The ballroom of the St. Regis Jakarta was a sea of shimmering silk, expensive champagne, and the kind of fake smiles that could cut glass. This was the Wijaya Annual Gala, the event where fortunes were made and reputations were executed. Arga's hand was a heavy, possessive weight on the small of Zara's back. He hadn't spoken a word since they left the mansion, his jaw set in that familiar, rigid line that told her he was already calculating the night's moves like a game of chess.
Zara, however, wasn't playing chess. She was looking for blood.
The emerald green dress she wore felt like a second skin, or perhaps a layer of armor. Every eye in the room pivoted toward them the moment they stepped into the golden light of the chandeliers. The whispers started immediately-a low, buzzing hiss that followed them like a shadow.
"Breathe," Arga muttered, his lips barely moving near her ear. "You look like you're heading to a funeral, not your own wedding celebration."
"Maybe I am," Zara replied, her voice low and dangerously calm. "Just not mine."
She scanned the room. There, near the bar, stood her father and mother. They were laughing with a group of investors, holding crystal flutes of champagne as if they hadn't just sold their eldest daughter to the highest bidder three days ago. And next to them... Intan.
Intan looked radiant. She was wearing a pale pink gown that made her look like a saint, her eyes wide and innocent as she whispered something to a young man Zara didn't recognize. The sight of her sister's face-the same face that had smiled while handed her the glass of drugged milk-sent a jolt of pure, electric hatred through Zara's veins.
"Arga, look," Zara whispered, nodding toward the corner.
Standing by a marble pillar, swirling a glass of amber liquid, was Bram. He was older than Arga, with a receding hairline and eyes that looked like they had seen too many dark rooms. He was the man who had started this. The man who had turned Arga into a predator and Zara into a victim just to win a contract.
Arga's grip on her waist tightened. "Stay away from him, Zara. I mean it. I'll handle Bram in the boardroom, not here."
"You handle him your way. I'll handle him mine," Zara said. She pulled away from Arga, her movements fluid and determined.
"Zara! Come back here!" Arga hissed, but he couldn't chase after her without causing a scene. He was immediately swamped by a group of bankers, forced to put on his CEO mask while his "wife" disappeared into the crowd.
Zara didn't go to Bram first. She went to her family.
"Mom. Dad," Zara said, stepping into their circle.
Her mother, Ella, gasped, nearly dropping her glass. Her father, Rudi, straightened his suit, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before it was replaced by a wide, oily grin.
"Zara! My darling!" Rudi said, reaching out to hug her. Zara stepped back, avoiding his touch. The rejection was loud enough that the investors nearby paused their conversation.
"The check cleared, then?" Zara asked, her voice crystal clear. "The factory is saved? Is that why you're smiling so much, Dad? Or is it the thought of all the new business Arga is going to send your way?"
Rudi's smile faltered. "Now, Zara, don't be like that. We did what was best for the family. You're a Wijaya now. You should be thanking us."
"Thanking you?" Zara laughed, and for the first time, the sound didn't hold any pain-only a sharp, jagged mockery. "I'll be sure to send a thank-you note. Maybe I'll write it on the back of the divorce papers I'll eventually serve him, once I've taken half of everything he owns."
Intan stepped forward, her eyes brimming with fake tears. "Zara, please... don't be so bitter. We were all so worried about you. I haven't slept a wink thinking about that night."
Zara turned to her sister. She stepped so close that Intan had to lean back. "You haven't slept, Intan? That's funny. I slept like a log. In fact, I don't remember a single thing after you gave me that milk. What was in it, I wonder? Extra honey? Or something a bit more... chemical?"
The color drained from Intan's face. She looked at her parents, but they were busy trying to look away. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Keep lying, Intan," Zara whispered, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly soft tone. "It looks good on you. But remember this: I'm a Wijaya now. I have access to things you can't even dream of. Private investigators. Security teams. Lawyers who can find a needle in a haystack. I'm going to find the person who sold you those pills. And when I do, I'm going to make sure the world knows exactly what kind of 'saint' you are."
Zara turned on her heel and walked away, leaving her family standing in a puddle of their own fear. She felt a rush of adrenaline. It was the first time in years she felt like she wasn't the one being hunted.
Now, it was Bram's turn.
She found him still by the pillar. He watched her approach with a smirk that made her skin crawl. He didn't look afraid. Why would he be? He was a titan of industry.
"Mrs. Wijaya," Bram said, bowing mockingly. "I must say, marriage suits you. You look much more... lively than the last time I saw you."
"The last time you saw me, I was unconscious in a bed you paid for, Bram," Zara said. She didn't whisper. A few people nearby turned their heads.
Bram's eyes narrowed. "Careful, little girl. You're playing in a league where people get hurt for saying things like that."
"I've already been hurt," Zara said, leaning in. "You used a drug to try and destroy Arga. You didn't care that there was a human being in the way. You just wanted the Nusantara project."
"Business is war, Zara," Bram said, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Arga was getting too big for his boots. He needed a reminder that he's not invincible. If you were the collateral damage, well, that's just bad luck."
"Bad luck?" Zara smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression. "No. Bad luck is what's about to happen to you. You see, Arga is worried about his stock prices. He's worried about his reputation. But me? I have nothing left to lose. I've already lost my home, my fiancé, and my dignity. Do you know how dangerous a woman with nothing left to lose is?"
Bram laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "What are you going to do? Tell the police? Arga would never let you. It would ruin him too."
"I don't need the police," Zara said. She reached into her small clutch and pulled out a digital recorder. She tapped the screen. *"...Business is war, Zara... if you were the collateral damage, well, that's just bad luck."*
Bram's face went from smug to ghostly white in a fraction of a second. His hand gripped the glass so hard it looked like it might shatter. "You little bitch."
"You're right, Bram," Zara said, her voice dripping with venom. "I am a bitch. And I'm Arga Wijaya's bitch now. Which means I have the power to destroy you without ever stepping into a courtroom. I'm going to give this recording to Arga. He's been looking for a reason to wipe you off the face of the map. I think I just gave him the nuclear launch codes."
She didn't wait for his response. She walked back toward the center of the room, her heart pounding against her ribs. She felt sick, her stomach churning with the intensity of the confrontation, but she didn't let it show.
Arga was waiting for her near the stage. He looked furious. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a quiet alcove behind a velvet curtain.
"What the hell did you do?" he hissed. "I saw you talking to Bram. I saw his face. Zara, you have no idea the kind of fire you're playing with!"
"I have the recording, Arga," she said, holding up the device. "He admitted it. He said I was collateral damage."
Arga stared at the recorder. For a moment, the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, calculating hunger. He took the device from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. "You got him to talk?"
"He's arrogant. He thought I was just a toy you bought to keep the press quiet," Zara said. She leaned against the wall, the adrenaline finally starting to fade, leaving her feeling hollow and cold. "There's your ammunition, Arga. Take him down. Kill his company. Do whatever it is you do."
Arga looked at her, and for the first time since that night in the hotel, he didn't look at her like a problem to be solved. He looked at her with something that resembled respect.
"You're a lot more dangerous than I thought," he whispered.
"You have no idea," Zara replied.
The gala continued, a blur of speeches and music, but the atmosphere had shifted. The news of Zara's confrontation with Bram began to ripple through the room. People looked at her differently now. She wasn't just the girl in the scandal; she was the woman who had walked up to a predator and bitten him back.
As the night wound down, Arga led her to the car. He was silent, his mind clearly miles away, probably already drafting the legal and financial assault he was going to launch against Bram the next morning.
But as the car pulled away from the hotel, Zara looked out the window and saw Dion standing on the sidewalk. He looked pathetic. He was staring at the car, his face a mask of longing and regret. He had realized too late that the "used goods" he had discarded was now the most powerful woman in the room.
Zara didn't feel any satisfaction. She just felt tired.
They arrived back at the mansion in total silence. Arga went straight to his study, the digital recorder clutched in his hand. Zara went up to her room, the emerald dress feeling like a lead weight.
She stripped off the clothes, removed the teardrop earrings, and sat on the edge of the bed. The house was quiet, but her mind was screaming. She had started a war. She had challenged her sister, her father, and a billionaire.
A knock at the door made her heart jump.
It was Arga. He wasn't wearing his jacket, his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and he looked... human.
"The recording is perfect," he said, standing in the doorway. "My legal team is already working on it. Bram will be out of business by the end of the week."
"Good," Zara said.
Arga walked into the room, stopping a few feet away from her. The moonlight was streaming through the window, casting long, dramatic shadows across the floor. "Why did you do it, Zara? You could have just stayed in the car. You could have let me handle it."
"Because I'm tired of people handling things for me," she said, looking up at him. "Everyone in my life has treated me like a pawn. Intan, my dad, Dion... even you. Tonight was the first time I felt like I was the one holding the pieces."
Arga sat down on the bed next to her. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat radiating from him. "I'm sorry," he said.
Zara blinked. "What?"
"I'm sorry for what happened at the hotel," Arga said, his voice a low, rough whisper. "I was out of control. I've spent my whole life being the one in charge, and that night... I was a monster. I can't take it back, and I know you hate me for it. But I'm sorry."
Zara looked at him, searching for the lie. But his eyes were tired and honest. For a second, the wall between them crumbled.
"I do hate you," she whispered. "I hate what you represent. I hate that I have to be here."
"I know," Arga said.
He reached out, his hand slowly covering hers on the silk sheets. His touch was warm, and this time, Zara didn't pull away. She was so tired of being alone. She was so tired of fighting.
"We're both trapped in this, Zara," Arga said. "But maybe we don't have to be enemies."
Zara looked at their joined hands. "What are we then?"
Arga leaned in, his face inches from hers. "Partners. In a very dark, very messy business."
He didn't kiss her. He just stayed there, his forehead resting against hers, two broken people in a beautiful cage, waiting for the sun to come up on a world they were both determined to burn.
But as Zara closed her eyes, she knew the war was far from over. Intan was still out there. Her father was still out there. And somewhere in the dark, a new enemy was already watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at the heart of the Wijaya empire.
"Sleep," Arga whispered. "Tomorrow, we finish what we started."
Zara fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, the first peaceful sleep she'd had in a week. But in her dreams, she saw a glass of milk, a hotel room key, and a pair of eyes that looked exactly like her own, filled with a hunger that no amount of money could ever satisfy.
The game was just beginning. And the next move belonged to the sister she had underestimated for far too long.
