The office at Nexus Tower felt colder than usual, though the air conditioning only hummed softly with a monotonous drone. Devara sat in a small meeting room, the glass walls reflecting her pale face. But it wasn't the air that made her shiver—it was the black envelope Queen Li had just tossed onto the glass table before her. It landed with a soft thud, yet it felt like a stone striking her chest.
"Open it," Queen Li ordered curtly, her voice flat yet brimming with authority, like a judge who brooked no refusal. She sat in her wheelchair, her black gown flowing like liquid night, her eyes piercing Devara with an intensity that thinned the air.
Devara reached for the envelope, her hand trembling slightly. Inside was a thin file: a name, a photo, a career record. A forty-eight-year-old man, an operations manager named Rudi Santoso. His face was ordinary—short, graying hair, a friendly smile that seemed genuine, eyes tired but warm. His record was spotless: twenty years at Nexus Corp, no violations, no deceit. Just a hardworking man with a small family waiting at home.
"This man," Queen Li said, lighting a long cigarette, its white smoke coiling in the air like a serpent, "will be your test. Remove him. Today."
Devara stared at the photo, her heart pounding erratically. "He's… innocent," she said, her voice hoarse, almost pleading. "No record of wrongdoing. Why him?"
Queen Li's lips curved into a crooked smile, her eyes glinting like a freshly sharpened blade. "Still thinking in terms of right and wrong? I'm disappointed, Dev." She leaned forward, the cigarette smoke curling around her face like a dark aura. "I thought you were more mature. This world doesn't turn on justice, darling. It turns on power. And you must choose a side."
Devara swallowed hard, her hands clenching under the table. "What if I refuse?" she asked, her voice low, but with a defiance she couldn't hide.
Queen Li glided closer, her wheelchair moving silently. Her eyes bore into Devara's soul, sharp as a dagger poised to strike. "If you refuse," she said softly, her voice a venomous whisper, "your parents' names will be added to the watchlist. They live in a small village in Central Java, don't they? A simple house, a small garden, a quiet life. It'd be a shame if that peace were disturbed." She paused, letting her words sink in, then added, "And Dr. Artha… I'm not sure he'll survive long in this political game without protection."
Silence. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like a sledgehammer pounding Devara's head. She knew the threat wasn't empty. Queen Li didn't just know this world—she controlled it, a puppeteer pulling the strings of her marionettes. And Devara was just a puppet trapped in her play.
A Haunting Encounter
That afternoon, Devara stood before Rudi Santoso's office, the unfortunate manager. The simple wooden door with "R. Santoso" etched on a small plaque felt like a gate to her personal hell. She knocked, her hand trembling. Rudi looked up from his desk, offering a warm smile, his face lined with faint wrinkles from years of hard work. "Young Master Devara, how can I help you?" he asked, his voice kind and genuine, like a father speaking to his child.
Devara could only stare, her chest tight. It felt like looking at someone she was about to bury alive. "There's a report of irregularities," she said, her voice stiff, like reciting a script written by someone else. "We need to conduct an investigation. I'm sorry, you'll have to come with security."
Rudi's eyes widened, his face paling. "Investigation? What kind?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I don't understand… I've worked here for decades, I've never—"
"Enough," Devara cut him off, though her own voice wavered. She couldn't meet his eyes any longer. Two security guards appeared behind her, their faces expressionless, like machines programmed to obey. They seized Rudi's arms, pulling him from his chair.
"Please, young master!" Rudi cried, his voice thick with panic. "There's a mistake! I have a child—my wife is ill, I can't—" His screams were cut off as the elevator doors closed, swallowing him into the cold shadows.
Devara shut her eyes for a moment, her breath catching. His cries echoed in the corridor, like a prayer rejected by the heavens. She let her steps carry her away, toward the emergency stairwell, where she could hide from the suspicious gazes of her colleagues. Inside her chest, guilt began to gnaw, like a slow poison spreading.
A Ritual of Initiation
That night, Queen Li waited in her private suite, the same room with its intoxicating sandalwood scent and dim candlelight. A round table stood in the center, holding a bottle of red wine that gleamed like fresh blood. Queen Li sat in her wheelchair, her black gown pooling to the floor, her face radiating a satisfaction hidden behind a thin smile.
"Congratulations, Dev," she said lightly, her voice a song celebrating victory. "You've passed the first stage. This is your celebration."
She poured wine into two crystal glasses, the red liquid flowing slowly, reflecting the candlelight like liquid jewels. Devara stared at the glass offered to her, her hand hesitant. "This… isn't a victory," she said, her voice hoarse, heavy with regret she couldn't hide.
"No," Queen Li replied, her smile widening, though her eyes remained cold. "But it's the first step to becoming someone with power. You've chosen this path, Dev. And this path has no turns for going back."
Devara lifted the glass with a trembling hand, downing its contents in one gulp, hoping the wine's bitterness could wash away the guilt choking her chest. But it only clung tighter, like a stain that wouldn't fade. Rudi Santoso's face—his cries, his terrified eyes—kept flashing in her mind, a ghost that refused to leave.
Faces in the Mirror
Late that night, Devara returned to her apartment, her head foggy with alcohol and guilt. She stood before her bathroom mirror, water still dripping from her face after washing it repeatedly, as if she could cleanse her sins. Her reflection stared back, but she felt it held more faces—shadows of her past selves. A young Devara, innocent, running through village rice fields with joyful laughter. A teenage Devara, dreaming of continuing Dr. Artha's fight, hoping to change the world with data and truth. All versions of her gazed back with disappointed eyes, as if asking: What have you done?
She touched the mirror's surface, her fingers trembling. "What have I done…" she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears fell, mingling with the nausea rising in her throat. She sank to the floor, letting the silence punish her, the necklace around her throat feeling like a tightening chain with every passing second.
A Poisoned Gift
The next morning, a black box waited on her desk at Nexus Tower. Inside, an expensive watch gleamed under the neon lights—its sleek design crafted from the same black metal as her necklace. A small card bore Queen Li's neat, cold handwriting: "Time is the only currency that matters. Own it."
Devara gripped the watch tightly, its second hand moving with relentless rhythm. It felt like a chain, not a gift. Each tick sounded like a reminder that she was now bound, no longer free to choose her path. She slipped it onto her wrist, the metal cold against her skin, an extension of the necklace already chaining her neck.
Devara stared at the watch, its seconds ticking softly, but to her, each one sounded like the gavel of a courtroom sealing her fate. Outside the office window, Nusaraya sprawled in the morning mist, a sick city full of secrets. And within her, a question echoed: Is there still a way out, or will I forever be hers?