten minutes early. He knew I would be. That was probably why he kept me waiting.
The assistant led me to the waiting room—minimalist, elegant, sterile. I sat down, legs crossed, back straight, determined not to let the tension show on my face.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Then finally, the heavy door opened.
"Director Lam," said the assistant. "The CEO will see you now."
I stood up, nodded, and walked in.
He was already at the head of the long meeting table, one hand in his pocket, the other flipping through a document. A tailored black suit, shirt crisp, not a strand of hair out of place. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.
"Have a seat," Hoai Trach said, without looking up.
I sat, keeping my posture calm, my voice steady. "You wanted to see me?"
Finally, he looked at me.
That gaze—unflinching, unreadable, like a predator studying its prey.
"I heard you've been digging through financial reports. Making waves in the Planning Department," he said, tone neutral but laced with something harder beneath.
"I found irregularities," I replied, matching his tone. "I'm responsible for this branch. It's my duty to investigate anything suspicious."
"And you believe you can clean up a system that's been running for years in just a few weeks?"
"If the system is rotten," I said slowly, "then yes. I intend to."
He leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Brave. Or foolish."
"Perhaps both," I answered.
There was a pause—long and heavy. The air between us charged with unspoken challenge.
Then he dropped the file onto the table with a soft thud. "This is a report of all your meetings and communications since you took this position. Do you know what it looks like?"
"I don't care what it looks like," I said, voice low. "I care about what it is."
He tilted his head, studying me with growing interest. "You've changed."
I met his gaze. "Maybe I've just stopped pretending."
Another silence.
Then he said, "You're not the woman I remember. Not the spoiled, loud, petty socialite who used to cling to me at every event."
"I'm not," I said. "And I won't be again."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity? Confusion? Perhaps both.
"Very well," he said, closing the folder. "Do what you must. But know this—if you step too far, no one will save you. Not even me."
I stood up, calm as ever. "That's fine. I'm not looking for a savior."
I turned to leave. But before I reached the door, his voice stopped me.
"Lam Hoa Tu."
I froze.
The way he said my name—slow, deliberate—sent a strange chill down my spine.
"You're playing a dangerous game."
I looked over my shoulder.
"Then I hope I play it well," I replied.
And I walked out, knowing that the real game had just begun.