The 35th anniversary celebration of the Raksamudra Group an event Farhan called "The Cold Birthday" was a battlefield, not a celebration. That night, in the grand hall illuminated by crystals and the glitter of social lies, Sekar realized that her mask had to be thicker than ever before. At home, she only needed to hide her fragility from Farhan; here, she had to conceal her humanity from hundreds of eyes hungry for drama and downfall.
Her evening gown felt like armor made of thin silk elegant, expensive, yet offering no real protection against psychological threats. From the moment she entered the lobby, she became a subject of public scrutiny: the secretary who, somehow over six months, had ascended to become Mrs. Raksamudra, holder of half the wealth of the man now standing upright beside her.
Farhan felt the familiar tension in himself, the tension that always disappeared when Sekar was near. Tonight, that sensation returned sharp, alert, yet strangely more tolerable. He watched Sekar smile a perfectly trained expression while receiving shallow greetings from colleagues harboring grudges. Sekar's smile was the product of clever calculation; polite yet devoid of promises, cold yet efficient.
"You know what they say behind our backs, don't you?" Farhan whispered, not diverting his gaze from the cluster of directors in the corner. He didn't need an answer; it was a statement.
"They say your will was rushed," Sekar replied, her voice calm and measured, steady even as she accepted a glass of champagne from a server. "They expected me to be a weak woman, after all, chasing only your money. They counted the days until I would make a domestic mistake that you could use to void the Act."
Farhan leaned slightly toward her, appreciating the brutal honesty in her tone. "And?"
"And, they were disappointed, Sir. I didn't make a mistake. I am a perfect calculation. I uphold this Act better than my own life," Sekar said, without a trace of emotion.
The fact that Sekar equated the Act to a duty to be maintained reassured Farhan. This was what he paid for: efficiency and stability, not messy love.
As Farhan felt his control tighten, the greatest threat of the night emerged. Rival CEO Budi Harta a cunning man with a fake smile and a condescending stare, approached them.
"Farhan, congratulations on your celebration," Rival greeted, his voice too warm for the cold setting. His eyes immediately swept over Sekar, from head to toe. "And Mrs. Raksamudra. I'm still impressed by this sudden transformation. A few months ago, you were busy managing Farhan's coffee schedule."
Farhan felt a surge of anger, but he had promised himself not to react. Rival was baiting him to appear emotional, a fatal weakness in the eyes of the board.
"Budi. Life always moves, and change is constant," Farhan replied, maintaining the rigid CEO tone.
Rival chuckled, a mocking, sarcastic sound. He then focused entirely on Sekar. "However, I want to know, Mrs. Sekar. I hear you are very efficient. Is being a wife far more difficult than being a secretary? At least before, you only had to deal with one boss. Now, you must manage one Raksamudra, one board, and dozens of media outlets."
Suddenly, Sekar's eyes sparkled not with anger, but with rapid analysis. Rival had provided a logical opening. He attacked identity, not compliance.
"Your question is flawed, Mr. Budi," Sekar said, her tone as cold as newly formed ice, leaving Farhan momentarily stunned. He almost forgot Sekar's capability under pressure. This was the moment Sekar returned to the perfect secretary who had once impressed him.
She continued, "Previously, as Sir Farhan's personal secretary, I was the core navigation system ensuring operational stability. That involved executing detailed tasks. Perfect tasks had to be 100% accurate. My current status as Mrs. Raksamudra is different. I have become Farhan's 'strategic anchor' in the public eye."
Rival looked confused; his smile faltered slightly. He expected emotion or nervousness, not cold business terminology.
"I find this role far more efficient," Sekar added, staring sharply at Rival. "Because this marriage Act guarantees leadership stability for Raksamudra while Sir Farhan focuses fully on company operations. That means trivial issues like baseless accusations from the board or unclear rumors are automatically listed as 'Problems the CEO Need Not Acknowledge.'"
Rival paused. Farhan had to restrain his breath. Sekar had just elegantly stated that Rival and all his schemes were "trivial, irrelevant issues."
"That means," Sekar tilted her head slightly, as if only now realizing the amusing fact, "I no longer need to worry about managing your coffee or your meeting schedules, Mr. Budi. Because, as you know, this Marriage Contract Act clearly directs my responsibilities solely toward essential Raksamudra affairs, and primarily, Sir Farhan."
The statement hit Rival with two devastating blows: professional humiliation and the affirmation of Farhan's power via the Act.
Farhan felt a warm sensation along his neck not anger, but an unexpected thrill. Sudden admiration arose for Sekar's intelligence in wielding their contractual logic as a weapon. She did not defend him emotionally, but professionally, asserting that her position was an unshakable asset.
Rival forced a final, grim smile. "Interesting. It seems the Act is detailed even psychologically. Enjoy your new position, Mrs. Sekar."
Rival departed, sensing his defeat witnessed by a few eavesdropping directors. Sekar turned to Farhan, awaiting evaluation, as usual.
"Is there anything I should improve in my answer, Sir?" she asked, flatly.
Farhan stared at her for a long moment, his eyes conveying surprise and a hint of hidden confusion. Sekar faced a direct threat and, instead of faltering, used the suffocating Act as both shield and sword. She transformed a humiliating role (secretary) into a strategic advantage.
"No," Farhan said softly, his voice hoarse. He stepped closer, reducing Sekar's personal space to nearly nothing.
Sekar tensed, holding her breath as she had with her fake morning cough. Farhan's proximity, his intense gaze, no longer carried the scent of supervision, but something far more personal, threatening her inner balance.
"Budi knows, he only attacked your status," Farhan said, his eyes locking onto hers. "But what he forgot, the Act was created by a control expert. The Act is leak-proof."
Farhan touched Sekar's hip, a public gesture meant to assert ownership in front of others. This touch was supposed to be transactional, part of her role. Yet this time, Farhan did it for himself. The warmth spreading from his palm along her waist gave Farhan a new kind of calm, different from the stability provided by the paper Act. It was a calm derived from Sekar's strength, not her obedience.
"You never get nervous, do you?" Farhan asked, his tone no longer the rigid voice of a boss, but that of a curious man. He searched for the vulnerability Budi sought, but found none. Yet if Farhan looked a little deeper, he would notice the subtle tremor beneath the perfect layers.
Sekar restrained all physical reflexes to step back. "Nervousness is a waste of energy I can redirect to situational analysis, Sir."
The answer, logical as it was, now felt like a wall Sekar had erected to block something Farhan had only just begun to feel. Sekar would not let it in. Sekar displayed no drama. She obeyed commands. But within that absolute obedience lay a deadly allure.
Farhan felt his mind wrestle between business analysis (Sekar is a valuable asset) and a sudden emotional impulse (Sekar, the woman behind the mask who amazed him, was irresistibly compelling).
He withdrew his touch. The room became cold again for Sekar, but for Farhan, a trace of warmth lingered on his palm. The shift from mere contractual partner to someone disturbing his emotional equilibrium had begun.
"Let's move. I want to speak with the marketing director," Farhan commanded. This signaled that his role was complete. Sekar had to follow.
Sekar nodded, yet as they walked, she heard Rival's final whisper as he passed through the crowd, loud enough for Farhan to hear, a venomous confession: "Careful, Farhan. An anchor too strong can sink your ship. I know she's only your secretary."
Farhan did not turn, but his grip on Sekar's shoulder tightened. He admired how she responded to external threats. Yet as Sekar restrained tension in her body, Farhan suddenly leaned close to her ear, defying Rival, defying his own logic, defying the Act.
"Sekar," he whispered. One word, yet its tone carried the full weight of his transformation. "I know who you are. You're not just a secretary."
Sekar flinched. Beneath all the pride of having repelled Rival, his words cracked her defenses. She tried to cling to logic and contract, but Farhan's words had created a fissure in the wall. Amidst the glittering chaos of the party, Sekar's heart began racing, feeling something forbidden and dangerous that Farhan saw her as human, not just as an Act. And that was far scarier than any censure Rival could deliver.
Farhan pulled back, yet his eyes never left Sekar. He knew she understood. His newfound fascination was not based on physical desire, but on the obsession to master Sekar's untamed power. Farhan wanted to subdue that brilliant logic, and now, he not only wanted Sekar's obedience, but also the emotional response she had restrained for so long.