Farhan Raksamudra was spinning his executive chair, gazing at the Jakarta skyline slowly shrouded by the afternoon mist. The bulletproof glass of his office not only blocked physical noise but also symbolically protected his realm of control. The Vesta Project had been secured. In four weeks not three months they had achieved monumental results. This victory was not merely an increase in profit; it was a demonstration of his absolute power before the Board of Directors.
Most of this triumph, Farhan knew, came from one source: Sekar's boundless efficiency. Farhan valued results, and Sekar always delivered perfect ones. Over the past week, after his brutal acceleration order, Farhan had never seen hesitation or disappointment in her. Only an extraordinary level of adaptability, as if she were engineered to function under the highest stress conditions.
"You have to admit, this is far cleaner than Rival predicted," Farhan said to the blank screen, recording his voice for self-analysis a habit he kept when reviewing strategies. Rival must be fuming in his office. "The system is perfect. Every variable is closed."
And Sekar was the most crucial component of that system. Farhan had begun to realize that the lack of drama Sekar brought into their contractual marriage offered a kind of peace even meditation or profitable ventures couldn't give him. His household was stable, his schedule flawless, and his unspoken needs were fulfilled before he even recognized them.
Farhan pressed the intercom on his desk. "Sekar, are you still at the office?"
"Yes, Sir. I've just sent the final summary of today's results," Sekar's voice replied, as usual, without pause. No hint of fatigue, even though the day had drained the entire management team.
"Good. Tonight, I want us to dine at home. Prepare something light and bring the Delta Project report. I want to review the timeline for tomorrow."
"Delta Protocol or Delta III, Sir?"
Farhan paused briefly. Only Sekar would ask for such precise specifications at midnight. Anyone else would complain or assume. "The original Delta. I need the calmness of today's data. And… just wear something casual. Don't be too formal. You're my wife tonight, not my negotiator."
"Understood, Sir. Dinner and the Delta Report will be prepared. Casual attire will be adjusted accordingly," Sekar replied, ending the communication.
Farhan leaned back and exhaled. Why did he have to specify her outfit? He didn't know. He just wanted to crack that robotic façade a little, yet Sekar responded as if it were another protocol instruction. And oddly, that soothed him.
He liked the fact that he could ask for anything no matter how absurd and Sekar would fulfill it with the highest professionalism, even when it violated the ethics of a normal human being.
Sekar had adjusted their dinner schedule, moving it forward from the 8:00 p.m. protocol to 7:30 p.m., assuming Farhan was tired. Although she was asked to dress "casually," Sekar knew Farhan's definition of "casual" was far above normal standards. She chose a minimalist cream silk dress, which she considered neutral and professional.
Sekar served a light truffle mushroom soup and artisanal bread. The meal was perfect. The temperature, perfect. The dining table, usually cluttered with Farhan's documents, now held only two minimalist sets of plates.
"Please, Sir. This is to ease your stomach after a long day," Sekar said as Farhan took his seat. She placed the Delta Report two inches thick in the least distracting corner of the table.
Farhan stared at the soup for a moment, then looked up at Sekar sitting across from him, upright and alert, as if awaiting instructions at a meeting.
"Sekar, relax a little. We've already won Vesta. You don't need to give me a presentation about mushroom soup," Farhan said, his voice soft, almost bored.
"I understand, Sir. I just wanted to ensure the meal protocol was met efficiently," Sekar replied, trying to loosen her stiff shoulders, following Farhan's instruction to "relax."
"No need to be efficient. Just functional. Today, functionality means tranquility," Farhan explained, sipping his soup. Silence filled the room a comfortable one, unlike the tense silence he used to endure with past fiancées who demanded emotional recognition.
"I was thinking at the office earlier," Farhan continued, staring at his plate instead of Sekar. "That sudden order for Vesta. It was truly beyond limits."
Sekar waited. She knew Farhan wasn't seeking sympathy; he wanted validation of his control.
"I know. But it worked," Sekar replied. "The risks were calculated, and strategic superiority was achieved. No variable remained unmanageable."
Farhan smiled faintly a nearly invisible expression, a distorted form of satisfaction. "Right. You're the only person who can take the emotional and business chaos I create and return it to me as a calm, perfect flowchart."
Farhan set down his spoon and finally looked into Sekar's eyes. "You know, all this time I've relied on structure control, rules, logic. My father taught me that. I built Raksamudra with logical walls that no one could penetrate. But…" Farhan hesitated. The word but felt heavy, a word that shouldn't exist in his vocabulary.
"But?" Sekar prompted, her tone neutral.
"Sometimes even the perfect wall needs… an anchor. Something still, calm, unmoving. Non-reactive," Farhan said. "You. You are the perfect anchor, Sekar. You don't show love. You don't show anger. You are stability. That calms my anxiety."
Sekar felt her chest tighten but suppressed her reaction. Farhan had admitted his need yet in his words, Sekar was nothing more than an object. A therapeutic tool. A functional device meant to stabilize him. She was part of Farhan's psychological defense architecture, not a human being with equal needs.
"That is part of the Act, Sir," Sekar replied, keeping herself behind the rigid walls of their contract. "To provide professional, domestic, and social support."
Farhan nodded, accepting the cold response with relief. He didn't have to face emotional depth only functionality.
"Finish your dinner. And yes, that Delta Report is just to calm my mind, no need to work on it tonight," Farhan said. He knew he was seeking reassurance, not productivity.
Sekar finished her soup in silence. Though Farhan's words hurt because they objectified her, paradoxically, they also confirmed her role. Farhan needed her. That need was her source of security.
After dinner, Sekar cleaned the kitchen flawlessly, then excused herself to her room to "prepare tomorrow's schedule" an alibi for a moment of solitude.
It was already 12:30 a.m. Farhan had finished a series of international calls and now sat on the sofa in his private living room. Even though the Vesta Project was a success, his mind refused to rest. The thirst for control which he thought had been subdued by victory resurfaced. He felt restless. The silence of the penthouse felt too wide, inviting uncertainty.
Farhan rose. Normally, he would check his vault or head to his office to rearrange contingency plans. But tonight, his feet led him down the private corridor toward Sekar's room.
He stopped at her door, questioning his own actions. Why? What was he seeking? There was no logical answer. He didn't need data; he wasn't looking for complaints. He simply… needed confirmation of Sekar's presence.
He slowly turned the doorknob. The door opened without a sound. Sekar's room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights through the large window.
Farhan stepped in quietly, his defense system on full alert yet confused. He saw Sekar, not in the bed he had arranged for her, but on the recliner near the window, leaning back with the thick Delta Report resting on her lap. Sekar was asleep, her minimalist silk shirt wrinkled, her hair loose from its usual tie. In her sleep, Sekar looked truly fragile. The mask was gone.
That night, Farhan glimpsed Sekar Ayu the perfect high-functioning woman completely exhausted.
Farhan walked closer, as if drawn by a magnetic force. Standing beside the chair, his shadow fell over her. He observed the weary lines on Sekar's sleeping face. In that silence, his racing nerves began to calm. Restlessness, business worries, and obsession with control slowly ebbed away.
He realized: just by seeing Sekar unconscious and completely still, merely her physical presence in the room made him feel safe.
Farhan slowly reached out not to wake or touch her, but to take the Delta Report from her lap so she wouldn't strain her neck. As his hand neared, an unfamiliar sensation washed over him: calmness, cold as ice yet powerful. As if Sekar's fragile sleep had magically absorbed his anxiety.
Farhan took the report, placed it on the side table, and pulled a small blanket from the sofa to drape over her shoulders. He did it all without interaction, as though repairing a malfunctioning security system.
He stood there, beside the sleeping Sekar. His anxiety his fear of losing control had mysteriously subsided. Without realizing it, Farhan had associated Sekar with safety.
Farhan gazed at the sleeping woman. A philosophical thought crossed his mind: I must protect this anchor. If it breaks, my control will collapse. He turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. Sekar did not move.
Yet, deep within Sekar's sleeping mind, something biological shifted. Her defenses, panic valves, and tense muscles all rested. Because somehow, though completely exhausted, Sekar subconsciously knew one thing: for the first time since she moved there, Farhan had ensured her safety.
Farhan returned to his room. The anxiety that once required market analysis or contract negotiations to soothe disappeared that night simply by watching a woman sleep.
He touched his lips, recalling the silence in Sekar's room. This isn't love, Farhan affirmed. This is psychological efficiency. He went back to his sofa, feeling entirely safe, entirely calm. Without realizing it, Farhan had made Sekar his new sedative.
He didn't know that Sekar, even in sleep, was fighting to survive hiding behind total exhaustion, the very exhaustion that Farhan now regarded as a symbol of perfect tranquility.