“Yes, Babe. I’ll make sure to rest—and think of you before I fall asleep,” Priska lied sweetly to Aldo.
She was standing in front of her vanity, freshly showered, hair still damp, about to dry it. Aldo had called, overwhelmed by longing, whining playfully about how exhausting it was to keep their relationship hidden from everyone.
“Since when did you get so good at sweet-talking?” Aldo teased.
Priska giggled at her editor-in-chief’s bashful reply. Once upon a time, Aldo had been like an enemy to her. And yet, sometimes she feared that all this happiness was just a sign of trouble waiting to come. After all, she was dating the most desirable man in the country—something that felt both like the greatest blessing and the worst kind of curse.
“I’ll hang up now, Babe. I need to help Faby at the café,” Priska said.
“Alright, Love.” Aldo’s voice was honey-sweet.
Unplugging her charger, Priska glanced at her hair—it had grown longer, demanding more care. Aldo adored it, always running his fingers through it whenever they were alone. He was such an unpredictable man, always full of surprises.
But when she pressed the hairdryer switch, nothing happened. Instead, a faint spark jolted her hand. “What the—broken?” she muttered, yanking the plug out of the socket. She would have to borrow Faby’s.
Descending the stairs, she froze at the sight of Faby locked in a heated argument with two Chinese women in the middle of the café. One had short hair and sharp eyes that screamed cunning; the other, with her long locks, looked uncannily like a Disney princess.
“There’s no one here by the name of Priska,” Faby said firmly, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing at them.
“Don’t lie,” the short-haired woman snapped.
Priska couldn’t stand seeing her best friend cornered. Stepping down to face them directly, she knew there was no other way to drive them off. Both women immediately scanned her appearance, their disdain written all over their faces.
“Oh, so you’re Aldo’s new girlfriend?” the short-haired one sneered.
Their names weren’t hard to guess—both still wore office attire with visible name tags. The short-haired woman was Nadia, the long-haired one Giska, who happened to be in uniform from a prestigious private bank.
A chill of foreboding ran through Priska. She had known trouble would find her sooner or later—dating a man as brilliant and handsome as Revaldo Aditya came with a price. And these two, she was certain, were Aldo’s exes, here to intimidate her—or worse, to break them apart.
“And what exactly is your business with me?” Priska asked coolly.
“I’m Aldo’s fiancée. You’d better break up with him,” Nadia declared.
Priska’s brows knitted. Faby squeezed her arm in shock. “What?”
“Aldo can only marry a Chinese woman. You should know your place,” Giska added sharply.
Just then, an exaggerated clearing of the throat cut through the tension. Everyone turned. Indra had walked in and casually seated himself at a table, raising a hand to request the menu. Faby instantly moved to serve him.
Feeling uneasy, the two women quickly left the café. Priska rolled her eyes as she watched them go. The place was quiet at this hour, near closing time—but lately, too many strange people had been showing up.
“Had dinner yet, Pris?” Indra asked.
“Yes,” she answered curtly, heading straight for the door.
Outside, a sleek car sped away just as she stepped into the lot. She exhaled deeply and went back inside, flipping the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Close*’ A yawn escaped her lips, though she still had to deal with her damp hair.
“Goodness!” she gasped, bumping into a tall figure as she turned around. It was Indra.
“Since I helped you just now, I expect a reward. Tomorrow, I’ll pick you up for dinner,” he said flatly—it sounded more like a statement than a request.
Indra always carried an air of authority, bossy and domineering. But this was still wrong. No matter how sharp, stylish, or intoxicating his cologne was, Priska was already someone else’s girlfriend.
“Sorry, Sir. I already have a boyfriend. He wouldn’t like me going out with another man. I can repay your kindness in any other way—just not with dinner,” she replied.
Indra smirked. “Any other way?”
Leaning down, he whispered right against her ear. “Then how about breaking up with your boyfriend?”
Priska recoiled, glaring at him. “Don’t be insolent.”
“You’ve already flaunted that gorgeous body of yours, and now I can’t sleep because of it. Shouldn’t you take responsibility, Pris?” he mocked.
There would be no end to this conversation unless one of them walked away. So Priska stormed upstairs, fuming. ‘Do all men think like this?’ Clearly, Indra was crossing a line, dredging up something that should never have been spoken aloud. She had already apologized; that incident had been unplanned, unintended.
Locking her bedroom door, she threw herself onto the bed, not caring that her pillow was getting soaked from her wet hair. She was exhausted—exhausted by Indra Hendrawan and his arrogant ways.