Fake Wedding Dress

The Cold Boundary

The morning sunlight creeping through the gaps of the four, meter,high velvet curtains felt like a blade slicing through Aluna’s eyelids. She groaned softly, reaching for warmth beneath the smooth, gray silk sheets, but found only the vast, cold expanse of an empty king-size bed. Reality hit her like a sledgehammer. She was no longer in her cramped bedroom with the scent of eucalyptus oil and the clatter of her mother’s stove in the kitchen.

She was at the residence of Arka Pradipta. She was in a golden cage where every corner radiated intimidating power.

Aluna sat up, leaning against the genuine leather headboard. Her eyes fixed on her left ring finger. The white gold band encrusted with diamonds sparkled wickedly in the morning sun. The ring felt incredibly heavy, as if its weight came not from precious metal, but from the invisible chains that now bound the rest of her life.

"Mrs. Alika? Are you awake?"

A soft knock at the door made Aluna flinch. She quickly adjusted her pajamas and cleared her throat, trying to summon Alika’s curt, confident tone.

"Come in," she answered briefly.

A middle, aged maid entered with disciplined steps, carrying a tray with a glass of warm lemon water and a small towel. "Mr. Arka is waiting for you at the dining table for breakfast. He requested that you come down within fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes?" Aluna’s eyes widened. At her house, breakfast was a casual affair that could last for hours of conversation.

"Mr. Arka values punctuality above all else, Madam," the maid replied expressionlessly, as if she were well-acquainted with her master’s impatience.

Aluna scrambled out of bed. She rushed to the walk-in closet, which was nearly the size of her parents’ entire home. Rows of designer gowns, leather handbags worth the price of a car, and shoes organized by color made her head spin. She chose a knee-length nude dress that looked elegant yet understated. She applied her makeup quickly, masking the puffiness of her eyes with thick concealer.

As she descended the winding staircase toward the dining room, the potent aroma of Arabica coffee and the scent of rosemary filled her senses. Arka Pradipta was already seated at the end of a very long white marble table. The man was dressed in a three-piece dark blue suit, his hair perfectly styled without a single stray strand. He looked like a Greek god carved from ice. He was perfect, yet deadly.

Arka did not look up when Aluna pulled out the chair opposite him. His eyes were glued to the iPad in his hand, while his long fingers occasionally swiped the screen to read business news.

"Sit," Arka commanded tonelessly.

Aluna sat with a rigid back, placing her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. "Good morning," she said hesitantly.

Arka finally raised his head. His sharp, eagle-like gaze scanned Aluna’s appearance from head to toe. His look was incredibly cold, as if he were inspecting the quality of a prize he had just purchased at an auction.

"Ten seconds late," Arka said coldly as he placed his iPad on the table. "In this house, time is the most valuable currency. Do not waste it."

"I’m sorry, I’m still adjusting," Aluna replied, trying to mimic Alika’s haughty tone, though her voice wavered slightly at the end.

A servant served breakfast before them. Eggs Benedict with truffles and smoked salmon. It was a lavish meal, but to Aluna, it tasted like nothing. Her throat felt constricted by the tension hanging in the air.

After a few minutes of stifling silence, filled only by the clinking of silver utensils against porcelain, Arka pushed a thin document across the table toward Aluna.

"What is this?" Aluna asked.

"The boundaries," Arka replied shortly. "I don't like ambiguity. Inside are the rules of engagement while you live under my roof."

Aluna opened the document with trembling hands. Every point written there felt like a nail driven into her freedom.

 No interference in work affairs or business decisions. The west wing, especially the private study, is a forbidden zone. Public appearances as husband and wife must be performed perfectly without a single flaw. Communication with the outside world must go through security protocols.

"The study is forbidden?" Aluna asked, her brows knitting together. "Even for your wife?"

Arka gave a cynical smirk, a curve of the lips that did not reach his eyes. "A contract wife, Alika. Do not let a status on paper make you feel like you hold the keys to my entire life. My privacy is non-negotiable. If I find you even standing in front of my study door without permission, this contract ends and I will collect every cent of your family’s debt in cash immediately."

Aluna swallowed hard. The threat was real. She could feel the aura of darkness radiating from the man in front of her. Behind his handsome face, Arka held wounds, or perhaps secrets, guarded by a barbed,wire fence.

"What about my parents?" Aluna asked, turning to the point most crucial to her. "I need to contact them to make sure my father is okay."

Hearing this, Arka stopped sipping his coffee. He set his cup back on the saucer with a sharp click. "That brings us to the next point."

Arka held out his hand toward Aluna. "Your phone."

Aluna was stunned. "My phone? Why?"

"Your old phone is not secure. Every form of communication leaving this house must go through an encrypted server. I do not want any information leaks or useless drama from your past interfering with the Pradipta Group’s image," Arka explained with a tone of absolute command.

"But that’s the only way I can talk to my father!" Aluna protested, her emotions as the real Aluna nearly boiling over.

Arka stood up, leaning his hands on the marble table and looming toward Aluna until their faces were only inches apart. Aluna could smell the expensive masculine fragrance mixed with the scent of coffee on his breath. However, what froze her most was the look in Arka’s eyes. In the depths of those black orbs, Aluna saw no anger. She saw a profound void, a hollow space that seemed as if it had been dead for a long time.

"You sold your identity to me when you signed that contract, Alika. Now, you are mine, in quotes. And what is mine must always be under my control," Arka whispered, his voice low and laden with threat.

Arka did not wait for Aluna to hand over the device. With a swift movement, he snatched her phone from beside her plate and handed it to Dimas, who had suddenly appeared from behind a pillar. In its place, Arka laid a new, sleek, jet-black smartphone in front of Aluna.

"Every number you need is already in there. Including your parents’ home. But remember, every call will be recorded. Do not even think about trying to give any signal about what happens inside this house," Arka stated firmly.

Aluna stared at the new phone with a sense of devastation. She felt like a prisoner who had just been given a new, more sophisticated set of handcuffs. She was cut off from the outside world, cut off from herself. Now, she was truly trapped in Alika’s identity, with no way out.

"One more thing." Arka straightened his jacket, preparing to leave. "There is a meeting with the fashion designer this afternoon for next week’s charity gala. Make sure you don't embarrass me with your occasionally excessive taste in clothing."

Aluna could only sit in silence, watching Arka’s back as he walked away with wide, arrogant strides. As the man disappeared behind the large doors leading to the lobby, the dining room suddenly felt deathly quiet, leaving Aluna alone at a long table that felt like a stage for a play.

She stared at the black phone in front of her. Her hand shook as she tried to turn on the screen. There were only a few contacts, Arka, Dimas, and one number labeled 'Home'.

Aluna leaned back, staring at the dining room ceiling adorned with luxurious crystal chandeliers. This opulence was suffocating. She remembered how Arka had looked at her earlier, as if she were not a human being, but merely a business instrument. There was something deeply broken inside Arka Pradipta, a coldness that was not just an attitude, but a remarkably strong self-preservation mechanism.

She touched the phone screen, her finger hesitating to press the home number. If she called, she would have to pretend to be the successful, happy Alika in front of her mother. She would have to lie again. The lies were piling up until she feared that one day she would forget the woman staring back from the reflection of the phone screen.

Outside, the roar of Arka’s luxury car faded into the distance, leaving Aluna in the silence of the vast, hollow mansion. She realized one thing, in this house, the boundaries Arka created were not just to protect him, but to ensure that no warmth could enter, and no secrets could escape.

Aluna closed her eyes, letting a single tear fall before she could stop it. She was Mrs. Pradipta now. A title that sounded grand to the outside world, yet felt like a death sentence in her heart. She had only just begun her first morning, but it felt as if she already wanted to surrender to an endless night.

In that silence, Aluna whispered the one name she was now forbidden to speak in this house.

"Luna, hold on," she whispered faintly, her voice swallowed by the cold emptiness of the room.

She did not know that from the corner of the room, through a cleverly hidden security camera, Arka Pradipta was staring at a screen in his car, observing his wife’s every move with a gaze that was difficult to decipher. There was a faint crease in Arka’s brow as he watched his wife cry, something a hard-hearted Alika should never do.

"Something is different about her today," Arka murmured to himself, his voice nearly inaudible amidst the noise of Jakarta’s streets.

And there, between the accumulating lies and the budding suspicion, the cold boundary began to show its first small crack. A crack that might destroy them both, or perhaps become the exit they had never imagined.