# Chapter 8
The Secret Behind the Steel Door
The private elevator doors opened, and Alya stepped into the true gilded cage belonging to the king of the underworld. Arshaka Revander's main apartment radiated an aura of dominance as intense as its owner. The interior featured a monochromatic design, high-end furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering lights of Jakarta at night. The air inside was filled with Arshaka's signature cologne—a blend of musk, sandalwood, and a hint of masculine, intoxicating citrus.
In the center of the room, a dining table had been set with exquisite elegance. Small candles flickered dimly, illuminating luxurious European dishes and a decades-old bottle of red wine. Arshaka pulled out a chair for Alya, treating her like the queen he worshiped above all else.
They enjoyed dinner at a leisurely pace. The clink of knives and forks blended with the soft strains of classic jazz. Alya told him about her routine at the television station, while Arshaka listened with an adoring gaze that never left her beautiful face. Taking advantage of the warm atmosphere, Alya began to put her plan into motion.
"This apartment is unbelievably huge, Arsha," Alya praised as she sipped her wine, looking around with feigned innocence. "Did you design it yourself? How many rooms do you need to live here alone?"
Without the slightest suspicion, the man who was always on guard against his enemies smiled gently. To Arshaka, Alya was his only weakness, the one place where he let down his defenses. "I hired an Italian architect. There's a private library, a gym, and, of course, my office at the end of the east wing hallway. But that room is terribly boring, sweetheart. It's nothing but stacks of papers and computers. My favorite place now is wherever you are."
Alya returned his smile, even as her heart cheered in triumph. The east wing. Her target was locked in.
But to make this devil truly let down his guard, Alya knew exactly what she had to do. That night, Alya took control. She set down her wineglass, rose from her chair, and approached Arshaka. With a seductive touch, Alya guided the man toward the master bedroom. On the bed covered in black silk sheets, wild, intense, passionate lovemaking erupted once again. Alya let herself drown in the intoxicating whirlpool of carnal pleasure, returning every demanding kiss and possessive touch from Arshaka until the broad-shouldered man was completely drained.
At two in the morning, total silence enveloped the bedroom. The only sound was Arshaka's steady, heavy breathing. The dominant man was fast asleep, one powerful arm still wrapped possessively around Alya's waist.
Slowly, Alya moved the massive arm aside. She cursed the madman in her heart. Arshaka's touch always managed to make her body betray her, but Alya's common sense remained focused on Rehan. With extreme care, Alya climbed out of bed, put on Arshaka's oversized shirt, and padded barefoot out of the room.
Alya's heart pounded like a war drum as she made her way down the dark hallway toward the east wing. Her journalist's instincts sharpened. She found a sturdy wooden door fitted with a digital security system. Luckily, during dinner, Alya's eagle eyes had caught Arshaka pressing six digits when he opened the wine safe. Relying on her memory, Alya entered the same combination: Alya's birth date.
Click. The door opened. Alya's heart sank when she realized Arshaka had used her birthday as the password. The man was truly obsessed with her.
Inside the office, Alya immediately turned on the small flashlight on her phone. She searched the desk drawers, photographing documents detailing illicit transactions, smuggling routes, and offshore money flows. But Alya's brow furrowed. This was only evidence of ordinary mafia business crimes. Not one document connected Arshaka to the identity of "Ronan." The evidence was incomplete, not strong enough to ensure he would be sentenced to death. Time was running out. Alya had to get back before Arshaka woke up.
The next day, Alya was given the day off from work. Arshaka drove her home to her apartment in his luxurious sports car. Throughout the journey, the man kept a tight grip on Alya's hand.
"I have some business to take care of in Europe. This trip came up suddenly, and I have to stay there for a full week," Arshaka said heavily, as if reluctant to part with her. The man fixed Alya with a sharp stare. "Don't go anywhere. If anyone bothers you, Doni will take care of it. Wait for me to come back."
"Of course," Alya replied with her fake, sweet smile. "Have a safe trip."
The moment Arshaka's car disappeared from view, Alya's smile vanished. Her expression turned cold and deadly. One week. It was a massive window of opportunity. With quick steps, Alya went up to her apartment, pulled out her phone, and typed a message to the secret agent's number.
“Indra, I managed to get some evidence from his main headquarters. Arshaka is going abroad for a week. We're meeting today. And as you promised, take me to Rehan. Now.”