Entangled in Lust

16. The Ice Prince and The Cold Dinner

Three years, two months, and four days.

That’s supposed to mean something. That’s supposed to be the hard part—over. The honeymoon mask peeled off. Bad habits exposed. Butterflies dead.

We passed it.

In the eyes of the campus, we’re #RelationshipGoals. King and Queen of the Economics Faculty. Lucas with his rotation of sports cars. Me, always in the passenger seat. The couple that survived the high school sweetheart curse.

But people only see the i********: feed. They don’t see what happens behind the scenes.

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Three days ago. Our 38th-month anniversary. Not a milestone anyone cares about, but I did. Lately, Lucas felt distant. Overtime at his dad’s law firm. Canceled dates. Angry for no reason.

I thought maybe he needed a homey atmosphere. Maybe he needed warmth. Something homey. Not another cold five-star restaurant.

So I went to Mayestik Market at dawn. Fresh tiger prawns that made my wallet weep. Squid. Real saffron. Paella—Spanish spiced rice. Lucas’s comfort food when he missed his grandmother. AC off. Windows wide open. Sweat dripped down my temples. My hands smelled like onions. Three hours of stirring for the perfect texture.

But I smiled. I pictured Lucas loosening his tie, hugging me from behind. “You really understand me best, Babe.”

Seven PM. My small folding table transformed into something decent. White tablecloth. Two plates. Candles. I showered, put on the maroon satin dress, and sprayed on the perfume Lucas bought me last birthday.

Ping. My phone beeped. I grabbed it excitedly.

Lucas: Still in a meeting. Going to be a bit late.

I typed a quick reply: Okay. Be careful. The food is ready. Love you.

Eight PM. The candles had melted halfway. The paella was starting to get cold. I reheated it on the stove, afraid the taste would change.

Nine PM. I called him. No answer. Maybe he’s driving, I thought positively.

Ten PM. I called again. This time, my call was rejected. Rejected. Then a short text came in: It’s chaotic here. Can you stop calling me?

My chest tightened reading that message. No apology. No explanation. Just an annoyance. I sat in front of my plate, the food now cold and hard. The expensive prawns I bought stared back at me pitifully.

Eleven PM. I blew out the candles. Packed the paella. Changed into pajamas. Wiped off the makeup.

I slept with my back to the door. Maybe he’d knock at midnight. Maybe he’d apologize.

But my door was never knocked.

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The next day was hell. Lucas disappeared. He completely vanished.

My chats only showed double grey ticks. My calls were forwarded. I saw him online on w******p a few times, but he didn’t open my messages. On i********:, he didn’t post anything. Aldo shared a story from a luxury hotel lounge. I noticed Lucas’s shirt sleeve in the corner of the frame. That Rolex watch. I knew it by heart.

So he wasn’t busy working. He was hanging out. And he chose to ignore me.

Two days like that. Checking my phone every five minutes like a maniac. Doubting my own sanity. Did I say something wrong? Was my cooking bad? Am I too clingy?

The worry turned into anger. I’m not a doll he can put in a closet when he’s bored, then pick up again when he needs me.

On the third night, I stopped being a passive victim. I ordered a bike taxi to his penthouse in Sudirman. Screw it if he gets mad. I needed answers.

------

The apartment unit wasn’t double-locked. I knew the passcode: his mother’s birthday. When the door opened, the smell of cigarette smoke immediately hit me. The room was dim, lit only by the city lights from the large window.

Lucas was there. He was sitting on the sofa, legs propped up on the table. He was still wearing his wrinkled work shirt, sleeves rolled up carelessly. On the table, there was a bottle of whisky, a quarter empty, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.

He turned when I entered. Not surprised. Not panicked. Bloodshot eyes. Flat expression. Like I was an uninvited guest interrupting his relaxation.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was raspy and cold.

My blood boiled. “What am I doing here? Are you seriously asking me that after disappearing for two days without a word?”

I threw my bag onto the sofa opposite him. My breath came in short bursts. “I cooked for you, Lucas. I waited for you until one in the morning. And you didn’t even have the basic decency to tell me you weren’t coming?”

Lucas took a slow sip from his glass. “I was busy, Cell. I told you, I was tied up.”

“Busy with what?!” I screamed. “Busy hanging out with Aldo at the Ritz-Carlton lounge? I saw the story! Don’t lie to me!”

Lucas slammed his glass onto the table. The sound was loud, making my courage shrink a little, but my anger was greater. “Can you stop playing detective?! I’m tired, Marcella! I need to breathe!”

“Do you need to breathe, or do you need another girl?” I shot back directly.

Silence. He turned away, looking out the window. That reaction made my stomach churn. Usually, he’d deny it immediately. ‘Are you crazy? There’s no other girl.’ But this time—silence.

I walked closer, my hands trembling. “Lucas… answer me.”

Lucas let out a long sigh. “Not another girl in terms of cheating,” he said flatly.

“Then what?”

“Sofia.”

Foreign name. But the way Lucas said it—familiar, resigned—made it sound dangerous. “Who is Sofia?”

“Sofia Vaquez. The daughter of my dad’s business partner in Spain.” Lucas massaged his temples. “She’s in Jakarta for two days. My dad ordered me to accompany her and her family for dinner. Hospitality. So the factory audit goes smoothly.”

My brain worked fast. “Two days? So while you disappeared and ignored me… You were accompanying another girl?”

“It’s business, Cell!” Lucas defended himself, his voice rising. “Her family holds major shares. If I don’t service them, my dad’s assets could be gone!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” My voice shook. “Why did you have to lie and disappear? If it’s just business, you could have brought me along, right? You could have introduced me as your girlfriend.”

Lucas laughed. A dry, condescending laugh. He looked me up and down. A gaze that made me feel small and shabby.

“Introduce you?” he asked cynically. “To the Vaquez family? To royalty? They talk about global stocks, European art, and corporate mergers. What are you going to talk about? Your thesis?”

Thump. Like being slapped. Again and again.

“So you’re ashamed to have a girlfriend like me?” I whispered.

“Not ashamed.” Lucas ruffled his hair. “I’m realistic. Sofia is… she’s on a different level. She understands my world. And my dad gave a strong hint.”

“What hint?”

“Arranged marriage.”

My world collapsed. I stepped back and bumped into the console table. “And you… You accepted?”

Lucas shrugged. Too casual for a topic this heavy. “I haven’t said yes. But I haven’t refused either. I’m just going with the flow, Cell. I have to save my family. My dad’s accounts are frozen. I don’t have a choice.”

“You have a choice!” I screamed. Tears spilled. “You can say you already have a girlfriend! You can fight for us! Three years, Lucas! Three years I’ve been with you—from when you were adapting here, from when you were nobody in that law firm!”

Lucas stood up. Walked toward me. Not to hug me. He towered over me with a gaze that felt foreign. Cold.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he said quietly. “I didn’t break up with you, did I? I just said I have to go with Sofia while she’s here. It’s just an act for a while to keep my dad happy. You just stay quiet, obey, and don’t ask too many questions. Is that so hard?”

I stared at him in disbelief. This wasn’t my Lucas. This was a monster created by money and power. Was he asking me to be a mistress? A secret? While he played the happy couple with another woman for assets?

“You are selfish,” I hissed. “You are the most selfish, cowardly bastard I have ever known.”

“I’m being realistic, Marcella!” he shouted back, veins popping in his neck. “Love can’t pay lawyers! Love can’t save the factory! You think I enjoy this? I’m stressed too! You, as my girlfriend, should support me. Don’t add to my stress with drama about your cooking!”

Unimportant. My paella. My sweat. My savings. Unimportant.

Enough. I have heard enough.

I wiped my tears roughly. No. I won’t cry in front of him anymore. He doesn’t deserve my tears.

“Okay,” I said. My voice suddenly calmed. “If I’m just a burden, I’m leaving.”

I grabbed my bag. Waited one second. Hoping he’d grab my hand. Hoping he’d realize he went too far. Hoping the old Lucas—the one who stood in the rain to buy me medicine—was still in there somewhere.

But Lucas didn’t move. He sat back down. Grabbed his bottle of whisky. Poured another glass. Looked away at the Jakarta city lights. Let me walk out alone.

I slammed the apartment door as hard as I could. BANG!

In the elevator down from the 45th floor, my legs gave out. I slid down against the glass wall. Lucas’s face kept replaying. How he looked down on me. Saw me as lesser. Chose his wealth over my feelings.

Dave told me on graduation day: “If he breaks your heart, I won’t be here to fix it this time.”

Dave was right. This heart is broken. Shattered. And tonight, in the lobby of this cold luxury apartment, I’m alone. No Dave. No one. Just me and the reality that I love a man who loves his father’s money more than he’ll ever love me.