The tip of the carved wooden cane pointed straight up. Its metal end stopped only a few inches from Aruna’s chest. Rain seeping through the gaps in Aruna’s cream-colored shirt made her skin feel even colder. Cold water streamed from her hair, trickling past her temples before falling freely.
Rangga shifted half a step forward. His broad shoulders blocked the old man’s view, shielding most of Aruna’s body from the night wind. His fingers, wrapped around Aruna’s wrist, didn’t loosen in the slightest. Quite the opposite—the grip tightened, offering warmth that stood in stark contrast to the cold rain pouring over the sidewalk.
“She isn’t just an administrative staff member, Father,” Rangga said. His voice was low and flat, but every word carried firm resolve. “She’s the true owner of all the manuscripts we’ve been buying under Valerie’s name.”
The old man—Baskara Dewantara—chuckled. His laughter seemed to split through the roar of the rain. His thick, whitening mustache lifted slightly, revealing the creases of a sardonic smile. His narrowed eyes stared at Aruna from behind Rangga’s shoulder, radiating the sharp gaze of a business tycoon accustomed to directing other people’s lives from behind a desk.
“The true owner?” Baskara waved his right hand, freed from the cane, signaling for the personal guard beside him to raise the large black umbrella higher. “This world has never cared who holds the pen in the dimness of a bedroom, Rangga. People out there buy Valerie’s face. They worship her image, quote her words on social media, and Dewantara Group has pocketed billions of rupiah from that neatly arranged lie. You want to tear down the investment we’ve built for years just for some shabby woman who sold her own writing?”
Every word that left Baskara’s lips felt like drops of mercury creeping into Aruna’s chest. Cold, heavy, and stinging. Aruna looked down at her canvas shoes, torn open at the toes and exposing socks that had turned brown from the street mud. She tried to slowly pull her fingers free, attempting to escape Rangga’s grip so she could step back and melt once more into the endless darkness of the night.
But Rangga held her wrist firmly. He refused to leave even the smallest opening for Aruna to hide again.
“I never sold my soul, Mr. Dewantara,” Aruna’s voice finally rose into the air. She didn’t shout. Her voice flowed softly, yet steadily amid the roar of the rain.
Aruna stepped out from behind Rangga’s back. She stood straight, taking her place beside him. She stared into Baskara’s gray irises without blinking. There wasn’t a tremor of fear in her pale face. “I’m only taking back what has been mine from the beginning,” Aruna added.
Baskara looked Aruna over from head to toe, down to the tips of her soaked shoes. One of the old man’s thick eyebrows rose. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw a shabbily dressed woman dare to meet his gaze directly without lowering her head.
“Your rights?” Baskara tapped the tip of his wooden cane against the waterlogged asphalt. “In this industry, rights belong only to those who hold official documents and power. Your name isn’t on any paperwork. You don’t have the capital to stand on a media stage. And starting tomorrow morning, you won’t even have a desk at that media company.”
Baskara slowly turned toward the open car door. Before slipping into the warm cabin of the luxury sedan, he glanced back at Rangga.
“Get in the car, Rangga. The shareholders are gathering at home,” Baskara ordered, his tone leaving no room for persuasion. “Valerie has already sent the recording of the contract cancellation you carried out unilaterally tonight. She’s threatening to take this to the media if her reputation is damaged. Don’t let this unknown woman drag our family’s name into the abyss.”
Rangga didn’t move an inch. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles around his cheeks pulled taut. “I’m not going home, Father. And I’m officially canceling all publishing cooperation with Valerie tonight.”
Baskara froze in the doorway of the car. The face marked by lines of age suddenly reddened. His eyes blazed with restrained fury.
“If you take even one step with that woman,” Baskara hissed in a low, threatening voice, “your access to every account and your position at Dewantara Group will be frozen tomorrow morning. You’ll lose your CEO seat before sunrise.”
The quiet street suddenly grew tense. The strong night wind sent the trees along the roadside swaying violently, shaking water down onto their shoulders. Aruna turned to look at Rangga’s profile. He held a high position, honor, wealth, and a prominent name respected throughout the city. And now, everything he had built over the years was being risked merely to defend a woman who had always worked in the shadows.
Aruna stroked the back of Rangga’s hand, still wrapped around her wrist. “Mr. Rangga, let go,” Aruna whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the rain. “This is my problem. You don’t need to sacrifice your career and your family over this.” Rangga slowly turned. He looked into Aruna’s eyes, clouded by rainwater and tear tracks. There wasn’t the slightest hint of doubt on his face. A faint smile—so faint it was almost invisible—formed at the corner of his lips.
Rangga didn’t release her hand. Instead, he shifted his grip, threading his fingers between Aruna’s. He clasped her cold fingers tightly, locking them together.
“Ten years ago, I let you walk out of that library alone with tears in your eyes,” Rangga said softly, completely ignoring his father’s murderous stare from in front of the car. “Tonight, I won’t make the same mistake.”
Ignoring his father’s shouted calls, Rangga turned his back on Baskara’s black sedan. He led Aruna along the sidewalk toward his own car, parked several yards ahead. Rangga opened the front passenger door and let Aruna into the car, where warm air poured from the vents. He took a small cloth from the rear trunk and handed it to Aruna, then walked around the hood toward the driver’s seat.
But just as Rangga’s fingers touched the driver’s door handle, the phone in his pants pocket began vibrating violently, its screen flashing. Rangga reached into his pocket and lifted the phone, wet with specks of rain. On the glass screen, finely cracked at one corner, an unknown number appeared with the local area code for the city police.
Rangga pressed the green button and held the device to his ear. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end sounded rushed, accompanied by the faint roar of sirens and the tumult of the night wind.
“Good evening. Is this Mr. Rangga Dewantara?” a man asked over the phone.
“Yes, speaking. What is it?” Rangga replied flatly.
“We’re with the City Police Precinct, and we’d like to confirm the whereabouts of Ms. Aruna Paramita.”
Aruna, sitting inside the car, turned quickly and looked at Rangga’s face through the fogged-up window. She could see the drastic change in his features.
“She’s with me right now,” Rangga replied, his voice suddenly turning cold and rigid. “What happened at her house?”
The police officer on the other end took a deep breath before continuing. “There was just a break-in and an intentional arson attack at Ms. Aruna’s rented house. Everything was engulfed in flames and burned to the ground. We found traces of kerosene around the front door, deliberately poured from outside.”
Rangga froze where he stood. His dark eyes stared straight into the car, fixed on Aruna, who was now looking at him in confusion.
“Mr. Rangga?” the police officer’s voice came again from the phone’s speaker. “The perpetrator left a threatening message spray-painted on the outside wall of the victim’s house before fleeing.”
“What did it say?” Rangga asked, his jaw tightening hard.