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The library that afternoon was cloaked in silence. Only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional echo of footsteps broke the stillness. Putri stepped inside with a somber expression, her shoulders tense. She needed a place where no one could disturb her, a sanctuary where she could hide from the chaos clawing at her mind.
She moved deeper into the library, deliberately choosing a seat in the farthest corner, far from the entrance. After placing her bag and phone on the desk, she stood again and wandered toward the tall shelves. Her fingers glided across the spines of books, brushing over familiar titles, until she finally pulled out the one she needed.
Just as she turned to go back, her steps halted.
At the end of the quiet aisle, someone was curled up on the floor. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly, and faint, muffled sobs escaped him. Whoever he was, he was trying hard to bury his tears in silence.
Putri's brows furrowed. For a brief moment, pity stirred in her chest. But when her gaze focused on the details—the crisp white shirt, the expensive-looking bag resting beside him, and the black headset always dangling from his neck—her breath caught.
Putra.
The sympathy dissolved instantly, replaced by disbelief. Putra—the aloof heir, the popular student every girl admired, the man who always carried himself with composed indifference—was crying? Alone, hidden away in the shadows of the library?
Putri bit her lip. Don't soften, Putri. Don't forget who he is. She could almost hear her conscience screaming at her. Because of him, your name and reputation were nearly destroyed. People whispered that you were only chasing after his money. Remember how cruel those rumors felt. Don't let yourself waver now.
She shook her head sharply, forcing her heart back into armor. Without sparing him another glance, she turned and walked away, her footsteps deliberately quick.
---
When she returned to her desk, Bayu was already there, lounging with his laptop open. Two cups of fresh orange juice sat on the table.
"Took you long enough, Put. Where've you been?" Bayu asked, sipping lazily from his drink.
"Looking for a book. Took some time to find it," Putri replied curtly, sitting down.
Bayu chuckled. "Figures. Oh, and by the way, your phone's been buzzing like crazy. Been vibrating nonstop, I swear it's messing with my concentration."
Putri rolled her eyes and, without warning, kicked Bayu lightly on the shin under the table.
"Ow! Damn, that hurt! What the hell, woman?!" Bayu winced, clutching his leg.
A small laugh slipped from her lips, easing her mood if only slightly. She pulled the chair closer, set the book on the table, and finally reached for her phone.
The moment the screen lit up, her blood ran cold.
Bayu hadn't been exaggerating. Dozens of messages filled her notifications, but nearly all of them carried the same link. Her hand trembled as she tapped one open.
Her heart plummeted.
The video showed the incident from that very morning at the campus gate—the brief moment she had stood near Putra. But the clip had been crudely edited. Cropped, slowed down, and spliced together in such a way that it looked as if she and Putra were kissing. Worse, her expression was zoomed in and highlighted, manipulated to look as though she had been shamelessly seducing him.
"No… no, this isn't real…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her fingers went numb. The phone slipped from her grip and clattered onto the table.
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Bayu reached for the fallen phone. But when his eyes scanned the screen, his playful smirk vanished. His jaw tightened.
"…Shit." The curse left his mouth in a low growl. His gaze snapped to Putri, filled with worry and anger. "If this spreads any further… your reputation will be ruined."
Before Putri could respond, another notification popped up on the screen. Bayu read it out loud.
> If you dare mess with my fiancé, if you try to steal him away, I'll make sure your life and your name are destroyed. Consider this your only warning.
Bayu's fist slammed against the table, startling a few students nearby. "Unbelievable. A threat like this? They've crossed the line." He leaned closer, lowering his voice but his tone was fierce. "Put, you have to be careful. Someone's targeting you. They want you broken."
Putri snatched the phone back, her cheeks flushed red—not from embarrassment, but from the storm raging inside her. Fear, rage, and confusion swirled together, each emotion threatening to tear her apart.
Her thoughts darted to one name.
Putra.
The video centered on him. The rumors, the stares, the whispers—they all tied back to him. He had to know something. Or worse… what if he was behind it?
Without another word, she bolted up from her chair and strode toward the aisle where she'd seen him earlier. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her legs moving on instinct.
But when she reached the end of the row, the space was empty. The corner where he had been crouched moments ago was bare, the seat cold and unoccupied. As though he had never been there at all.
Putri froze. The silence pressed down on her, heavier than before. A shiver slid down her spine.
Was I imagining it? Or did he vanish the moment I turned my back?
Her throat tightened. Suspicion twisted with unease, leaving her both curious and unsettled.
"…Putra," she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. "What are you hiding from me?"
The library hummed quietly around her, but inside her chest, a storm had already begun.