You're Eyeing My Future Husband

The heavy silence of the car after that kiss felt like a physical weight, thick and suffocating. Arga's hand was still resting near Zara's neck, his thumb grazing the edge of the emerald necklace. He didn't pull away immediately, and Zara didn't move either. They were two people who had just lied to millions of people, yet for a fleeting second in the dark of the SUV, they had been terrifyingly honest with each other.

"Don't get used to that," Zara whispered, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. She pulled back, pressing herself against the cold leather of the car door. "The kiss was for the cameras, Arga. Even if they weren't rolling yet, we had to stay in character."

Arga let his hand drop. His expression shifted back to that unreadable, obsidian mask. "Of course. Staying in character is what keeps us alive." He turned his head to look out the window at the blurred lights of the city. "But don't lie to yourself, Zara. You didn't kiss me back for the cameras."

Zara felt a hot flash of anger. "I kissed a man I hate because he's the only person standing between me and a total collapse. Don't confuse survival with affection."

Arga didn't argue. He just let out a short, mirthless huff.

When they arrived back at the mansion, the atmosphere had shifted again. The adrenaline from the interview was wearing off, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. As Zara stepped out of the car, she noticed a black motorcycle parked a block away. It was gone a second later, the roar of its engine echoing through the quiet neighborhood. A chill that had nothing to do with the night air ran down her spine.

"Arga, did you see that?"

"See what?" Arga was already checking his tablet, probably looking at the post-interview sentiment analysis or the stock tickers.

"The motorcycle. It's been following us since we left the studio."

Arga paused, his eyes narrowing. He looked toward the gates. "My security team would have flagged it if it was a threat. Don't let the paranoia get to you, Zara. You've had a long day."

"Paranoia?" Zara snapped, turning to face him under the harsh glow of the porch lights. "I was drugged by my sister, humiliated by my fiancé, and bought by a stranger in less than a week. I think I've earned the right to be a little paranoid."

Arga sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'll have the head of security double-check the perimeter. Just go inside. Get some sleep."

Zara didn't wait for him to follow. She went straight upstairs, but she didn't go to sleep. She went to the vanity and stared at the emerald necklace. It was so heavy it felt like it was trying to choke her. She fumbled with the clasp, her fingers shaking, but it wouldn't budge.

"Let me," a voice said from the doorway.

Arga was standing there, his jacket gone, his sleeves rolled up. He walked toward her with a predatory grace. Zara watched him in the mirror as he stood behind her. His hands were large and warm as they brushed against the skin of her neck to find the latch.

Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the frantic beating of Zara's heart. When the clasp finally clicked open, the weight lifted, but Arga didn't move away. He stayed there, his gaze meeting hers in the reflection.

"Why are you doing this, Arga?" she whispered. "Why go to all this trouble for a girl you don't even know?"

"I told you. It's business."

"No. Business is numbers. This is... this is an obsession. You're obsessed with winning. You're obsessed with proving to your father that you're better than the mess he left you. But where do I fit in? Am I just a trophy you're holding up to spite him?"

Arga's grip on the necklace tightened. "You're the only part of this 'business' that isn't predictable, Zara. And that makes you the most dangerous variable I've ever encountered."

He placed the necklace on the velvet surface of the vanity and turned to leave. But before he reached the door, his phone rang. It wasn't the usual professional ringtone. It was a sharp, piercing alarm.

He answered it immediately. His face went from pale to ghostly in seconds.

"When?" he asked, his voice dropping to a deathly whisper. "Where? Secure the site. I'm coming now."

"Arga? What is it?" Zara stood up, a new kind of dread pooling in her stomach.

Arga looked at her, and for the first time, she saw genuine fear in his eyes. Not for himself, but for the empire he had built. "The main warehouse in North Jakarta. It's on fire. My entire inventory for the Nusantara project is in there."

"Bram," Zara whispered.

"It has to be," Arga said, grabbing his jacket. "He knew he was going down, so he decided to take the whole ship with him."

"I'm coming with you."

"No. It's too dangerous. Stay here with the guards."

"Arga, look at me!" Zara grabbed his arm, her eyes fierce. "My father's fabric is in that warehouse too. If that inventory burns, my family's factory doesn't just lose a contract-it goes bankrupt. I'm not sitting here while my life burns down again."

Arga looked like he wanted to argue, but the clock was ticking. "Fine. But you stay in the car. If I see you move an inch toward that fire, I'll have the guards lock you in the basement."

The drive to North Jakarta was a nightmare of sirens and red lights. As they approached the industrial district, the sky turned an ugly, bruised orange. Smoke billowed into the air, thick and black, smelling of chemicals and burning polyester.

When the SUV screeched to a halt, the scene was chaos. Firefighters were battling a literal wall of flame. Arga burst out of the car before it even fully stopped, running toward his head of security.

Zara stayed in the car for exactly thirty seconds.

She watched Arga screaming at the fire chief, his face illuminated by the inferno. She saw the despair in his posture. Everything he had worked for was turning into ash right in front of him.

Then, she saw something else.

Near the edge of the property, tucked behind a stack of shipping containers, a man was standing. He wasn't running. He wasn't helping. He was just watching, holding a phone up as if he were recording a movie.

Zara's blood ran cold. The motorcycle rider.

She didn't think. She didn't call for the guards. She pushed open the door and slipped into the shadows, moving away from the light of the fire. She stayed low, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had to know who was doing this.

She moved silently between the containers, the heat from the fire making the air shimmer. She got closer, her eyes locked on the figure in the dark. The man was wearing a black leather jacket. As he turned his head, the firelight caught his profile.

It wasn't Bram.

It was Dion.

Zara froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. Dion? Her Dion? The man who cried when he proposed to her? The man who couldn't even stand the sight of blood? He was standing there with a cold, triumphant smile on his face, watching the warehouse burn.

"You look disappointed, Zara."

She whirled around. Another man was standing behind her. He was taller, older, with a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. He was holding a silenced pistol, and it was pointed directly at her chest.

"Who are you?" Zara gasped, her back hitting the cold metal of a shipping container.

"I'm the one Arga forgot to pay back," the man said. "He thinks he built his empire alone. He forgot about the partners he stepped on five years ago. My name is Hendra, and I'm the ghost Arga thought he buried."

"Dion... what are you doing?" Zara yelled, looking past the man toward her ex-fiancé.

Dion walked over, his smile widening. He looked different-sharper, meaner. "It was never about you, Zara. Not really. You were just the easiest way to get close to the Wijayas. Your sister was so easy to manipulate. All it took was a few drinks and a promise that she'd be the one Arga noticed once you were out of the picture."

"You... you told Intan to drug me?" Zara felt the world spinning. The betrayal was deeper than she ever imagined. It wasn't just a jealous sister. It was a calculated plan by the man she thought loved her.

"Bram paid well, but Hendra here paid better," Dion said, stepping closer. He reached out to touch her cheek, but Zara spat in his face.

Dion's expression darkened. He wiped his face, his eyes turning murderous. "You always were too stubborn for your own good. Now, you're just a witness. And witnesses are bad for business."

Hendra raised the gun. "Say goodbye to your CEO, Zara. He's going to watch his warehouse burn, and then he's going to find his wife's body in the rubble. A double tragedy. The stock market will never recover."

*BANG.*

The sound was deafening, but it didn't come from Hendra's gun.

A flash of light erupted from the shadows, and Hendra's hand suddenly exploded in a spray of red. He screamed, dropping his weapon.

"Get away from her!"

Arga was there. He wasn't the polished CEO anymore. He looked like a demon, his shirt torn, his face covered in soot, and a heavy-duty security pistol in his hand. He didn't hesitate. He fired again, the bullet grazing Dion's shoulder.

Dion screamed, scrambling back into the darkness. "Hendra, let's go! The cops are coming!"

Hendra, clutching his shattered hand, glared at Arga with a pure, unadulterated hatred. "This isn't over, Wijaya! I'll take everything! I'll burn it all!"

They disappeared into the maze of containers just as the police sirens grew louder.

Arga didn't chase them. He dropped the gun and ran to Zara, grabbing her shoulders so hard it left bruises. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you? I told you to stay in the car! You almost got yourself killed!"

Zara couldn't speak. She just collapsed against his chest, her body shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs. The fire was still raging behind them, the roar of the flames a backdrop to the total destruction of her world.

"Dion..." she managed to gasp. "It was Dion, Arga. He planned the hotel. He used Intan."

Arga's grip tightened. He looked toward the darkness where they had vanished, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like it might snap. "I know. My security team just tracked the signal from the motorcycle. It was him."

He pulled back, looking into her eyes. His own eyes were bloodshot and filled with a terrifying, cold resolve. "They think they can take me down by hurting you. They think I'm weak because I have something to lose now."

"Arga, the warehouse... everything is gone," Zara cried, looking at the collapsing roof of the building.

"Let it burn," Arga said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. "Inventory can be replaced. Factories can be rebuilt. But what they did to you? That has a price they can't afford to pay."

He picked her up, carrying her toward the SUV as the firefighters finally began to get the upper hand on the blaze. The sky was still orange, but the fire in Arga's eyes was much hotter.

"We're going home," he said. "And tomorrow, the hunt begins."

As the car pulled away, Zara looked back at the smoke rising into the night. She thought about Intan, about her father, about Dion. She had thought she was playing a game of revenge, but she was in a war for survival.

She looked at Arga. He was staring straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He wasn't a hero. He was a man who had killed and would kill again to protect what was his. And for the first time, Zara realized that she didn't just belong to him by contract. She belonged to his world. A world of fire, blood, and shadows.

"Arga?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't just take their money," Zara said, her voice turning cold and sharp. "Don't just ruin their businesses."

Arga glanced at her, a dark, twisted smile forming on his lips. "What do you want, Zara?"

"I want them to feel like I did in that hotel room. I want them to feel helpless. I want them to watch their lives disappear and realize there's no one coming to save them."

Arga reached out and took her hand. His skin was stained with soot and blood, but it felt like the only solid thing in the universe.

"I can do that," he promised.

The night was far from over. The warehouse was a ruin, the project was in jeopardy, and their enemies were still out there. But as they drove through the dark streets of Jakarta, Zara Marligh Wijaya finally understood her role.

She wasn't the pawn anymore. She wasn't even the queen.

She was the fire. And she was going to burn them all.

In the distance, the motorcycle rider watched the SUV disappear into the city. He pulled out a fresh phone and dialed a number.

"The warehouse is gone," he said. "But Arga got her out. He's going to be looking for us."

On the other end of the line, a woman's voice laughed. It was a voice Zara would have recognized anywhere.

"Let him look," Intan said, her voice dripping with a newfound malice. "He doesn't realize the real bomb isn't in the warehouse. It's already inside his house."

Intan looked at the pregnancy test sitting on her vanity. Two pink lines.

"I hope you're ready to be an aunt, Zara," she whispered to the empty room. "Because your husband is about to have a very difficult choice to make."

The game had just taken its deadliest turn yet. And the price of the Wijaya name was about to go up in blood.