I took a sip of my black coffee, now cold, letting its bitterness linger on my tongue as an anchor to keep my consciousness alert. Before me, the risk analysis files for the trillion-rupiah project looked like skeletal remains, ready to collapse if I misplaced even a single variable., ready to collapse if I misplaced even a single variable. Around me, the Pramatya Group headquarters had begun to fall silent; the lights in marketing and finance had flickered out one by one, leaving a dimness pierced only by the glow of my monitor.
However, it wasn't the profit projection numbers or market volatility charts that truly occupied my focus tonight.
My gaze shifted instinctively toward the closed door of Arsyeela's office. I knew she was still there. Through the glass wall separating our spaces, I could sense her energy—tense, exhausted, and burdened by a suffocating weight. Since the phone call from her father this afternoon, there had been a tiny fracture in her cold mask. It was subtle, nearly invisible to the rest of the staff, but it was glaringly obvious to me.
Every time she took a breath too deep, or when her fingers tapped the desk in an irregular rhythm, I knew she was at war with her own thoughts.
I leaned back in my chair, letting it creak softly in the silence. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing my memory to drift back seven years, to a time when I was still Adrian Kusnadi, just stepping into the harsh world of university life.
Seven years ago, I first met her—not in a warm setting, but under the scorching sun of a football field that burned the skin.
Arsyeela Rengganis Pramatya.
At the time, she was the most revered discipline commander of the student orientation committee. I remember exactly how she stood before me, staring at me with eyes so cold, as if I were nothing but dust disrupting the order of her world. I was punished with fifty push-ups because I had deliberately ignored her instructions to protect Nathan, my younger brother, who was nearly fainting in the back row.
"You think a family name can save you here?" her voice rang out firmly, full of authority. She saw me only as a defiant freshman who needed to be subdued. But behind all that, I saw her fingers gripping the clipboard until her knuckles turned white, holding back a tremor that wouldn't subside under the pressure of the position she carried.
The climax was one night in the Archaic Room—the old, seldom-used library in a corner of the Business Faculty building. I was walking home when I saw the door slightly ajar. Inside, in the dim moonlight, I saw her.
Arsyeela wasn't studying. The field executioner who had punished me that afternoon was sitting on the cold floor, leaning against a high bookshelf, hugging her knees. There was no sound of crying. There was only a thick emptiness in her eyes—the kind of void that appears when someone realizes they have no place to go emotionally.
I didn't greet her that night. As Adrian, the student she had just punished, I knew that for someone like Arsyeela, pity was an insult. So, I just stood in the darkness of the outer corridor, flicking my lighter without lighting a cigarette—just to ensure there was a small sound to accompany her, so she knew she wasn't truly alone. I watched over her in silence until she was strong enough to stand again, putting back on the cold "Pramatya" face.
And I knew that same exhaustion still clung to her tonight—only now she had changed uniforms and carried a far more blood-soaked responsibility.
The sound of the door swinging open with a soft jolt pulled me back to reality.
Arsyeela emerged from her office. Her steps were no longer as steady as they had been during the morning meeting. She seemed surprised to see me still sitting at my desk. She paused for a moment, adjusting her bag, and tried to summon back the authority in her voice.
"Why haven't you gone home yet, Adrian? It's past operating hours," she asked. Her tone tried to regain professionalism, but I could hear the slight quiver that only surfaced when she was at the edge of her limit.
I stood up calmly. "There are a few vendor report details I need to re-verify, Ma'am. According to my analysis, the cost projections submitted by the other divisions are too optimistic. We need a more conservative backup plan."
I deliberately threw out a technical argument. I knew Arsyeela well enough; if I asked if she was okay, she would build her walls even higher.; if I asked if she was okay, she would build her walls even higher. But if I challenged her logic, she would stay just to prove she was still in control.
Arsyeela narrowed her eyes, approaching my desk. "Optimistic? We've already locked contracts with three major suppliers, Adrian. Don't be so cautious that we lose momentum."
"Caution is a form of defense, Ma'am. Momentum without security is a fatal business gamble," I countered, looking her straight in the eye.
We stood facing each other in the quiet office space. I could see the irritation in her eyes, but beneath it, there was a flash of respect. I was the only person in this company brave enough to correct her strategy without fear.
"We'll discuss this again tomorrow morning at eight. Bring your comparative data," she finally said.
We walked toward the elevator side by side. Inside the narrow, polished space, I could see her reflection in the metallic doors. She was watching me through that reflection, her eyes scanning my face, searching for answers to the puzzle that was beginning to haunt her.
Silence crept between us. Only the soft hum of the descending elevator remained. One second... two seconds... the silence felt so heavy and intimate that I could hear my own heartbeat beneath the faint scent of her sandalwood perfume.
"You look tired," I said finally, breaking the silence just as the elevator chimed at the lobby floor. "I've ordered a warm coffee at the cafe across the street that's still open. No talk about vendors. Just coffee to accompany your drive home, so you don't fall asleep at the wheel."
She fell silent, her steps stalling at the elevator threshold. She looked at me for a long time, as if searching for a hidden motive. However, after a few seconds, her shoulders dropped slightly. The tension in her jaw relaxed.
"Thank you, Adrian," she replied briefly. The words were spoken with a tone of genuine sincerity.
I held the lobby door open for her, letting her walk toward her car. Once her taillights disappeared around the building's corner, I reached for the vibrating phone in my pocket.
A message from Nathan—my brother, and the final piece of the Pramatya puzzle—had arrived.
Nathan:Bro, secured shares have reached 5.8%. Mbak Dina says Ginandra is starting to smell a 'dark player.' Do we keep going or lie low for now?
I stood under the dim streetlight, typing a response quickly.
Adrian:Keep going. Don't stop until we hold 10%. Let Ginandra be busy chasing his own shadows. Our job is to ensure Arsyeela has a soft cushion when this family war breaks out. She must not fall alone this time.
I turned off the phone. Tonight, I would remain the calm Adrian. Until the time came, when the truth about Nathan and our past would be fully revealed.