Bagas's cousins' laughter in the living room died the moment Naira emerged from the kitchen carrying the main course.
Naira's steps halted in the doorway of the sliding door. Her hands gripped the teakwood tray tightly. Steam from the oxtail soup dampened her impassive face. The aroma of spices collided with the expensive perfume worn by everyone in the room.
A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward her at once. Silence. The warmth from a moment ago vanished, replaced by a suffocating awkwardness.
The long mahogany dining table was already full. The members of the Dirgantara extended family had dressed in their finest clothes. Mrs. Hartini sat arrogantly at the head of the table, with Bagas and Larasati seated close together at her right. Across from them, Uncle Danu, Aunt Rahma, and Ratna waited for the food.
They were celebrating something. And Naira was the only person in the house employed as a servant for their party.
"Bring the soup over here, Naira," Mrs. Hartini ordered, breaking the silence. "Put it right in front of Larasati. She needs plenty of warm broth. Her stomach has been nauseated since this afternoon."
Naira didn't answer. She walked forward, holding back the thunder of her heart against her ribs. Her shoes tapped against the marble floor in a steady rhythm. She placed the porcelain bowl on the wooden trivet in front of Larasati.
Larasati wore a short-sleeved pink silk dress. A thirty-million-rupiah diamond necklace glittered beneath the crystal chandelier. The woman kept stroking her slightly swollen stomach, slowly and with unmistakable intent.
"Thank you, Ms. Naira," she said, deliberately making her voice soft and sympathetic.
Ratna leaned forward from across the table. A broad smile spread across her dark-red-painted lips.
"You have to force yourself to eat, Laras. When I was pregnant with my first child, my morning sickness was terrible too. The old folks used to say that meant the baby was a strong boy."
Uncle Danu laughed, leaning back in his chair. "That's right. The Dirgantara family needs a strong heir. We'll hold a huge seven-month celebration at a ballroom. Invite all of Bagas's business contacts."
The air in the room seemed to shrink. Naira stood frozen behind the empty chair at the end of the table. Her chest tightened. Cold blood rushed to her fingertips.
Their conversation flowed so easily. Without a trace of awkwardness. They discussed Larasati's pregnancy openly in front of her, normalizing this betrayal as if it were nothing unusual.
Naira pulled out the chair and sat down slowly, as far away from her husband as possible.
"Uncle Danu already knew about this pregnancy?" Naira cut in, her flat voice slicing through the conversation.
Uncle Danu stopped laughing. He glanced briefly at Bagas, then looked at Naira with a furrowed brow.
"Of course I knew. We were all there praying for Bagas and Laras when they had their secret wedding eight months ago. It was a private ceremony attended only by immediate family. Laras wasn't pregnant then, but we all supported Bagas's good intentions."
Immediate family.
Those two words struck Naira hard in the pit of her stomach. Her husband had married again. Her mother-in-law had planned the ceremony and served as a witness. Her uncle, aunt, sister-in-law—everyone sitting at this table—had conspired to keep that filthy secret for a full eight months.
When Bagas and Larasati exchanged their wedding vows, Naira had been at the factory, wracking her brain to find a loan to pay off the machinery installments. Protecting Dirgantara's reputation. Naira was a stranger who had never been considered part of the family.
"Bagas, pour that soup into Laras's bowl," Mrs. Hartini ordered again.
Bagas obeyed without protest. He spooned broth and pieces of meat into Larasati's bowl, then gently blew on it before bringing it to his younger wife's lips. A small kindness he had never shown Naira, not even when she was pregnant with Kirana, Ratih, or Swara.
Naira picked up her glass of ice water and drank slowly. The chill traveled down her throat, dampening the heat ready to erupt from her chest.
Ratna turned toward her, scanning Naira's clothes from head to toe: a dark-gray knitted sweater and ordinary slacks. They stood in stark contrast to the luxury surrounding everyone else in the room.
"You need to understand, Naira," she said in a patronizing tone. "Bagas is the CEO. He inherited the family business. He needs a son to carry on the family legacy. You can't give him one, so it's only natural that Bagas would find a way out. You need to support him."
Aunt Rahma chimed in while chewing. "Ratna's right. You should be grateful Bagas hasn't sent you back to your family. You're still his wife, and you still live in a house this grand. Laras is a good woman too. She's willing to respect you as the first wife."
Naira tightened her grip on the glass. Her knuckles stood out. Their words were poison wrapped in a ribbon of falsehood.
Naira set down her glass. The sharp sound of glass striking marble rang out.
"Support his way out?" Naira repeated slowly, her eyes fixed on Ratna. "Does that include supporting the fact that the factory's cash reserves have been drained to rent a luxury apartment for Larasati these past eight months?"
The dining room fell silent.
The clinking of forks and spoons stopped. Uncle Danu set down his spoon and quickly turned toward his nephew.
"What does this mean, Gas? Is the factory running out of money?" he demanded, his voice rising. His profits as a minor shareholder were at stake too.
Bagas's face turned crimson. The veins in his neck throbbed violently. He slammed his hand on the table, making the porcelain plates rattle.
"Naira's rambling, Uncle! She's just jealous, trying to find fault with me. The factory's financial reports are fine!"
"They're fine because I'm the one covering the holes at the end of every month," Naira replied calmly, refusing to be intimidated. Her gaze swept over every face in the room. "I'm the one who negotiates with the teak suppliers. I'm the one who cuts operating costs. I'm the one who falsified the accounts receivable data so the bank wouldn't seize our assets. I did all of that to keep your factory from going under. And in return, Bagas transfers fifty million rupiah every month to Larasati Wening's personal account."
Larasati immediately lowered her head, covering her face with both hands. Her shoulders trembled. A quiet sob escaped her, cutting through the tension.
"Honey, I didn't know that money came from the factory," she sobbed brokenly, leaning against Bagas's shoulder. "You said it was your personal money. I'll return the diamond necklace and the apartment expenses, honey. I don't want to be accused of robbing this family."
Bagas immediately wrapped an arm around Larasati's shoulders, staring at Naira with blazing hatred.
"Are you satisfied now? Did you deliberately humiliate me in front of my family with your made-up story?"
Mrs. Hartini slammed her hand on the table. Her face hardened with fury.
"Naira! Shut your mouth! The factory's money belongs to this family. Bagas has every right to use it however he pleases. You're nothing but a wife who's been allowed to handle the books. Don't you dare try to control my son's finances!"
"That factory is still breathing because of my hard work," Naira shot back. Her voice didn't rise, but its firmness pierced the room. "This family is busy celebrating an unborn baby with money that should be paying our carpenters' overtime wages."
Ratna smiled sarcastically, folding her arms. "You're just jealous, Naira. You're bitter because Bagas loves Laras and her baby boy. Women who fail to provide children always look for ways to destroy other people's happiness."
Pain throbbed in Naira's chest. Upstairs, her three daughters had locked themselves in their rooms. Kirana, Ratih, and Swara had been hungry since the afternoon, refusing to come downstairs because they didn't want to see the woman who had stolen their father. Her children were suffering, and these people called her a failure.
Naira stood. She pushed her chair back, its scrape shattering the atmosphere. Calmly, she smoothed her knitted sweater.
"Please enjoy your dinner," she said coldly.
She turned and walked away without waiting for a response. She didn't look back. Faintly, she heard Mrs. Hartini's annoyed clicking of her tongue and Bagas soothing Larasati's sobs.
Naira's footsteps felt light as she made her way down the hall toward the kitchen. Her decision was final. She needed to contact her lawyer immediately and retrieve the documents from the bank tomorrow morning. Her sadness was gone, replaced by the fuel for precise calculation.
When she reached the end of the hall, hurried footsteps followed behind her.
Naira stopped and turned. Ratna stood there, holding a clean dishcloth and pretending she had come to the kitchen to get something. But satisfaction gleamed in her eyes.
She patted Naira's shoulder and whispered sarcastically, "Thank goodness someone can finally give Mother a grandson. You need to be gracious about it, Naira."