Chapter 3
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Author's Voice
Two weeks had passed since Reyhan Pratama first saw her—the silent girl who haunted his every waking thought. A ghost in daylight, a scream in dreams. He, the hunter of men, found himself running after shadows.
But tonight, reality crashed into his obsession: betrayal within his own circle. And from the darkness beyond his walls, a new threat emerged—Victor Arman, ruthless rival, ready to strike.
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Reyhan's POV
I sat behind my desk, the city lights bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. My pen hovered over the contract for the Eastern Corridor deal—until Zaki's voice cut through the haze.
> "Mas Rey, we've had a breach."
His words landed like a bullet. I glanced at him, expression unreadable.
> "What."
Zaki placed a manila folder before me. My name was on the cover, printed in bold: "Leak: Eastern Corridor".
> "Blueprints were sold to Al-Sharq Holdings. The mole… is Rafi Rachman."
Silence swallowed the room. Rafi – my newest pawn, the bitter father of that mute girl.
I closed the folder slowly, each movement deliberate.
> "Ready the car," I said, voice soft but absolute. "We go now."
Moments later, I stepped into the night—black suit tailored like armor, fury etching every line of my face. No knock. No warning. Only inevitability.
My men moved like shadows through the Rachman estate. I walked into the grand hall and sat on the antique sofa, legs crossed, one finger tapping an unseen rhythm.
Footsteps approached. Rafi entered, eyes wide, breathing shallow.
> "Mr. Pratama—" he began.
I leaned forward, gaze fixed on his trembling form.
> "Care to explain the price of betrayal?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed.
> "I—I didn't—"
My fist connected with his jaw in a single, silent crack. He crumpled, blood blossoming on his lip. But the violence left me hollow. There was no triumph in power, only a cold echo in my chest.
He tried again.
> "They threatened my daughter… Victor Arman's men—they—"
At the name, my blood ran ice-cold. Victor Arman—the up-and-coming lord who coveted my territories. His name was a challenge wrapped in a threat.
I rose, towering over Rafi's crumpled form.
> "Victor Arman," I repeated, voice low and lethal. "So he's moved first."
Rafi's eyes filled with fear.
> "Please… I swear I never wanted this—"
> "Save your lies," I cut in. "I'll deal with you later. For now…"
I drew my phone from my pocket. A new message glowed on the screen:
> Victor Arman: "Impressive work… but allies fear the hand that strikes its own. Your move, Pratama."
The pulse in my temple throbbed. Zaki appeared at my shoulder, grim.
> "He's mobilizing. Our eastern fronts are at risk."
I turned to Rafi for a final moment, eyes cold.
> "Remember this pain," I said quietly. "No betrayal goes unpunished."
Then I strode from the room, every step fueled by a single thought: Victor Arman will learn what it means to cross me.
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Alya's POV
I was folding my few clean clothes in the dim hallway when I heard it—the sickening crack of flesh against bone.
My heart froze. I should have run. I should have hidden. But my legs carried me forward, as if drawn by a force I could neither see nor name.
I peered around the corner, eyes widening in horror. There he was—Reyhan Pratama—his fist buried in my father's jaw. Not with rage, but with the cold precision of judgment.
My breath caught. The silk of his suit was smeared with dust from the antique sofa; his face was stone.
Father's blood dripped onto the marble floor. He sagged against the wall, defeated.
Reyhan's hand hovered in the air, trembling ever so slightly. Then he lowered it, as if realizing his own strength for the first time in years.
I stepped into the weak glow of the chandelier, torn salwar clinging to my bruised wrists. My hair was tangled; my silence louder than his fury.
He saw me—and froze.
His eyes, so used to commanding fear, widened with something like regret.
For a heartbeat, the world blurred.
A drop of rain pattered through an open window onto the tile.
Then another.
He didn't speak. I didn't speak.
But in that silent exchange, two truths emerged:
One, betrayal cuts deeper than any blade.
And two, even a heart walled in shadows can still be shaken by a girl who will never speak.
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End of Chapter 3