Chapter 5
Zioh
Soft, rough, uneven, jagged.
Cars. Seats. Lights. Steering wheel. And—
Tshabina.
You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Zioh! That’s why I wanna see you every day. Blue. 7.
Tshabina was walking arm in arm with a slight, fair-skinned man.
She was wearing an ivory knit top and beige high-waisted trousers.
A tank watch was wrapped gently around her left wrist as she carried her bag.
I looked at her other wrist; there was nothing there.
My gaze travelled from head to toe, but there was no hint of pink on her.
She smiled. She laughed. And—
Noise. The voices crawled inside my skull like something alive.
Watching her for too long, I read the things she left unsaid from the safety of my car, parked at Artamain’s lot. This was a situation I should’ve never let myself fall into; she was the last person I should ever meet, see, or breathe the same air as.
But when she turned, glancing about, her eyes landed on my car.
On me.
Those wide hazel eyes fixed onto mine as if piercing through the tinted glass. Seeing them again after so long made me… flinch; my mind went foggy. I let out a strained breath and loosened my tie.
Those eyes reminded me of deep, excruciating pain.
And yet, shit, I faltered because they were hers.
Eyes that had once made my heart thunder with excitement.
I’d always looked for them every day, and I’d nearly tripped over my own feet every time.
A strong, warm current jolted through my chest, and I trembled, looking at her.
But the whisper came, and reality crashed back.
I hated her now. More than anything. She was a ruin and a mistake that never should’ve entered my life.
She should never have come, moved into our neighbourhood, or touched our lives.
The two of them looked towards me at once. Through the rear seat, awe flickered on the man’s face. Unlike Sophie’s, her expression tightened with unease.
Good. She should feel it.
She should feel worse, far worse, because what I endured was torture beyond anything she could have fathomed.
My heart beat like a warning, every breath choked in my throat as I closed my eyes, willing it to steady. Breathe… fucking breathe.
“Bib, come on, let’s go inside.” The man’s voice carried from outside.
Voices again. Loud.
My head was splitting.
I shouldn’t have returned. Shouldn’t have listened. Shouldn’t be here.
My body shook under the weight of it all. I balled my hands into a fist.
Hold it in. Press it down—calm down.
Be quiet!
At last, the sound of their car pulling away reached me. I opened my eyes, breath easing, though there was a fire raging inside me, refusing to die.
This was a mistake—a terrible idea.
My car door opened. Natasha and the chauffeur climbed in, and the engine purred to life. I stayed rigid, staring ahead at the space where their car had been.
I furrowed my brow as awareness dawned on me. “Andi…”
“Sorry, sir?” Natasha’s voice pulled me back. She and the chauffeur were both watching me.
Exhaling, I shook my head. “Nothing. Just take me home. The main house. I need to see that old man.” I rubbed my brow, then glanced at her. “And stop calling me that.”
She gave me a slight nod, lowering her gaze to her phone. In truth, she ignored me in the politest way she could manage. The chauffeur nodded too, pulling us out of the car park.
? ── * ── ?
“Why didn’t you go straight home? Instead of coming back here, you’re off staying at a hotel!
” My father pointed at me. “Tracked you down at a hotel, and then a penthouse!” He hissed, his gaze dragging over me from head to toe.
“You’ve grown some nerve, Zioh! Do you think you’re so grand now?
Successful on your own back, are you?” I didn’t move.
“Would you have got anywhere if not for the Danud—”
The moment I stepped into the estate, more precisely, into my dad’s office within the grand house, I was met with the face I least wished to see. A parasite. His voice rang out, all too familiar.
The very last sound I wanted in my ears.
Home?
That word felt like a sharp tickle, made me want to laugh.
This grand house was like my chest: vast, hollow, empty. Or worse—filled with nothing but room for hatred and resentment.
My breath snagged as rage boiled inside.
Calm the fuck down.
And be quiet!
But the voices grew louder, my dad’s yell echoing against the walls. I noticed the changes as I scanned the place: new staff, unfamiliar faces, and more cameras than before.
I fixed my eyes on him as he raged on. “What is it you want to say? I came back only because Zaeem asked me.” I cut in, flicked my gaze away.
My face betrayed the life of a normal son—no joy, no warmth, no filial bond. Where most children would embrace a parent after years apart, tears and smiles mingling, I stood with nothing but disgust.
My dad’s face reddened further, veins straining at his neck as his hand lifted, “You’re getting more and more insolent, you fucking—” He was ready to strike. But then he saw my expression.
Nothing.
Because there was nothing left to give.
My whole body tensed, fists clenched—yet my eyes remained dead on him.
He froze, his hand suspended mid-air. We stared at each other for a long, heavy moment.
Then he let out a long breath, lowering his hand.
His voice, when it came again, was quieter.
“How long will you carry on like this? You and your brother have driven me up the wall.” He rolled his neck.
“Tell your brother to come to Indonesia as well. How far will he ruin himself in there, huh?!” He turned away and dropped into the sofa, loosening his shirt collar, pouring vodka into a lowball glass.
The old man made the same gesture years ago, when he last came to London to see my brother and me. Always the same shit.
“How is your brother?” he asked again, swirling his glass and eyes fixed forward. “He’s not doing anything to disgrace me or this company again, is he?” He finally looked at me, with those sharp eyes
I couldn’t help; a laugh slipped out, one corner of my mouth lifting. “You only ask him? Perhaps I might do something shameful too. Don’t I have something that could mortify you, too, Dad?”
“Drop that sarcasm,” he snapped, his words landing like a warning.
“And drop that paranoia,” I spat, “that constant exaggeration as though the world spins only for you.” I returned the gesture, looking him up and down.
“Take Grandpa, for instance, Dad. He’s far greater in every respect, yet he doesn’t live in fear of being disgraced by his grandchildren.
” I scoffed. “If that’s the measure, then you’re not half as great as you think you are. ”
My fists clenched tighter.
Hold it. Breathe.
His glass slammed down onto the table, vodka splashing over the glass surface. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to protect this company’s name, and neither you nor your brother will ruin it with childish rebellion! You’re both far too old for hormonal tantrums!”
Hormones?
Tantrums?
The company’s name?
This fucking—
I laughed. Laughed at the words spilling from his mouth. If it weren’t for Zaeem, I wouldn’t have been here. Otherwise, I might already be behind bars for strangling this old man.
He hadn’t changed, huh?
Still so blind that the real problem was him, that he was the one who started all this slow destruction.
How the fuck did Zaeem endure him? I would never understand.
I shook my head to keep myself from snapping. I could still keep a tight rein on myself as long as I held the reins. My voice dropped. “What do you want with me?”
Fucking say what you want.
I needed to go before I lost it.
He gestured at the sofa opposite. When I didn’t move, his shoulders sagged.
Defeat slipped into his tone. “Be the project manager for the company’s partnership with PT Artamain Persero.
Take over.” He sipped his vodka. “Your brother’s abroad for two months, so he cannot.
” His dark eyes landed on me. “This is a government-linked project. I can only trust you.”
My eyes narrowed. Anger prickled in my veins. Of course. I’d known this was coming. I was fully aware and had a bad feeling about it. I should never have listened to Zaeem. First, the architect, now a project manager? I had had a feeling he was involved in this, and I was fucking right.
“Why involve me deeper? I won’t stay here long, Dad!” I barked. “And you’re shameless enough to hand a project this size to someone not even in your company?”
“You’re my son, and this is my company!” He slammed his palm against the coffee table. “Even if you hold no position, act as your brother’s assistant. As project manager while he’s away!”
For fuck’s sake.
I glared at him with fire in my eyes.
His son? I didn’t give a shit about him or his bloody company.
I had my own life. My own career.
I had always known he wanted me as his successor. But it would be better if someone pushed me off a cliff. I couldn’t take the idea of being bound, especially by him.
I did what I decided to do.
Architecture and investing.
At the start, it was always the same story for all of us. Zaeem—or even Zeraiah—had a career, but they also dabbled in investing—Grandpa guided us. That was how our mother’s side of the family was.
They were generous souls, like Mum. Instead of forcing their three grandchildren to take over, they continued teaching us what they thought was necessary whenever we visited; they never demanded anything or made us feel constrained.
They never said nonsense about us potentially harming them, damaging their name, or embarrassing their company, no matter how damaged, flawed, or tarnished we might be. To them, we were their children whom they would continue to love and understand.
Unlike him.
Always unlike him.
So when he spoke of disgrace, shame, and names sullied, a short fucking humourless laugh slipped out from me.
“You’ve studied business since you were a boy,” he pressed on. “Only you can be trusted. If not for me, then do it for your brother. The project bears his name as much as mine.”
Typical. Always hid behind Zaeem, always using his name to reach me.
And fuck, it always worked.
“Cunning,” I muttered, lips curling. “Forever dragging Mas Zaeem’s name into our negotiations.”
“Because I know how much you care for your siblings, Zioh.” His gaze cut deep.
And he was right—too bloody right.
I nodded. “Of course.” I loved them; when I love, I fall so profoundly that I lose myself, giving my entire being because I cannot bear to lose. Not again.
Staring back at him, I meant every word. “We only have each other now.” I exhaled one final breath, turned on my heel, and headed for the door.
I needed to get out. He could not see me like this. Not him.
“Fine. But I’ll do it only for Zaeem. Not you.” My hand was already reaching for the door handle when my phone suddenly rang. I slipped it out of my pocket, unlocked it, and saw the name of the person who had brought this curse upon me flashing across the screen.
Mas Zaeem: I really need your help, Zi. Please help me, okay?
Zioh: Fine. But just this once. This project should be yours.
Zioh: Quit acting like an idiot and stop crawling back to Dad.
Mas Zaeem: Yeah, I know. But this is important to me too.
Zioh: Again? Seriously, Mas?
Mas Zaeem: Thank you. Also, send my regards to Biba and Bibu. You’ll be seeing them around a lot more from now on.
Mas Zaeem: I know, I’ll stay out of it, like you wanted. But listen to me for a sec, Zi.
A raw emotion coursed hot through my blood.
Mas Zaeem: Don’t be too hard on them. They’ve suffered as much as you have from everything that happened. And I know you know it wasn’t their fault. Especially Tshabina.
I read it at a slow pace, and each word crawled into me like a sting. My fingers moved with unease.
Dad’s voice broke in again, grating against my skin. “See Tsabinu for all legal matters, and to consult on this project. If you need anything else, ask him. He’s exceptionally talented.”
Phone. Door. Handle.
Dragging in a rough breath, I forced it out again.
Metal—harsh, burning—
Bitter. Salty. Iron—
Shit.
Golden.
“Tsabinu… Bibu…”