The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence after Arthur threw down his "lethal" offer. Mr. Surya remained still, his wrinkled face hardening into a mask of suppressed rage. He stared at Elena, hoping to find a flicker of doubt or a trace of the submissive daughter he once knew, but all he found was a solid, impenetrable wall of ice.
"Do you truly think you can buy me with Montgomery money?" Mr. Surya hissed, his voice trembling somewhere between raw anger and wounded pride.
"I am not buying you, Mr. Surya," Arthur replied, calmly adjusting his expensive watch with a steady hand. "I am offering you an elegant way out. You get to keep this building, you get to keep your reputation, and your second daughter can still continue her studies in Switzerland. All of that... for the price of a single apology."
Surya Pratama let out a bitter, dry laugh. "An apology? To the brat who used to steal my daughter's time? Elena, do you hear this? Are you really letting this man insult your own father in his own office?"
Elena took a decisive step forward. "You were the one who insulted my future first by threatening Arthur behind my back. You were the one who used me as collateral for your failing business interests. So don't you dare talk to me about honor, Father, because you were the first one to throw it away."
Surya Pratama was taken aback. He hadn't expected Elena to speak with such biting defiance. He slumped back into his leather chair, his eyes glinting with a hidden, lingering malice. "Fine. I will consider your offer, Arthur. But do not expect this to end so easily. I still have a card up my sleeve that neither of you has anticipated."
Arthur offered a cold, knowing smile. "I look forward to seeing that card, Mr. Surya. But remember, the clock is ticking. You have forty-eight hours."
Escape in the Midst of Sudirman Traffic
Arthur and Elena exited the Pratama Group building together. As the heavy lobby doors opened, the oppressive, stifling heat of Jakarta greeted them once more. They climbed into the back of the waiting luxury car, where Ririn was already perched on the edge of her seat with an inquisitive expression.
"Well?! Was anyone slapped?! Was anyone fired?! Tell me everything!" Ririn blurted out immediately.
"A truce, Rin," Elena answered, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes. "But it feels more exhausting than working forty-eight hours straight on a deadline in London."
The car began to move at a snail's pace through the legendary Sudirman traffic. Arthur took off his tailored blazer, leaving only his crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Amidst the concrete skyscrapers and thousands of motorcycles weaving through the gaps like ants, Arthur stared out the window at the city he once fled.
"You know, El?" Arthur's voice sounded distant, almost nostalgic. "I used to imagine this exact moment. Sitting in a luxury car, on this very road, with you by my side. But in my dreams, the atmosphere wasn't this heavy. It was supposed to be a victory lap."
Elena turned her head, seeing the vulnerable side of Arthur resurface for a fleeting moment. "Jakarta is always heavy, Art. It's the nature of this city. But at least now, we don't have to hide in the shadows anymore."
Arthur reached for Elena's hand, gripping it tightly on the leather seat. "We need fresh air. Ririn, where is a place in this city where the Montgomerys or the Pratamas are least likely to go? Somewhere where 'status' doesn't exist."
Ririn thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up with a sudden idea. "I've got it! We're going to Old Jakarta (Kota Tua). There's an old coffee shop there that only knows about history, not stocks or dividends. There's no AC, just old rusty fans, but the coffee... it'll remind you exactly why you were born in this country."
Bitter Coffee in Old Jakarta
The coffee shop was tiny and weathered, tucked between grand colonial buildings with peeling paint and mossy walls. The thick smell of manually roasted coffee beans and the sweet aroma of srikaya toast filled the humid air. Arthur and Elena sat on wobbly wooden chairs that creaked with every movement, while Ririn busied herself ordering at the front counter.
"This is far from the luxury you're used to, Art. Are you sure about this?" Elena asked, watching Arthur, who looked entirely out of place in his custom-made London shirt amidst the humble, dusty surroundings of the shop.
"It's perfect," Arthur replied shortly, his gaze taking in the simplicity of the place. He sipped his thick, dark coffee. "The taste is honest. It's bitter, but it's real. Just like us."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the distant, muffled hum of the Jakarta streets. However, the peace was shattered when Arthur's phone vibrated harshly on the wooden table. It was a short, urgent message from James in London.
James:"Sir, Oliver just landed at Soekarno-Hatta. He was seen at the terminal with representatives from the rival investors of your father-in-law. It seems your uncle, Julian, is also pulling strings from behind the scenes."
Arthur set his phone down hard on the table with a loud thud. His jaw tightened, and the icy "Monster of London" mask returned to his face.
"What is it? What happened?" Elena asked, her voice laced with anxiety.
"Oliver is here in Jakarta," Arthur said coldly, his eyes darkening. "And he isn't alone. He's already working with your father's enemies."
Elena closed her eyes for a second, taking a sharp breath. So this was the "card" her father had meant? Collaborating with the very man who had once systematically tried to destroy Elena's mental health and confidence in London, just to spite Arthur?
"This is going to get very dirty, El," Arthur said, reaching across the table to hold her hand, his eyes burning with a new, protective determination. "They're going to try to attack you personally. They'll try to spread lies about your career and your time in London to destroy your credibility before the gallery project is finalized."
"Let them try," Elena met Arthur's gaze, her previous fear replaced by a spark of pure, unadulterated courage. "I'm not the same naive Elena they could toy with seven years ago. If they want to play dirty, then we'll show them how to build a foundation that even their worst lies can't break."
In that weathered old coffee shop, under the slow, rhythmic rotation of the ceiling fan, the plan for their final resistance was formed. Jakarta might be hot and oppressive, but the fire in Arthur and Elena's hearts burned much brighter than the tropical sun.