You're Eyeing My Future Husband

The sunlight that morning felt intrusive, cutting through the heavy velvet curtains of the master suite like a jagged blade. Zara stirred, her head throbbing with a dull ache that wasn't from alcohol, but from the sheer emotional exhaustion of the night before. For a split second, she forgot where she was. She reached out, expecting the familiar floral scent of her old room, the one with the chipped paint on the windowsill and the view of the mango tree.

Instead, her hand hit cold, Egyptian cotton. The scent that filled her lungs was cedar, expensive leather, and a hint of Arga's lingering cologne.

She sat up abruptly, her heart hammering. The room was empty, but the indentation on the pillow next to her told the story. Arga had stayed. He hadn't touched her-not after that heavy, suffocatingly honest moment in the dark-but he had been there. A protector? Or just a jailer making sure his asset didn't bolt in the middle of the night?

Zara shoved the hair out of her face and looked at her phone. It was barely 7:00 AM, but the digital world was already screaming.

*"Bramanto Group Stocks Plunge 15% in Pre-Market Trading."*

*"Leaked Audio Hints at Corporate Sabotage in Wijaya-Marligh Union."*

Arga was fast. He was a shark that didn't need to sleep once he smelled blood in the water. Zara felt a grim sense of satisfaction, but it was hollow. Destroying Bram was just one head of the hydra. The real poison was closer to home.

She showered, the water scalding hot as if she could peel off the layer of "Mrs. Wijaya" that now coated her identity. When she walked downstairs, the house felt different. The servants moved with a new kind of urgency, their eyes darting toward her with a respect that bordered on fear. They had heard. The news of what she did at the gala had traveled through the grapevine faster than the morning paper.

She found Arga in the dining room, surrounded by three laptops and a mountain of legal folders. He didn't look like a man who had just slept four hours. He looked energized, his eyes sharp and predatory behind a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

"You're awake," he said, not looking up from his screen. "Eat. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

"Leaving for where?" Zara asked, pulling out a chair. She ignored the elaborate breakfast spread and reached for the black coffee.

"Your father's office," Arga said, finally looking at her. There was a dark bruise-like shadow under his eyes, but his voice was steady. "He called six times this morning. It seems the 'saving the factory' check wasn't enough once he saw the headlines. He's scared, Zara. He thinks Bram is going to take him down too."

"Let him be scared," Zara said, her voice cold. "He deserves to sweat."

"He does. But we need him compliant for the next phase. If we're going to bury the scandal for good, we need your family to provide a united front for a televised interview. The 'Happy Family' narrative."

Zara almost choked on her coffee. "An interview? With Intan? You want me to sit on a couch and pretend I don't want to wrap my hands around her throat while the whole country watches?"

Arga stood up, closing his laptop with a decisive snap. "I want you to be the woman I saw last night. The one who broke Bram with a recorder and a smile. Can you do that, or was that just a one-time performance?"

Zara stared at him. He was challenging her, pushing her buttons to see if she'd break. She stood up, smoothing out her silk trousers. "Get the car, Arga. I'll show you a performance that deserves an Oscar."

The drive to the Marligh Textile Office was silent. Outside, the city of Jakarta was a chaotic mess of motorbikes and humidity, but inside the SUV, it was a pressurized chamber. When they arrived, the staff-people Zara had known since she was a child-stood in a line, bowing as if royalty had just descended.

Her father, Rudi, was waiting at the door of his private office. He looked ten years older than he had at the gala. His tie was crooked, and his hands were shaking as he ushered them in.

"Arga! Zara! Thank God you're here," Rudi panted. "The reporters... they're outside the gates. Bram's lawyers sent a cease and desist already. They're threatening to sue us for defamation because of that recording!"

Arga didn't sit down. He stood in the center of the room, looking like a god of war in a bespoke suit. "Sit down, Rudi. And shut up."

Rudi blinked, stunned into silence by the sheer coldness in Arga's voice. He sank into his leather chair, looking small.

"Bram is finished," Arga continued. "By the time I'm done, he won't be able to afford a bus ticket, let alone a lawyer. But your problem isn't Bram. Your problem is me."

"What do you mean?" Rudi stammered. "We're family now! You married my daughter!"

"I married a woman you threw out into the street," Arga shot back. He leaned over the desk, his shadow swallowing his father-in-law. "I married a woman your other daughter drugged and betrayed. Did you think I was going to forget that? Did you think a few business contracts would make me overlook the fact that you turned my wife into a pawn?"

Zara watched from the corner, her arms crossed. It was strange to see her father, the man who had loomed so large over her life, reduced to a trembling mess by a man her own age.

"It was a mistake..." Rudi whispered. "Intan... she's just young, she didn't realize-"

"Where is she?" Zara interrupted. Her voice was like ice.

"She's in the breakroom," Rudi said, pointing toward the door. "She's been crying all morning, Zara. She's terrified."

"Good," Zara said. She walked toward the door, her heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor.

"Zara, wait-" Arga started, but she didn't stop.

She burst into the breakroom. Intan was sitting on a plastic chair, staring at a cup of tea. When she saw Zara, she jumped, the tea splashing onto her white blouse.

"Zara! You... you're here," Intan said, her voice trembling. She tried to put on that pathetic, wide-eyed look that usually worked on everyone. "Look, I'm so sorry about what happened at the gala. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to protect the family name-"

Zara didn't say a word. She walked over, grabbed the half-full cup of tea, and poured it slowly over Intan's head.

Intan shrieked, jumping up as the lukewarm liquid soaked into her hair and ran down her face. "What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!"

"That's for the milk," Zara said, her voice low and terrifyingly steady. "And this..."

Zara grabbed Intan by the arm, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. She leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "Listen to me, you little snake. I know you're the one who contacted Bram. I know you're the one who thought you could take my place by getting me out of the way. But look at me, Intan. Look at this ring. Look at this life. I didn't fall. I climbed higher than you'll ever reach."

"You're hurting me!" Intan sobbed, clawing at Zara's hand.

"I haven't even started hurting you," Zara whispered. "You're going to do that interview tonight. You're going to sit there and tell the world how much you love your sister. You're going to talk about how 'happy' you are for us. And if you miss a single beat, if you blink the wrong way, I will make sure Arga pulls every cent of funding from this company. I will make sure Dad loses everything, and I'll make sure you end up in a jail cell for what you did to me in that hotel."

"You wouldn't... Dad would hate you," Intan gasped.

"Dad already hates me, Intan. And I don't care. But you? You love your lifestyle. You love your shoes and your parties. Imagine losing all of it. Imagine being the 'shame' of the family instead of me."

Zara let go of her arm, watching as Intan collapsed back into the chair, shaking with genuine terror. The mask of the innocent sister was gone, replaced by a broken girl who finally realized she had picked a fight with someone she couldn't beat.

Zara walked back into the main office. Arga was standing by the window, watching her with an unreadable expression. Her father was staring at the floor, looking defeated.

"She'll do the interview," Zara said, wiping a stray drop of tea from her hand with a tissue.

Arga nodded. "Good. The car is waiting. We have a wardrobe fitting for the broadcast."

As they walked out of the office, Zara felt a strange sensation. It wasn't happiness-she didn't think she'd ever be truly happy again-but it was a sense of power. For the first time in her life, she wasn't waiting for the blow to land. She was the one delivering it.

They got back into the SUV. Arga looked at her, his glasses reflecting the light of the city. "You poured tea on her?"

"It was lukewarm," Zara said, staring out the window. "She got off easy."

Arga let out a short, dry laugh. "You're full of surprises, Zara Wijaya. Most women would have just screamed."

"I'm not 'most women' anymore, Arga. You made sure of that."

The tension in the car shifted. It wasn't the hostile silence of the morning; it was something thicker, something that felt like a bridge being built over an abyss. Arga reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

"What's this?" Zara asked.

"Open it."

She opened the box. Inside was a necklace-a single, massive emerald surrounded by diamonds. It was beautiful, but it looked like a collar.

"This is for the interview," Arga said. "It's a family heirloom. My mother wore it when she was introduced to the board. It's a sign of status. Wear it, and no one will dare to ask you a question you don't want to answer."

Zara looked at the emerald. It was the same color as the dress she'd worn to the gala. The color of envy. The color of poison.

"You're really good at this, aren't you?" Zara said, looking at him. "The branding. The optics. Turning a nightmare into a luxury brand."

"It's how I survived," Arga said. His voice was suddenly quiet, lacking the edge of the CEO. "My father didn't give me this company, Zara. He gave me a failing construction firm and told me to either make it work or change my last name. I had to learn how to turn every weakness into a weapon. This scandal? It's just another weakness. And you... you're the strongest weapon I've ever found."

Zara felt a pang in her chest. She looked away, focusing on the necklace. "I'm not a weapon, Arga. I'm a person."

"In this world," Arga said, his hand momentarily covering hers, "there's no difference."

The interview took place in a high-end studio in South Jakarta. The air was thick with the smell of hairspray and nerves. The host, a woman known for her "hard-hitting" questions, looked like she was ready to tear them apart.

Zara sat on the plush velvet sofa, the heavy emerald necklace cold against her throat. Arga sat beside her, his hand firmly interlaced with hers. Across from them sat Rudi, Ella, and a very pale, very quiet Intan.

"We're live in three... two... one..."

The lights flared. The host smiled into the camera. "Tonight, we have an exclusive. The couple everyone is talking about. Mr. Arga Putra Wijaya and his new bride, Zara Marligh. Along with the Marligh family. There have been rumors, accusations of a scandal at a certain hotel... Mr. Wijaya, what is the truth?"

Arga didn't blink. He squeezed Zara's hand, his voice smooth and commanding. "The truth is simple. Zara and I have been in a relationship for over a year. We kept it private because of the competitive nature of our respective businesses. That night at the hotel was supposed to be our private celebration of our engagement. Unfortunately, a business rival of mine decided to use a private moment to create a false narrative."

The host turned to Zara. "And you, Zara? Your fiancé, Dion, called off the wedding. People say you were caught."

Zara looked directly into the camera. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a woman who was bored by the gossip. "Dion was a mistake," she said, her voice steady. "He was part of my past. Arga is my future. The 'scandal' people are talking about was nothing more than a desperate attempt by a failing man to hurt my husband. I think the stock market today shows who the real winner is."

"And the sister?" The host looked at Intan. "There were whispers of a family rift."

Intan looked at Zara. She saw the threat in her sister's eyes. She forced a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "There's no rift. I love Zara. I'm so happy that she found someone as strong as Arga. Any rumors of us not getting along are just... fiction."

The interview went perfectly. By the time the cameras cut away, the narrative had been flipped. They weren't a scandal; they were a power couple who had been targeted by a villain.

As they walked out of the studio, Arga's phone was blowing up. The stocks were stabilizing. The board was happy.

Rudi tried to approach them in the hallway. "Zara, honey, that was wonderful. Maybe we can all have dinner this weekend?"

Zara didn't even stop. "Don't call me, Dad. Arga will send the paperwork for the new contracts. That's all you're getting."

They reached the car, the cool night air hitting them like a relief. Arga looked at her as the door closed. "You were incredible."

"I told you," Zara said, leaning her head back against the seat. "I'm a good actor."

"Was it all acting?" Arga asked.

Zara turned to him. The space between them felt charged, like a storm was about to break. "Does it matter?"

Arga didn't answer. He leaned in, his hand cupping the back of her neck. He didn't kiss her-not yet. He just looked at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "It matters to me."

He kissed her then. It wasn't the claim of the wedding day or the drug-fueled madness of the hotel. It was slow, desperate, and filled with a strange kind of grief. Zara found herself kissing him back, her hands tangling in his hair. She hated him, didn't she? She hated what he'd done. But in this moment, he was the only person who knew her. He was the only one who saw the monster she was becoming, and he didn't turn away.

They pulled apart, both of them breathing hard.

"The war isn't over, Zara," Arga whispered against her lips. "Bram is going to lash out. He has nothing left to lose."

"Let him," Zara said, her eyes flashing in the dark. "I'm ready for him."

But as the car pulled away, a black motorcycle followed them at a distance. The rider adjusted a camera strapped to his helmet, a red light blinking.

Zara didn't see it. Arga didn't see it. They were too busy looking at each other, oblivious to the fact that Bram wasn't the only one who wanted them dead.

In a dark office across the city, a man watched the live feed of the interview. He looked at Zara's emerald necklace and laughed.

"Enjoy the crown while it lasts, Zara," he whispered. "Because I'm coming for the throne."

The game had shifted. The family was silenced, the rival was bleeding, but a new shadow was rising-one that knew Arga's secrets better than he knew them himself. And this time, a tea-stained blouse and a digital recorder wouldn't be enough to save them.

Zara touched the cold emerald at her throat, a shiver running down her spine. The honeymoon was over. The real nightmare was just beginning.