The Ruthless CEO Fired a Poor Girl, But Three Months Later He Was on His Knees Begging Her to Return…

It was a Monday morning at the grand lobby of Dong Thanh Corporation, one of the leading real estate conglomerates. The atmosphere fell silent as a luxurious Mercedes-Benz pulled up. Employees on both sides quickly bowed when the car door opened.

Minh Quan, the cold and powerful CEO, stepped out with a commanding presence—his sharp, icy eyes and expressionless face exuding authority.

Meanwhile, on the ground floor, Mai Anh, a new employee in the accounting department for less than a month, was rushing with a stack of documents in her arms, hurrying to the meeting room. She didn’t expect the elevator to open just then—and for the person stepping out to be none other than CEO Minh Quan. She froze in panic, bowed her head respectfully, but her feet halted the moment their eyes met.

She had never stood this close to him before. He was the man admired by many for his talent and looks. But it was his eyes—that somewhat confused gaze hiding something unspoken—that made Quan pause. He glanced at her, his gaze as cold as ice. At that very moment, her phone slipped from her hands and fell.

Flustered, Mai Anh bent down to pick it up and accidentally brushed against his leg. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she stammered.

Minh Quan said nothing, simply turned away coldly. But that accidental touch, along with the tangled look in her eyes, made him frown.
“Who is this girl?” he wondered.
“Why is she looking at me like that? Could she be another one of those girls trying to get close to me on purpose?”
Doubt started to take root in his mind.

In the days that followed, a series of coincidental events occurred that seemed to confirm his suspicions.

On Wednesday, as he entered the board meeting room, Quan was surprised to see Mai Anh arranging papers on the conference table. She was assisting Ms. Hoa, the head of the accounting department, in preparing documents for the quarterly meeting. Quan walked in coldly, and once again, her eyes met his.

Startled, she quickly lowered her gaze, but her hands trembled and dropped the folder. Papers scattered everywhere, with one landing right at his feet. She hesitantly bent down to retrieve it, but Quan clenched his jaw.
He thought she was pretending to be clumsy just to draw attention.
“Coming into a senior boardroom just to hand out documents? Does she think I can’t see through her intentions?”
He didn’t say a word, only glanced at her before taking his seat at the head of the table, though discomfort began to stir inside him.

The next day, just as he stepped out of the elevator to inspect the branch on the 12th floor, a female employee came running and shouted, “Mai Anh! I brought the papers you asked me to print!”

Mai Anh emerged from the corner of the hallway, holding a small gift box and a stack of documents. By chance, she lightly bumped into him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, flustered, her face pale with fear.

Minh Quan Sneered Coldly and Ordered Her Out. Three Months Later, He Was the One on His Knees Begging Her to Come Back…

Minh Quan let out a cold scoff and stepped aside. She immediately backed off, biting her lip, not daring to say another word. But to Quan, her actions—her innocent-looking face—only made it seem more like a clumsy act.
The same old tricks.
Does she really think someone like me would fall for her type?
He thought to himself bitterly. But everything came to a head that Friday afternoon.

After work, Quan left the office later than usual and saw Mai Anh standing at the company gate in a light drizzle, holding a document folder, staring inside with a strange look in her eyes. He sat inside his car, eyes fixed on her figure. She didn’t go in—she just stood there silently for a few minutes before walking away.

She’s waiting for me, Quan thought, frowning.
The next morning, he ordered his secretary to send him the personnel file of an employee named Mai Anh.

Within ten minutes, the folder was on his desk: a rented room on the outskirts of the city. Family status: orphaned, lives with younger brother, graduated from a vocational school, has no known contacts in the company. Quan curled his lips.
A perfect background to play the pitiful poor girl. A girl like that obviously wants to change her fate.

Without further verification, he signed the dismissal order. No reason necessary.

That afternoon, Mai Anh was summoned to HR.
“You are suspended from work, effective immediately.”
“I… What did I do wrong? May I know the reason?” she asked.

“The CEO’s decision cannot be questioned.”

Mai Anh was stunned. She walked out of the company under the rain, without an umbrella. Her steps were slow, her eyes empty. Her documents soaked through, pages slipping out onto the ground—yet she quietly bent down to pick them up. No one came to help. Not a single explanation was given.

From the top floor, Minh Quan watched through the glass window.
You think you’re pitiful? Don’t even dream.
He turned his back and walked away, leaving the image of a fragile girl standing still in the cold rain behind him.

But what he didn’t know was that moment would become the beginning of his deepest regret.

From the day she was fired from Dong Thanh Corporation, Mai Anh felt like she had been violently thrown off the path of her life. Everything she had tried so hard to build—a stable job, a plan to save up for her brother’s school fees, and even the small dream of a better rented room—all collapsed because of one short termination letter.

With no reason given, she didn’t even have the time to complain or feel sorry for herself. Because the moment she stepped into their tiny room tucked deep in a narrow alley, her fourth-grade little brother ran out and hugged her tightly, cheering with joy:
“Big sis! You’re home! I’ve been waiting! I had a hard math problem today—I waited for you to help me solve it.”

She pulled him into her arms, swallowing her tears. She couldn’t let him know she had just lost her job.

To him, his sister was his whole world—his mother, father, and only anchor since their parents were killed in a car accident three years ago.

The next morning, without even eating, Mai Anh hit the streets in search of a new job. After a whole day knocking on one shop after another, hoarse from speaking, she was finally hired as a waitress at a modest, bustling rice eatery.

“The pay’s not much, just enough to get by—but at least there’s always food since we’re busy,” the owner said sympathetically.

“Yes, I’m just grateful to have work,” Mai Anh quickly bowed in thanks.

From that day on, she started her new routine. She’d take her brother to school in the morning, then rush to the eatery, and come back just in time to pick him up in the afternoon. On busy days, her brother, little Hung, would have to sit in the corner of the shop doing his homework while waiting for her shift to end so they could go home together.

That Afternoon, Everything Changed—The Woman He Fired Was Not What He Thought

That afternoon, a little past 5 PM, Minh Quan took his mother to a small eatery in District B—the one she always mentioned for having fish soup that tasted just like the kind her mother used to make. Quan usually hated noisy, cramped places, but he nodded in agreement to please her.

The two of them chose a corner table near the window. While his mother cheerfully placed the order, Minh Quan’s eyes wandered around the place.

Then his gaze froze.

The waitress moving around briskly—the face, the figure—it was her.

He muttered under his breath, “Mai Anh.”

She was wearing a faded apron, her hair tied up high, beads of sweat on her forehead. She was carrying two large trays of rice meals to the table next to them, her movements quick but clearly fatigued. Quan frowned, tilting his head slightly to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

This was the same girl he once thought was pretending to be clumsy to seduce him, an amateur actress in a tired, predictable scheme.

And now she was working in a humble eatery.

At that moment, a child’s voice rang out near the entrance.
“Sis, I’m back!”

A young boy wearing a school backpack ran in, his face sweaty and holding a few notebooks. He rushed over to Mai Anh and whispered shyly:
“Are you tired? I can help you.”

Mai Anh smiled gently and knelt to adjust the strap of his bag.
“I’m fine. Was school tiring today? Go sit in the back and do your homework. When I’m done, we’ll go home and cook.”

The shop owner chuckled, saying,
“That’s Hung. Such a good kid. He helps his sister clean tables and wash glasses every day, and he’s smart too. Poor kids, they’ve been living on their own for a long time.”

Those words reached Minh Quan like a blow to the chest.

His hand clenched slightly around the spoon. His eyes were locked in place.

That little boy… was her younger brother.
She’s been working and raising him all on her own.
How long had they been living like this?

Suddenly, the scenes from before flashed in his mind—

The girl standing silently in the rain, the sorrowful look in her eyes as she stared at the company, all the times they “accidentally” ran into each other—it hadn’t been seduction or scheming. Perhaps they were just coincidences, or the helpless glances of a woman bearing the burden of an entire family on her shoulders.

A tightness grew in his chest.

The girl he had once looked down on… turned out to be far stronger and more dignified than he’d ever imagined.

“Here’s your fish soup.”

Mai Anh’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

She placed the bowl on the table without looking up, but her hands and eyes trembled slightly. He could tell—she had recognized him. But she chose to stay silent.

For the first time, Minh Quan couldn’t eat a dish his mother claimed tasted just like home.

Every time he lifted a piece of fish to his mouth, his throat tightened with guilt.

That afternoon, Quan said nothing. But from that very moment, a question began to echo in his mind:

“Was I wrong?”

That night, Minh Quan couldn’t sleep.

The image of the petite girl behind the kitchen counter in her stained apron, gently chatting with her brother as she wiped tables—it kept playing in his head like a slow-motion film.

He had always believed himself to be a rational man—someone who never let emotions or fleeting impressions cloud his judgment.

But this time, what he saw wasn’t an act.

It was a painful, undeniable truth:
Mai Anh was struggling to raise a child, living a life of hardship, and she had never once blamed him—never even tried to reach out or cling to him after being fired.

The Deeper He Looked, the Deeper His Regret Grew

The next morning, Minh Quan unexpectedly instructed his secretary, Bich Ngoc, to retrieve all of Mai Anh’s personal records. Seeing her hesitate, he said coldly,
“She used to be an employee here. There’s nothing against the rules about this.”

Less than thirty minutes later, the old personnel file was on his desk. When he saw the line stating “orphaned, with a younger brother in elementary school,” his hands tightened around the folder.

He himself had grown up in a well-off family, never once having to worry about food, clothes, or money—let alone sacrificing anything for someone else.
And yet she… just 23 years old, already carrying so much on her shoulders.

That very noon, Minh Quan drove himself to the same small eatery from the day before. He didn’t go in. Instead, he sat inside his car, watching quietly through the window.

Mai Anh was busily cleaning in the kitchen. The midday sun was harsh, and her face glistened with sweat. Yet she still managed to offer gentle smiles as customers called out their orders. A little while later, Hung appeared again—still in his primary school uniform, carrying a worn-out backpack, cheerful as ever.

He handed his sister a carton of milk his teacher had given out and said,
“I saved this for you.”

Mai Anh patted his head, gently pushed the milk back, and smiled,
“I’m not drinking it. It’s yours—keep it.”

That scene hit Quan like a punch to the chest.

A sister who wasn’t eating properly, doing exhausting physical labor, and yet still gave the best of what little they had to her younger brother.

He didn’t know why his throat suddenly felt so dry and bitter.

That night, after all his staff had gone home, Minh Quan sat alone in his office for a long time. He took out a pen, signed a check, and quietly arranged for it to be delivered to the hospital where Hung had once received treatment. Under the name of a scholarship and medical aid program for underprivileged students, he made sure not to send it directly to Mai Anh.

Because to her, dignity was the most precious thing—and it was something he no longer had the right to touch.

In the days that followed, Quan continued to observe from a distance.

He saw her waking early to take her brother to school before rushing to the eatery. He saw her on days of pouring rain—she and her brother shared only one raincoat, and she always chose to brave the downpour while covering him. On evenings when the restaurant had late-night bookings, she stayed for extra shifts, never once complaining—just silently enduring.

One day, his secretary Bich Ngoc noticed how different he’d been lately and gently asked,
“Is something bothering you, sir?”

Still gazing out the window, Minh Quan replied,
“There are mistakes that seem small… but they haunt you for a lifetime.”

After a follow-up visit to the hospital, Minh Quan left with a heavy heart. Mai Anh hadn’t said a single harsh word. She hadn’t scolded him or demanded anything. But it was her calmness, her silence, that made the guilt unbearable.

He once believed that a simple apology would be enough.

But he had been wrong.

A mere apology could never erase the injustice, the loss, or the back-breaking hardship she had endured—all because of one rash decision from him.

The next day, while his car was stopped at a red light near the office district, Minh Quan happened to glance out the window—and froze.

Amid the busy crowds and under the harsh late-afternoon sun, a petite girl wearing a frayed cloth hat was handing out flyers for an English course.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized—it was Mai Anh.

She hadn’t seen him. She just continued to smile politely at passersby. Most ignored her. Some waved her off. A few even scolded her with irritation.

And yet, she kept smiling.

What Are You Handing Out? Move Aside!

Mai Anh kept her head down, apologized softly, and stepped aside. The flyers in her hand were swept away by the wind. She hurriedly chased after them, picking each one up as if they were her lifeline.

Minh Quan gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Since when had she been doing this?
After her morning shift at the eatery, did she rush out to hand out flyers too?
How many hours did her day last?
When did she eat, or rest?

This time, he couldn’t just sit and watch.
He stepped out of the car, walked quickly toward her, trying to keep his emotions in check.
But when he stood before her, Minh Quan couldn’t find the words.

Mai Anh looked up, surprised, then quickly bowed her head.
“Hello, General Director.”
Her voice remained calm.

“Since when have you been doing this?”
His eyes stayed fixed on her tired face.

“It’s been a while,” she replied.
“They pay per flyer. I work a few hours in the afternoon to earn a bit more… to buy milk for my brother.”

She said it simply, like she was talking about someone else’s life.

“Why don’t you apply for support, or ask someone for help?”
She smiled—weakly, but still with grace.

“I don’t want to live off pity. Everyone has their dignity, don’t they?”

Minh Quan was speechless.
That dignity—he had once trampled it.
And yet she still protected it to the very end.

He took out an envelope.

“This isn’t charity. It’s something I owe you. At least let me give you back some fairness.”

But Mai Anh took a step back and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t accept it. You were once my boss, and I’m grateful you gave me a job. But what’s in the past is done. I want to walk on my own feet.”

Her words struck his pride like a slap—not because she had rejected him, but because her unwavering strength was beyond admirable.

He quietly put the envelope away and simply said,

“Then if you ever need anything… anything at all, just call me.”

She nodded gently—neither agreeing nor refusing. She just bowed slightly, then returned to handing out flyers in the crowded street.

That night, Minh Quan sat alone in front of his laptop for hours, unable to focus on any work.
He thought about anonymously sending her money, or paying her brother’s tuition, or finding her an easier job.

But he couldn’t forget the proud, firm look in her eyes.
She didn’t want money.
She needed a real opportunity.

The next day, Quan called an urgent meeting with HR and Marketing.
He personally ordered the launch of a part-time recruitment campaign for communications assistants.
He requested the priority criteria include applicants who had previously worked manual labor jobs but had demonstrated strong responsibility.

He knew that Mai Anh would never come back if he invited her personally.
But if the opportunity came through a transparent, fair program—then maybe she wouldn’t feel like she was being handed pity.

A week later, Mai Anh received an email about an online communications internship program.
She hesitated for a long time before applying. The job could be done at home, had a stable salary, and gave her time to pick up her brother from school.

She had no idea that the man who quietly created that opportunity…
was the very one she had silently turned down on that sun-drenched sidewalk days ago.

Since then, Minh Quan regularly followed HR reports.
Every time he saw Mai Anh’s name on the list of top-performing collaborators, he would smile faintly.

He never expected forgiveness.
Nor did he want her to know what he had done.
He just knew that in this loud, bustling city…

There was once someone he had misunderstood.
And now, she was quietly standing back up—
Walking forward on her own two feet.

And all he wanted… was to silently protect her from afar.

---

That Rainy Afternoon

It was pouring—rain like it was falling in sheets.

Mai Anh stood in the kitchen of the small restaurant, washing dishes, eyes glancing repeatedly toward the door.

Hung got out of school early today. Normally, she would go pick him up. But today, the restaurant was too busy, and the owner wouldn’t allow her to leave.

“It’s okay… he probably knows how to come home on his own,” she told herself, trying to stay calm.
But her heart remained anxious.

When her shift finally ended, she rushed back to their boarding room.
Water was ankle-deep in the narrow alley.

As soon as she opened the door, she froze.

Her younger brother was curled up on the bed, soaking wet, his face burning red.

“Hung! What’s wrong?”
She ran to him and touched his forehead—it was scorching.
The boy was trembling. His voice was faint.

“I waited for you… it took so long… the rain was heavy… I didn’t have a raincoat… so I ran home.”

Mai Anh clenched her trembling hands.

She didn’t blame him. She only blamed herself.

“If only I had skipped work… If only I had gone to get him.”

She hurried to change his clothes, applied a cold compress.
But the boy only drifted in and out of consciousness, lips dry and cracked.

Without hesitation, she carried him on her back—
Rushing out into the white curtain of rain.

She had no motorbike.
Taxis wouldn’t come into such a small alley.
Calling an ambulance would take too long.

And her little brother…
was burning up in her arms.

Just as she was about to collapse, her legs numb from working all day while carrying her brother on her back, a sleek black car suddenly stopped at the entrance of the alley. The window rolled down slowly. She turned her head—Minh Quân.

“Mai Anh, your brother has a high fever,” he said, breathing heavily, drenched in rain.

Without another word, Minh Quân opened the door, stepped out, and gently took Hưng from her arms. Wrapping the boy in his coat, he quickly placed him in the back seat.

“Get in. Don’t just stand there.”

Mai Anh stepped into the car silently. She had no strength left to react or think—only the quiet realization that for the first time in years, someone had shown up just in time to help her.

The car sped toward the nearest hospital. During the ride, Mai Anh could only use her sleeve to wipe the rainwater from her younger brother’s face.

Minh Quân said nothing, but she could see his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel, anxious.

Once at the hospital, he carried Hưng straight into the emergency room. While she was still fumbling with the paperwork, unsure of what to do, he had already filled out the forms, paid the initial hospital fees, and called for the head doctor.

Mai Anh stood frozen, her lips trembling.

“Why were you there… right at that moment?”

He sighed. “I’ve driven past your place a few times… just to make sure you and your brother were still okay. Today, I had a bad feeling. When I got there, I saw you running in the rain, carrying the boy.”

Mai Anh looked at him—no longer guarded. Her eyes softened, her voice quiet.

“I don’t hate you. I’m just afraid of getting used to having someone help us. And when that person leaves, we’ll fall all over again. I don’t want to feel that way twice.”

Minh Quân lowered his head. His voice was deep and calm.

“I understand. I’m not here to make up for anything with money. I just… don’t want you to be alone anymore. Not out of pity, but because I genuinely care.”

Something in his sincere tone made her lift her head. His gaze was no longer cold—it was warm, quiet, and tinged with regret. In that moment, something inside her began to soften.

A few hours later, the doctor came out to say that her younger brother was stable.

Mai Anh burst into tears—relief flooding her heart. She turned to Minh Quân and softly said,

“Thank you. If you hadn’t come today… I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

He didn’t respond. He simply placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his eyes more tender than she had ever seen.

“From now on, let me stay beside you two. Not because I feel sorry for you… but because I want to protect you.”

Mai Anh was speechless.

After all the storms she had endured, opening her heart wasn’t easy. But that day—in the cold hospital, with her brother burning up with fever, with her own helplessness consuming her—the man she once hated most was the one who stayed until the end.

She didn’t say anything. But for the first time, her eyes no longer looked at him with distance.

Hưng recovered quickly. After two days on IV, the little boy chattered excitedly to his sister about how “Uncle Minh Quân” bought him milk and sat beside his bed all night.

From afar, Mai Anh watched Minh Quân buying porridge for Hưng. His steps were steady, his demeanor no longer cold like the days at the office, but warm… like family.

She walked closer and said softly, “Thank you.”

It was truly Long.

That afternoon, after Hung had fallen asleep from exhaustion, Minh Quan poured a glass of warm water for Mai Anh. She took it and gently thanked him, her eyes now softer, no longer guarded like before.

“Mai Anh,” he looked at her, his voice calm but firm. “I have a proposal. I hope you’ll consider it seriously.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Come back to the company.”

Mai Anh froze. Minh Quan continued, “Your old position is still vacant, and I want to assign you a small project in the communications department. I believe you’re capable and deserving of it.”

She lowered her eyes. “But if I return, people will think I was given special treatment. I don’t want gossip, and I don’t want anyone saying I came back because I’m close to the boss.”

Minh Quan chuckled—not mockingly, but with the gentle laugh of someone who’s been through a lot.

“I’m not the kind of person who lets personal feelings interfere with work. I know how good you were at your job. Those who want to talk will talk, but the truth will show itself in time.” He looked deep into her eyes and added, “Besides, this isn’t about giving you another chance—it’s about correcting a mistake.

The one at fault was me. The one who gets to decide whether or not to come back is you.”

Mai Anh stayed silent for a long time, her mind replaying everything that had happened. The cold look in his eyes the day she was fired, the difficult months that followed, and then the moment he carried her younger brother into the hospital under the pouring rain.

She suddenly realized that perhaps she had been so afraid that she forgot forgiveness isn’t weakness.

Forgiveness is when you dare to look back at the past, step beyond it, and live a different future.

Mai Anh looked up and said gently, “If I return, I’ll do so as a regular employee. Don’t go easy on me.”

Minh Quan smiled, his eyes shining. “I’ll be even tougher than before.”

“Then I agree.”

That answer was simple, but it made his heart feel light—not because he was gaining back a talented employee, but because he had managed to keep a woman he didn’t want to lose a second time.