002 | The Contract From Hell
974 Words
The knock on Gisel’s apartment door at seven o’clock the next morning wasn't a friendly one. It was sharp, rhythmic, and sounded like a summons to a courtroom. Gisel, wrapped in a threadbare robe and clutching a mug of lukewarm tea, peeked through the peephole.
Standing there was the man from the lobby the one Adrian had called Candra. He looked just as polished as he had yesterday, holding a sleek leather briefcase.
"Miss Gisella Rahardjo?" he asked as soon as she opened the door.
"If you're here for the four billion rupiah, you’re about eighty years too early," Gisel said, her voice raspy from a night of zero sleep.
Candra didn't smile. He stepped inside without being invited, his eyes scanning her tiny studio apartment. He looked at the stacks of canvases, the overflowing trash can of crumpled sketches, and the leaky ceiling.
"Mr. Dirgantara has reviewed your file," Candra said, placing a thick folder on her paint-stained kitchen table. "As expected, you have no assets, no savings, and your credit score is... colorful. Legally, we could sue you into a hole you'd never climb out of."
Gisel felt a cold pit in her stomach. "I know. You don't have to rub it in."
"However," Candra continued, clicking open his briefcase, "Mr. Dirgantara is currently facing a specific... inconvenience. His grandmother, the matriarch of the family, is insisting he marry a woman of her choosing by the end of the month. If he doesn't, she will freeze his voting rights in the company's board."
Gisel frowned. "What does that have to do with me? I'm an artist, not a lawyer."
"He needs a shield. A fiancée who is so far removed from his social circle that the press won't find any skeletons in her closet. Someone he can control through a debt." Candra pushed a document across the table. "This is a 100-day engagement contract."
Gisel looked down at the paper. The terms were printed in cold, black ink.
"One hundred days?" she whispered.
"In exchange for your performance as his fiancée, the debt for the vase will be wiped clean. Furthermore, you will receive a monthly allowance of fifty million rupiah for 'maintenance' and wardrobe expenses."
Gisel’s eyes widened. Fifty million? That was more than she made in two years. "And if I say no?"
"Then we proceed with the lawsuit. By noon, your bank account will be frozen, and we will begin the process of seizing your equipment and canvases for auction. You’ll be homeless by Friday."
Gisel looked at her favorite easel, then back at the contract. Adrian Dirgantara wasn't offering a deal; he was holding a gun to her career.
"I have conditions," Gisel said, her voice regaining its edge. "I won't stop working. I won't sleep with him. And I won't be his puppet. If he wants a fiancée, he gets me, not some doll he can dress up."
"Clause 4, Section B," Candra pointed to a line on the third page. "The relationship is strictly platonic. As for your 'work,' as long as it doesn't embarrass the family name, you are free to paint. But you will move into the Dirgantara estate tonight."
Gisel grabbed a pen. Her hand trembled, but she didn't hesitate. She couldn't lose her art. She signed her name in bold, messy strokes.
"Welcome to the family, Miss Rahardjo," Candra said, taking the folder. "A car will be here at six. Wear something... less colorful."
Six o'clock arrived with the roar of an engine. A black sedan, tinted so dark it looked like a shadow, was waiting at her curb. Gisel climbed in, clutching her most essential art supplies in a backpack.
The drive to the Dirgantara estate took her from the gritty, lively streets of the city to the gated hills of the elite. The mansion was a monstrosity of glass and steel, perched on a cliff like a hawk.
Inside, the air felt thin and expensive. Adrian was waiting for her in the library, a room filled with thousands of books that looked like they had never been read. He was staring out a floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
"You're late," he said without turning around.
"And you're still rude," Gisel replied, her heels clicking on the marble floor. "I see wealth doesn't buy manners."
Adrian turned. The light from the chandelier caught the sharp angles of his face. He looked at her backpack and her simple black dress with a look of pure disdain.
"I bought your time, Gisel, not your opinions," he said, walking toward her. He stopped just inches away, his cold energy radiating off him. "For the next hundred days, you belong to the Dirgantara name. You will eat when I say, stand where I say, and smile when I say. Do you understand?"
Gisel tilted her head back, meeting his icy gaze. "I signed the paper, Adrian. But don't forget you're the one who needs a 'shield.' That makes me just as important as you. So if you want me to smile, you'd better start being a lot more likable."
For the first time, Adrian’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in something that looked almost like curiosity. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline. His touch was like ice.
"We'll see how long that fire lasts," he whispered. "Dinner is at eight. Don't be late. I hate waiting for my property."
He walked past her, leaving Gisel standing in the middle of the silent library. She had saved her career, but she had just walked into a cage with a man who had forgotten how to be human.
- Writer
