Aruna's fingers stopped a few millimeters above the laptop keyboard. The blue light from the screen reflected in her stinging eyes, leaving the cursor blinking impatiently on the blank page. Beside her laptop, a cup of cold black coffee had left a ring-shaped stain on the peeling wooden table.
Ring.
Aruna's cell phone, lying atop a pile of administrative files, began to vibrate loudly. Valerie's name lit up the screen.
Aruna let out a long sigh, pressed the green button, and held the phone to her ear without saying a word.
"Aruna! Where's Chapter Twenty-Four?" Valerie's shrill voice immediately filled her ear, accompanied by the clinking of gold bracelets colliding as the woman moved. "The publisher's been asking for it since this morning! The manuscript has to be submitted today for the special-edition print run!"
"I'm rereading the dialogue section, Val," Aruna replied softly. Her voice was flat, trained to remain calm amid someone else's panic. "The part where the male lead realizes the woman he loves isn't the same person."
A silence hung on the other end of the line for several seconds. Aruna could hear the rustle of fabric—Valerie was probably adjusting her luxurious dress in front of her vanity mirror.
"But what matters is that the words have to be poetic. They have to make readers sob uncontrollably like they did in yesterday's chapter," Valerie cut in quickly. Her tone shifted, becoming softer yet more commanding. "Oh, and while you're at it, make me a caption draft for tonight's Instagram post. The book-cover photo has already been edited. Write something that sounds genuine. As if this book was born from the deepest outpouring of my soul."
Aruna stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the laptop screen. Her face was pale and bare of makeup, her hair carelessly tied up with a wooden pencil.
"Okay," Aruna answered briefly. "I'll send it to your email in an hour."
The call ended abruptly.
Aruna turned her eyes back to the manuscript draft. She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and let her fingers begin to dance across the keyboard. The character she had brought to life wasn't merely a string of words on paper, but half of her own soul—a soul she had been forced to sell to pay a pile of bills that refused to compromise.
Two hours later, Aruna stood in the corner of the book exhibition in the Grand Ballroom of a luxury hotel. Unlike the other guests, who were dressed in their finest clothes, Aruna wrapped herself in a loose cream-colored shirt and dark slacks.
On the main stage, the spotlight fixed itself on Valerie.
The woman looked stunning in a crimson dress. Her hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, and her smile blossomed beautifully before dozens of press cameras. Clutched tightly in her hands was a book with a luxurious hardcover.
LOVE BEHIND SOMEONE ELSE'S NAME. Author: Valerie Anggita.
"This book," Valerie's voice boomed through the microphone, sounding so elegant and full of feeling, "is the deepest outpouring of my soul. Every line was written on silent nights when I reflected on the meaning of sincerity."
A thunderous round of applause filled the room. Aruna watched as Valerie's fingers stroked the book's cover—the cover that had never been touched by a single one of Valerie's ideas.
In another corner of the room, a man stood straight, his tall frame wrapped in a black suit. He did not join in the applause. His sharp, cold eyes were fixed solely on the book in Valerie's hands, then slowly lowered to read the sample pages he held.
Rangga Dewantara.
Aruna recognized the man from the business magazines that often lay scattered across her office desk. But what made Aruna hold her breath was the way Rangga read. He wasn't merely flipping through the pages. His finger stopped at the fourteenth line of the first chapter—the line where Aruna had written her definition of loneliness.
Rangga looked up. For several seconds, his gaze swept toward the dim corner where Aruna stood before finally returning to Valerie on the stage.
There was a strange glimmer of interest in Rangga's eyes as he looked at Valerie. It wasn't interest in her beautiful face, but admiration for the "thought" shining through the sentences in the book.
Aruna clenched her fingers together inside her shirt pocket. Her throat felt dry.
The man was falling in love with the soul behind the book. But the eyes of the world—and that man's eyes—saw only Valerie's name displayed on its cover.