The glow of the streetlights reflected dimly across the asphalt, which was beginning to darken beneath a light drizzle. Eight o’clock at night. The Pratama Group office building was gradually emptying, leaving behind rows of glass windows dimming one by one.
Inside a black sedan parked in the corner of the underground lot, Rayhan sat silently behind the wheel. The engine was off, leaving the cabin steeped in darkness and profound silence. His eyes never left the building’s main glass doors.
He should have gone home two hours ago. But Arka’s words before leaving the office that afternoon continued to echo in his mind like nails being forcibly driven in.
“Tonight, I’ll take you to see Auntie at the hospital.”
Rayhan’s hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Auntie. The name referred to Clara’s mother—the only family Clara had left, who to this day still lay motionless in intensive care.
After learning about Clara’s family tragedy and bankruptcy a few months after their divorce, Rayhan had searched for his mother-in-law in more than a dozen hospitals. But Clara had moved the woman with meticulous care, erasing every administrative trace that could lead anyone to them.
And now, that man named Arka knew everything. He was not merely her superior, but someone Clara had allowed into the most fragile and private part of her life.
Click.
The building’s main glass doors opened.
Rayhan straightened in his seat. Clara stepped outside alone, hugging her work bag to her chest with one hand while holding her blazer closed against the night wind. She looked tired, but her stride remained steady and upright.
Arka was nowhere beside her. Apparently, he had not come to pick her up in front of the office.
Clara walked toward the curb and pulled her phone from her bag to order a ride. Beneath the yellowish streetlights, her slender figure looked so fragile against the cold night wind.
Without thinking, Rayhan started the engine. The black sedan rolled forward slowly, closing the distance before stopping right beside the curb, a few inches ahead of where Clara stood.
The window rolled down.
“It’s late. And it’s drizzling,” Rayhan said from behind the wheel. His voice sounded heavy, as though he were trying to suppress the tremor of anxiety suddenly surging in his chest. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
Clara stopped her fingers above her phone screen. She lowered her head slightly and looked at Rayhan through the open car window. There was no surprise on her face. Only the familiar, detached calm.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Rayhan,” Clara replied calmly, her voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the night wind. “But my taxi is already on its way.”
“Cancel it,” Rayhan cut in quickly. His wounded ego, mixed with curiosity, drove him to lean forward. “Tomorrow’s audit schedule is packed. I don’t want my consulting team leader getting sick just because she got caught in the rain.”
A professional excuse. It was the only remaining shield Rayhan could use to keep himself from sounding like a desperate man.
But Clara merely formed an exceedingly formal, faint smile—the same smile she had used to refuse lunch earlier.
“I have an umbrella in my bag, and the taxi will be here in two minutes.” Clara held up her phone, displaying the driver’s route on the map. “You don’t need to worry. Our team’s performance won’t be affected.”
Rayhan clenched his hand on the steering wheel. He stared straight into Clara’s eyes, trying to find even the smallest opening in the woman who had once leaped for joy whenever he offered her a ride.
Back then, Clara had been willing to wait for hours in the parking lot just to go home with him—even though Rayhan always turned her down and left her there without a second thought.
Now the tables had turned completely. Rayhan was the one pleading from inside his luxury car, while Clara stood tall outside, rejecting his outstretched hand without the slightest hesitation.
A car with a taxi fleet light stopped directly behind Rayhan’s sedan. Clara gave a slight nod in farewell.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rayhan. Good night.”
Clara stepped back, opened the taxi door, and got inside without looking back. Within seconds, the taxi drove off through the evening drizzle, leaving Rayhan frozen alone behind the wheel.
Rayhan leaned back in his seat and squeezed his eyes shut as an unbearable tightness slammed into his chest. Rain began dripping harder against the windshield, reflecting the blurred glow of red lights—exactly like the night three years ago when he had let Clara walk home alone through the pouring rain.
Today, Rayhan finally understood. It wasn’t the rain that had been cold that night. Clara’s heart was what had frozen solid, and there was no longer any room for him there.