Friday night arrived dressed in glittering city lights.
The restaurant Randy's father had chosen stood at the corner of an upscale boulevard — all polished glass, warm golden lighting, and the low hum of expensive conversations.
Claire stepped out of the car beside her mother, her pale dress catching faint reflections of the chandelier-lit windows. She'd tied her hair back simply, but the moment they entered, she felt every eye weigh her presence — not because of beauty, but because in this room, every detail was currency.
Randy rose from a table near the center, his smile practiced but warm.
"Claire." He kissed her cheek lightly, his cologne sharp and deliberate. "Glad you could make it."
Beside him, his father stood — tall, with a handshake that was neither too firm nor too soft. His eyes, however, were harder to read — calm, but watchful.
Dinner was served in courses, each more artful than the last. They talked about harmless things: school, music, holiday plans. But beneath it all, Claire felt something pulsing — like a low hum beneath polished conversation.
Randy's father asked questions that felt… measured.
Her future plans. Her family background. Her friends.
She smiled, answered politely. All the while, her mind worked like a quiet recorder, storing every flicker in their expressions.
Halfway through the meal, she excused herself to the restroom. The hallway was softly lit, lined with framed black-and-white photographs of Jakarta's old streets. Her heels clicked lightly against the marble.
As she reached for the door handle, her phone buzzed.
No name. Just a number she didn't recognize.
She frowned, unlocking it — and froze.
UNKNOWN:
Be careful with the Randy family. You don't know what they've done.
Her pulse jumped. She scanned the corridor — empty.
Another buzz.
UNKNOWN:
Don't let them see you hesitate. And don't trust anyone tonight.
Her grip tightened on the phone.
The restroom door swung open as a woman stepped out, smiling politely before passing.
Claire slipped inside, locking the stall. Her mind was racing now. Who sent it? Miko? No — he would've used his usual number.
And if it wasn't him…
Then someone else was watching.
Not just her.
The dinner.
Maybe even this moment.
She stared at the glowing screen, her own reflection faint in the glass.
The last message appeared.
UNKNOWN:
If you want to survive — leave before dessert.
Her phone went still.
So did she.
Outside, she could hear faint laughter from the dining hall — Randy's voice among it, smooth and steady.
She slipped the phone into her bag, straightened her dress, and looked at herself in the mirror.
A girl who came here for dinner.
But might be leaving with something far more dangerous than an empty stomach.
Claire steadied her breathing, smoothing her dress as if the simple act could iron out the sharp edges of her thoughts.
Leaving now would be suspicious.
And if Randy's family really had something to hide, walking out halfway through the evening might close a door she wasn't ready to shut.
No — she would stay.
But she would watch even closer.
When she stepped back into the corridor, the sound of the dining room returned — warm chatter, clinking cutlery, a soft piano drifting in the background.
She rejoined the table with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, long line at the restroom."
Randy's father gave a short nod. "Understandable. We just ordered dessert."
His gaze lingered for a moment, unreadable.
As the waiters brought delicate plates of chocolate mousse and crème brûlée, Claire let her eyes wander — catching small details.
Randy's father tapping his fingers slowly on the table whenever her mother spoke, as if weighing her words.
The way Randy's posture shifted subtly when his father mentioned trust and loyalty.
The faint buzz of a phone in Randy's pocket that he ignored — not once, but twice.
She forced herself to taste the dessert, to laugh lightly when the conversation called for it.
But her mind kept returning to the messages.
Be careful with the Randy family. You don't know what they've done.
Leave before dessert.
And yet here she was — in the middle of it.
Halfway through dessert, Randy leaned closer. "You okay? You've been quiet."
Claire met his gaze and smiled faintly. "Just tired. Long week."
He studied her for a beat too long, as though looking for cracks in her voice.
Then he smiled again, softer. "We can leave soon. I'll drive you home."
Her phone buzzed under the table.
She kept her expression neutral as she glanced down.
UNKNOWN:
Too late. He's already making his move.
Her chest tightened.
She looked up — Randy was still smiling.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if that smile meant comfort…
or danger.
The rest of the dinner blurred.
Claire spoke when spoken to, smiled when expected, but her mind kept circling back to that last text.
He's already making his move.
Randy's father signed the bill without hesitation, his pen gliding across the receipt in crisp, precise strokes. When he looked up, his eyes met hers briefly — steady, but sharp enough to feel like they were testing her resolve.
Outside, the night air was cooler, carrying the faint scent of wet pavement. Randy opened the car door for her, a small gesture that might have felt sweet under any other circumstance.
Her mother sat in the back with Randy's father, chatting lightly about a charity event. Claire slid into the passenger seat, her phone tucked in her lap, screen dark. She didn't dare check it again in front of them.
The ride home was quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional flash of streetlights across Randy's face. He kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel.
But every so often, she caught him glancing her way — quick, unreadable.
When they pulled up to her house, Randy's father stepped out to shake her mother's hand, exchanging polite words about "catching up again soon."
Randy turned to Claire. "Text me when you're settled, okay?" His voice was calm, almost gentle.
Claire gave a small nod. "Sure."
She stepped inside with her mother, watching through the curtain as their car disappeared down the street.
Only then did she pull out her phone.
No new messages.
The unknown number had gone silent.
She sank onto her bed, her dress still neat, her hair still pinned — but her thoughts were anything but composed.
Who had sent the warning?
Miko? Unlikely — he wouldn't hide his number.
Someone close to Randy's family? Possible.
Or… someone watching them both?
The words replayed in her head: Be careful with the Randy family. You don't know what they've done.
Too late. He's already making his move.
Claire stared at the ceiling, the shadows shifting with the streetlights outside.
Somewhere out there, someone knew more than she did.
And until she found out who — and why — she couldn't trust anyone.
Not Randy.
Not his father.
Maybe not even herself.