The Runaway's Revenge

The sunlight hit the floor of the sunroom at exactly 5:15 AM. It wasn't the soft, welcoming glow Liana was used to back in her mother's small apartment; it was sharp and clinical, reflecting off the polished glass walls of the Dirgantara estate. Her head felt heavy from the lack of sleep, but the adrenaline of her new life kept her moving. She had two hours-her "personal pursuit" time, as the iceberg downstairs called it-and she wasn't going to waste a single second.

She stood in front of the canvas she had started last night. In the daylight, the dark blues and whites looked even more haunting. It was Adrian, or at least, the soul of the man she had glimpsed through the library door. She picked up a palette knife and began to scrape away some of the thick paint, creating jagged edges.

"Control," she whispered, mimicking his deep, monotonous voice. "Everything must be in its place."

She was so absorbed in the movement of the paint that she didn't hear the soft click of the sunroom door.

"What is that?"

Liana jumped, her palette knife slipping and leaving a long, unintended streak of white across the blue. Вshe spun around to see Mika standing there, wearing pink pajamas and clutching her raggedy stuffed rabbit.

"Mika! You scared me," Liana breathed, clutching her chest. "It's way too early. You're supposed to be asleep for another hour."

Mika walked closer, her eyes wide as she looked at the messy, abstract painting. "It looks like the ocean in a storm," the girl said softly. "Or the way Daddy looks when he thinks I'm not watching."

Liana froze. Children were far more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. "It's just a study of colors, sweetie. Why are you awake?"

"I had a bad dream. The nanny used to just tell me to go back to sleep or she'd tell Daddy I was being difficult. But I saw the light in here." Mika looked up at Liana. "Are you going to tell on me?"

Liana knelt down, ignoring the blue paint that smudged onto her own jeans. She pulled Mika into a hug. "Never. In this room, there are no 'difficult' children. Only artists. You want to help me?"

Mika's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Can I?"

Liana handed her a small brush and a tube of yellow paint-the same color as Mika's raincoat from the day they met. "Here. Put a little bit of light in that corner. Just a tiny bit. It's our secret."

For the next forty-five minutes, the two of them worked in silence. It was the most peaceful Liana had felt since her mother passed away. But the peace was shattered at exactly 6:30 AM when the door swung open with enough force to rattle the glass.

Hadi, the head of the household, stood there. His face was a mask of pure horror.

"Miss Liana! What on earth is happening here?"

Liana stood up, shielding Mika behind her. "We're painting, Hadi. It's not a crime."

Hadi looked at Mika's pajamas, which now had a small yellow smudge on the sleeve, and then at the floor where a few drops of water had spilled. "The young mistress has a schedule! 6:30 is her time for morning hygiene and prayer, followed by a protein-heavy breakfast at 7:00. Look at her! She is covered in... in... pigment!"

"It's called paint, Hadi. It washes off," Liana said, her voice rising.

"Master Adrian will hear of this," Hadi snapped, his voice trembling with indignation. "The rules are very clear. Your 'art' was not to interfere with the young mistress's development. You are teaching her chaos!"

"I'm teaching her to breathe!" Liana stepped toward him, her height nearly matching his. "She's been living in a museum, Hadi. She's a little girl, not a statue. If you want to tell Adrian, go ahead. I'll be right here."

Hadi huffed, looking like he was about to have a stroke. He gestured for Mika to come to him. The girl looked at Liana, then slowly walked toward the butler, her head hanging low. The spark that had been in her eyes moments ago was gone, replaced by the dull obedience of a well-trained dog. It made Liana's blood boil.

Liana followed them out, heading straight for the kitchen. She needed coffee, and she needed it before she ran into the Master of the House.

The kitchen staff was a well-oiled machine. They didn't speak; they just moved. A chef was plating a piece of grilled salmon and steamed asparagus. Liana looked at the clock. It was 7:00 AM.

"Is that for Mika?" Liana asked.

"Yes, Miss," the chef replied without looking up. "Master Adrian's orders. High protein, no processed sugars."

"She's six," Liana muttered. "Can she have a pancake? Just one?"

The chef actually stopped and looked at her as if she had asked for a plate of poison. "No, Miss. We do not deviate from the menu."

Liana grabbed a piece of toast and walked toward the dining room. Adrian was already there, reading a digital newspaper on his tablet. He looked perfect, as usual. Not a hair out of place, his shirt pressed so sharply it could probably cut glass.

"I hear there was an incident in the sunroom," Adrian said, not looking up from his tablet.

Liana sat down, not at the far end of the table, but just two seats away from him. She felt his peripheral vision twitch. "If by 'incident' you mean Mika actually smiling before 7 AM, then yes, there was a huge catastrophe."

Adrian set the tablet down. His eyes were cold, but there was a flicker of something-frustration, perhaps-in the depths of his gaze. "Hadi tells me she was covered in paint. He also says you encouraged her to break her morning routine."

"The routine is suffocating her, Adrian," Liana said, using his first name intentionally.

He stiffened. "Mr. Dirgantara to you."

"Adrian," she repeated, leaning in. "You're paying me to look after her well-being. Well, I'm telling you, as someone who actually has a heart that beats, that your daughter is lonely. She's bored. And she's terrified of making a mistake. Is that the kind of 'Dirgantara' you want to raise? A robot?"

Adrian leaned forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The smell of his cologne-expensive, woodsy, and cold-filled her senses. "I am raising a woman who will be able to lead an empire. The world doesn't care about 'smiles' and 'paint,' Liana. It cares about discipline and results. My wife... Mika's mother... she was soft. And the world broke her. I will not let that happen to my daughter."

Liana's heart skipped a beat. It was the first time he had mentioned his late wife. The bitterness in his voice was thick, like an old wound that had never been cleaned.

"So your plan is to break her yourself before the world gets a chance?" Liana asked softly.

The silence that followed was deafening. Adrian's jaw tightened so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. For a moment, Liana thought he was going to fire her on the spot. She braced herself for the explosion.

Instead, he stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble. "Take her to school. If she is a minute late because she was 'finding herself' in a paint tube, you're done. Do you understand?"

"Crystal clear," Liana said, watching him walk away.

The school run was a somber affair. Mika sat in the back of the car, staring out the window. Liana tried to make conversation, but the girl seemed to have retreated back into her shell after the morning's confrontation.

"Hey," Liana said, reaching over to squeeze Mika's hand. "Don't worry about Hadi. Or your dad. We're going to have fun this afternoon, okay? I have a surprise."

Mika looked at her, a tiny glimmer of hope returning. "A surprise?"

"A big one. But you have to promise to be the best student in class today. Deal?"

"Deal," Mika whispered.

After dropping Mika off, Liana didn't go back to the house. She had a few hours of freedom, and she had a plan. She went to a local hardware store and a discount craft shop. She used the last of the cash she had saved from her mother's secret "emergency jar." It wasn't much, but it was enough for what she needed.

When she returned to the estate at 2 PM, she bypassed Hadi and went straight to the backyard. There was a small, shaded area behind the guest house that was barely used. It was overgrown and messy-the only part of the estate that didn't look like a surgical suite.

She spent the next hour hauling old wooden pallets she found behind the garage and laying them out. ВShe spread out a giant plastic tarp and mixed buckets of water with cheap, washable neon paints.

By the time the car brought Mika back from school, the "surprise" was ready.

"What are we doing, Liana?" Mika asked, her eyes going wide as she saw the buckets of neon colors.

"We are going to do something your father hates," Liana said, handing Mika a pair of old oversized T-shirts she had bought. "We're going to make a mess. A massive, beautiful, unorganized mess."

For the next two hours, the backyard was filled with the sound of laughter-real, belly-shaking laughter. They didn't use brushes. They used their hands, their feet, and even sponges to hurl paint at a giant roll of paper Liana had tacked to the pallets. Mika was covered from head to toe in neon pink and green. She looked like a tiny, joyful alien.

Liana was right there with her, her own face streaked with orange. She felt alive. For the first time since her mother's funeral, for the first time since the disaster with Raka, she felt like Liana again.

But then, the shadow fell over them.

Liana didn't have to look up to know who it was. The air around them suddenly felt twenty degrees colder.

Adrian stood at the edge of the grass, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black trench coat over his suit, looking like a dark omen. Behind him, Hadi was whispering frantically, gesturing at the neon-splattered grass.

"Daddy! Look!" Mika shouted, running toward him, her hands dripping with bright green paint. "Look at what I made! It's a dragon! Or maybe it's a forest! Liana said it can be whatever I want!"

Mika reached out to grab her father's coat, her paint-covered fingers inches away from the expensive fabric.

"Mika, stay back!" Adrian barked.

The girl stopped dead. The joy vanished from her face so fast it was physically painful to watch. She looked down at her hands, then at her father's pristine coat, and her lip started to tremble.

Liana stepped forward, wiping her hands on her shirt, though it did little to help. "She just wanted to show you, Adrian. It's just paint. It'll wash off."

"This is unacceptable," Adrian said, his voice vibrating with a quiet, intense rage. He wasn't looking at Mika anymore; his eyes were locked on Liana. "I gave you a chance. I gave you rules. And you decided to turn my home into a playground for your vanity."

"Vanity? Look at her!" Liana pointed at Mika. "She's happy! When was the last time you saw her this happy? When was the last time she wasn't afraid to breathe in her own house?"

"Enough!" Adrian stepped onto the tarp, his leather shoes squelching in a puddle of blue paint. He didn't seem to care. He grabbed Liana's arm, his grip firm and hot. "Hadi, take Mika inside. Clean her up. Throw those clothes away."

"No! Liana!" Mika cried as Hadi led her away.

Liana tried to pull her arm back, but Adrian didn't let go. He pulled her closer, his face inches from hers. She could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and for a moment, the anger between them felt like something else-something electric and terrifying.

"You think you're so smart," he hissed. "You think you can come in here and 'fix' us because you have a tragic backstory and a paintbox. You know nothing about this family. You know nothing about what I've lost."

"Then tell me!" Liana challenged, her heart thudding in her throat. "Tell me why you're so scared of a little girl having fun! Tell me why you've turned this house into a prison!"

Adrian's grip tightened for a second, then he abruptly let go, pushing her away as if she were a flame that had just burned him. He looked down at his shoes, now ruined by the blue paint.

"You're a child playing at being an adult, Liana," he said, his voice suddenly cold and distant again. "You want to make me 'bertekuk lutut'? You want to make me fall in love? I've seen the way you look at me. You think you're the heroine of a romance novel."

Liana flinched. She hadn't realized her intentions were that transparent.

"Let me tell you something," Adrian continued, stepping off the tarp. "I don't have a heart for you to win. It died a long time ago. You are here for Mika. If you ever-ever-cross the line again, I don't care how much she cries. You will be out on the street before the paint dries."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy on the grass.

Liana stood alone in the middle of the neon mess, the cold evening air beginning to bite. She was covered in paint, she was exhausted, and she had just been humiliated. But as she looked at the giant, messy "dragon" Mika had painted, she didn't feel like giving up.

She saw the way his hand had trembled when he let go of her arm. He wasn't indifferent. He was terrified.

"You're wrong, Adrian," she whispered to the empty backyard. "You do have a heart. And I've already found the crack in it."

She began to pack up the buckets, her mind already moving to the next day. She had to find a way to get past his defenses without getting herself fired. She had to find out what happened to Mika's mother. And most importantly, she had to show Adrian that some messes were worth making.

As she walked back toward the house, she saw a light on in Mika's room. The girl was looking out the window, her hand pressed against the glass. Liana blew her a kiss, and Mika tentatively blew one back.

The war wasn't over. It was just getting started. And Liana was no longer just a "placeholder." She was a threat.

She entered the house through the back door, heading for the showers. But as she passed the library, she saw the door was open again. Adrian was sitting there, staring at his ruined shoes. He didn't see her. He looked older, tired, and deeply, profoundly alone.

Liana didn't stop. She kept walking. She had to stay strong. To make a man like Adrian Dirgantara fall, she couldn't afford to feel sorry for him. Not yet.

She spent the night cleaning the paint from under her fingernails, the neon colors swirling down the drain like a fading dream. Tomorrow would be Bab 5. Tomorrow, she would start looking for the truth.