His Nyai, Their Enemy

CHAPTER 3 — The Dutch Master

The carriage did not stop again.

After leaving Raka behind, the road stretched forward without interruption, carrying Sekar farther away from everything she had known. The silence inside felt different now, heavier, as if something between them had shifted without being spoken.

Sekar did not look back anymore.

She sat with her hands resting still in her lap, her gaze fixed ahead, though she was not truly seeing anything. Her thoughts had settled into something quieter, more controlled, as if the storm inside her had begun to fold inward.

Across from her, Willem Van Der Velde watched.

Not openly.

Not in a way that demanded attention.

But enough.

“You learn quickly,” he said after a long silence.

Sekar’s eyes moved slightly, though she did not turn toward him immediately.

“I did not realize I was being taught,” she replied.

“You were,” Willem said. “You simply did not notice.”

That made her look at him.

There was something unsettling about the way he spoke, not because his tone was harsh, but because it lacked hesitation. Everything he said sounded deliberate, as if each word had already been considered long before it was spoken.

Sekar studied him now, properly this time.

In the chaos earlier, she had not allowed herself to focus on him. He had simply been the man who took her, the voice that ended everything she had known.

But now, in the stillness of the carriage, she could not ignore him.

Willem sat with the kind of quiet authority that did not need to be proven. His posture remained straight, his movements minimal, his presence filling the space without effort. Even in silence, there was something controlled about him, something that made it clear he was used to being obeyed.

“You stopped the carriage,” Sekar said.

It was not a question.

Willem’s gaze met hers.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question came out before she could decide whether she wanted the answer.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then, slowly, he leaned back slightly, as though considering her.

“Because you asked.”

Sekar frowned.

“That does not make sense.”

“It does not need to,” he replied.

There was no explanation beyond that.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Sekar held his gaze, searching for something—mockery, indifference, anything that would make his answer easier to understand.

But there was nothing.

Only that same calm certainty.

“You could have refused,” she said.

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

Sekar’s fingers curled slightly against her palm.

“Why?”

This time, Willem did not answer immediately.

His gaze remained on her, steady, measuring.

“You are not as fragile as you think,” he said instead.

The words caught her off guard.

“That was not what I asked.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it is the answer you need.”

Sekar exhaled slowly, her patience thinning.

“You speak as if you already understand me.”

“I understand enough.”

Something in her expression sharpened.

“You understand nothing,” she said.

The words were quiet, but firm.

For a brief moment, the air between them shifted.

Not dramatically.

But enough to be noticed.

Willem’s gaze did not harden, nor did his expression change in any obvious way. If anything, he seemed… more attentive.

“Then correct me,” he said.

Sekar blinked.

“What?”

“If I am wrong,” he continued, “then say it clearly. Do not hide behind silence.”

There was no anger in his voice.

Only expectation.

Sekar felt something tighten in her chest.

This was not how she had expected this to go.

He was not dismissing her.

Not ignoring her.

He was pushing her.

“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “You think I am not fragile? You think I will simply accept this?”

“I think you will adapt,” Willem replied.

The certainty returned.

Steady.

Unshaken.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

The repetition made her jaw tighten.

“You keep saying that as if you can control it.”

“I can,” he said.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Sekar stared at him, something between anger and disbelief rising in her chest.

“You think you can control me?”

Willem’s gaze did not waver.

“I already do.”

The words landed heavily.

For a moment, Sekar could not respond.

Not because she agreed.

But because something about the way he said it made it difficult to dismiss.

She forced herself to look away, her breath slightly uneven now.

Outside, the landscape continued to pass by, unchanged, indifferent.

“You took me from my home,” she said quietly. “That is not control. That is force.”

Willem did not interrupt.

“You think that makes you powerful,” she continued. “But it only proves one thing.”

“And what is that?”

Sekar turned back to him, her eyes steady despite the tension beneath them.

“That you need to take what you cannot have.”

The silence that followed felt different.

Sharper.

For the first time, something in Willem’s expression shifted.

Not anger.

But something closer to interest.

“Careful,” he said.

The word was soft, but it carried weight.

Sekar held his gaze.

“Or what?”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The space between them seemed to tighten, the quiet turning into something more charged, more deliberate.

Then Willem leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now.

“You are still deciding what kind of woman you will be here,” he said. “I would advise you to choose carefully.”

Sekar felt the words settle deep.

Not as a threat.

But as something more dangerous.

A truth.

“And what kind of woman do you expect?” she asked.

Willem studied her for a moment.

“One who understands the value of survival.”

Sekar let out a slow breath.

“And if survival means becoming something I am not?”

Willem’s answer came without hesitation.

“Then you were never that person to begin with.”

The response struck harder than she expected.

Sekar’s fingers tightened again, but this time she did not look away.

Something inside her resisted the idea.

Refused it.

“You speak as if everything can be shaped,” she said.

“It can,” Willem replied.

“And people?”

“Especially people.”

The certainty in his voice sent a quiet chill through her.

Sekar held his gaze, something shifting slowly in her mind.

This was not a man who relied on force alone.

He believed in something else.

Control.

Patience.

Time.

And that made him far more dangerous than she had first thought.

The carriage began to slow again.

This time, neither of them spoke.

As it came to a stop, Willem stood first.

“Come,” he said.

Sekar remained seated for a moment longer, watching him.

Then, slowly, she stood as well.

Not because she accepted anything he had said.

But because she understood something now.

This was not a battle she could win by resisting openly.

Not yet.

As she stepped toward the door, Willem paused beside her.

“Sekar.”

She stopped.

“You asked me why I stopped the carriage,” he said.

Her chest tightened slightly.

“Yes.”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“Because I wanted to see what you would choose.”

Sekar frowned.

“And now?”

A brief pause.

Then—

“I have.”

He stepped out without another word.

Sekar stood there for a second, his answer echoing in her mind.

Not everything he said made sense.

But one thing was clear.

He was watching her.

Not just what she did.

But what she would become.

And that realization settled quietly, deeply, beneath everything else she was trying to hold together.

Sekar stepped out of the carriage.

Into a world that was no longer hers.