Chapter 5
The sky over Jakarta outside the apartment window looked as dark as Alya’s feelings. Rain drizzled down, tapping softly against the glass as though voicing the rhythm of the sorrow constricting her chest. Slowly, Alya’s eyelids opened. An overwhelming dizziness slammed into her head, followed by flashes of horrifying memories that left her breath caught in her throat.
That gunshot. The fresh blood quickly seeping into Rehan’s white shirt. The man she loved more than anything had collapsed onto the cold floor solely to shield and protect her.
“Rehan...” Alya whispered hoarsely. Her voice cracked, choked by sobs that broke loose again. Tears streamed down her pale white cheeks. The man who had been her support for three years, the gentle man who was always understanding and had promised to marry her, was now gone. Everything had shattered into pieces. Her dream of living a normal life and building a happy family had been cruelly ripped away in a single bloody night.
Alya forced herself to sit up, fighting the nausea churning in her stomach. Her gaze swept across the dimly lit living room of her apartment until her eyes fixed on the tall, broad-shouldered figure sleeping on the sofa.
Arshaka Revander.
The man looked exhausted. His expensive shirt was wrinkled, and his sleeves had been haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, revealing the solid muscles of his arms. His handsome face, with its firm jaw and sharp nose, looked peaceful in sleep—a stark contrast to the cruelty he always displayed when awake. His usually imposing body, which radiated absolute dominance, now lay still, keeping watch over the room as though Alya were a precious possession no one was allowed to touch.
The sight of that face filled the deepest parts of Alya’s heart with overwhelming hatred. Her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. This was all Arshaka’s fault! If that arrogant man had never forced his way into her life, Rehan would still be alive. Thinking about the string of events lately made Alya sick. Arshaka, with all his pressure, threats, and obsessive behavior, had truly strangled Alya’s sanity. That rigid man who could turn into a jealous monster never stopped forcing his will on her. His touch, the hot, demanding kisses he had always forced mercilessly onto Alya’s lips—all of it haunted her thoughts.
All this time, Alya had had to hide from Rehan, conceal her time with Arshaka, and bear the soul-eating guilt of feeling that she had betrayed him. The underworld, the mafia’s dirty businesses, and all the deadly intrigues of the Revander family had stolen Alya’s only happiness. And without Alya realizing it, what made her hate herself most was the fact that, in the darkest corner of her heart, Arshaka’s charm had begun to break through her defenses.
Alya wanted to scream. She wanted to pound that man’s broad chest and curse him until he died. But she knew it would be pointless. In the suffocating silence, a soft vibration came from the nightstand. Alya’s phone lit up, casting a faint glow.
With trembling hands, Alya reached for the flat device. A message from an unknown number. She knitted her delicate brows. Her journalist’s instincts sharpened as she opened the message, and in an instant, her heart seemed to stop beating.
Her eyes widened as she stared at the screen. There was a photo. Rehan. He was lying on a bed with various medical devices attached to his body, but his chest was visibly rising and falling. Rehan was still alive!
Alya’s breathing quickened. She hurriedly read the string of text beneath the photo.
“Your lover is still alive, Alya. He’s safe under my supervision and receiving the best medical care. But neither his life nor yours will ever truly be safe as long as the man sleeping on your sofa is still breathing.”
The message wasn’t over. The next sentence made Alya hold her breath.
“My name is Indra. We have the same enemy. I know you hate him, and I have a way to destroy him. Work with me. We both know that Arshaka is Ronan—the underworld devil everyone has believed dead all this time. Use your position at his side. Gather evidence with me. We’ll expose his identity, prove that Ronan is still alive, and make sure that this time, he really dies in the eyes of the law and his enemies. Reply to this message if you want Rehan to survive.”
Alya slowly lowered her phone. She turned to look at Arshaka, who was still fast asleep. The man who was obsessively fixated on her had been hiding a far deadlier secret. Ronan. That name was legendary in the criminal world—the most feared faceless figure of them all.
Alya’s hatred now had a clear direction. Her fear faded, replaced by the courage, intelligence, and resolve that had always been her greatest weapons as a leading news anchor. She was no longer merely a helpless woman trapped inside a mafia heir’s golden cage.
For Rehan. For justice and her freedom.
Alya stared at her phone screen with a sharp, icy gaze, ignoring the inexplicable ache in her heart, then confidently typed a one-word reply.
“I agree.”