Chapter 12: Collateral Damage
1685 Words
Elara Dwijaya
Heat radiated off the asphalt, distorting the air around the black sports car until the world looked like a melting oil painting. The angsana tree above offered shade, but it did nothing to block the suffocating humidity or the sudden, icy dread pooling in my stomach.
Rei’s hand was on the door handle of his sedan. He paused, turning slowly, his movements practiced and leisurely.
"What did you say?"
My voice was a scrap of sandpaper.
Rei leaned back against the polished metal. He crossed his arms, the sunlight glinting off his Swiss watch—a subtle reminder of the power dynamic shifting between us. He looked at me not with anger, but with the pity one might offer a slow child.
"I said, the date is set. Next month."
"My parents wouldn't," I stammered, though the denial tasted like ash on my tongue.
"I told them no."
A low, dry laugh escaped him. He took a step forward, invading my personal space. The scent of his cologne—musk and expensive leather—cloyed the air, overpowering the smell of dust and exhaust.
"You think this is about what you want? You think this is a romance novel where you get to choose?"
He shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a predator’s satisfaction.
"Dwijaya Trading isn't just struggling, Elara. It’s a corpse. Your father has been cooking the books for two years to hide the rot. But the creditors? They stop being polite on Friday."
The ground seemed to tilt.
Friday. Three days.
"He needs a liquidity injection. A massive one. And do you know who the only person in Jakarta is willing to catch a falling knife like that?"
He tapped his own chest.
"Me. My family."
Oxygen refused to enter my lungs. The noise of the passing traffic faded into a dull, underwater roar.
"So, here is the reality," Rei continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You aren't a daughter right now. You are the collateral. You are the interest payment."
My knees buckled, but I locked them, refusing to fall in front of him.
"If you walk away," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear, "your father goes to jail for fraud. Or the stress kills him first. Is that what you want? To be the ungrateful child who destroyed her family for a little bit of... freedom?"
The accusation hit with the force of a physical blow.
Ungrateful. The word my mother had weaponized since I was five years old.
Rei pulled back, checking his reflection in the side mirror of his car. He looked bored. He looked victorious.
"Think about it. The house, the cars, the reputation. It all rests on your pretty little shoulders."
He opened the car door.
"Don't make me wait, Elara. I hate waiting."
BLAM.
The heavy door sealed him inside his air-conditioned fortress. The engine roared to life, a beastly growl that vibrated through the soles of my shoes. The car peeled away, leaving nothing but a cloud of exhaust and the shattering realization that my life had a price tag.
And it had already been sold.
Silence rushed back in, deafening and absolute.
My hands, hanging limp at my sides, began to tremble. The tremors traveled up my arms, seizing my chest.
The memory of the morning—the turmeric fish, the laughter in the sage-green room, the warmth of Dio’s arm—felt like a hallucination. That world was vibrant and real. This world was gray and transactional.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Rapid footsteps crunched against the gravel behind me.
"Elara!"
Saskia skidded to a halt. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide with panic as she scanned my face.
"What happened? What did that snake say to you?"
I couldn't speak. My jaw was locked tight.
"Ela?"
The dam broke.
I stumbled forward, collapsing into her. Saskia caught me, her arms wrapping around my shaking frame instantly. She smelled of chalk dust and cheap body spray—the scent of safety.
"They sold me, Kia," I choked out, the words tearing at my throat.
"They actually sold me."
Saskia stiffened. She didn't ask for clarification. She held me tighter, her hand rubbing circles on my back.
"Breathe. Just breathe."
"Dad’s going to jail... the money... Friday..." The sentences fractured, dissolving into incoherent sobs.
Saskia pulled back, gripping my shoulders. Her face was grim, her eyes hard.
"Give me your keys."
My hands fumbled blindly in my bag. The metal teeth of the car key bit into my palm before I dropped them.
Clatter.
They hit the asphalt. I stared at them, unable to make my fingers work.
Saskia snatched them up.
"Get in the passenger side. Now."
I obeyed like a robot. My body felt hollowed out, devoid of will. I slid into the leather seat, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.
BLAM.
Saskia slammed the driver’s door. She didn't say a word as she gunned the engine, merging aggressively into the afternoon traffic.
The city blurred past the window. Concrete. Glass. Steel. A prison built of ambition.
I stared at the dashboard, tears leaking silently from the corners of my eyes. The despair was a physical weight, pressing down on my sternum until every breath was a labor.
How could I fight this? How could I fight a debt that wasn't mine, but carried my name?
Time lost its meaning. It could have been minutes or hours before the car slowed down. The scenery had changed. The chaotic bustle of the main road had given way to the tree-lined, upscale streets of Senopati.
My head lolled to the side.
"Kia? Where are we going?"
Saskia didn't look at me. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"Somewhere neutral. Somewhere you can breathe."
"I just want to go to my room," I whispered, though the thought of that cold, empty house made me nauseous.
"No. That house is a war zone right now."
She spun the wheel. The car turned sharply into a familiar paved lot.
The ivy-covered facade. The industrial windows. The warm, amber glow spilling onto the patio.
Arx Cafe.
Panic spiked through the numbness.
"No!" I sat up, grabbing the dashboard.
"Saskia, no! I can't be here. Look at me!"
I pointed to my face—blotchy, swollen, a roadmap of misery.
"I can't let him see me like this."
Saskia killed the engine. She turned to me, her expression softening for the first time.
"You need a safe place, Elara. And right now, this is the only place in Jakarta that doesn't want something from you."
"But—"
"Out. Or I carry you."
She opened her door and marched around the hood. Before I could lock myself in, she yanked my door open and hauled me out.
The humid air hit my tear-streaked face. My legs were jelly, barely supporting my weight. Saskia wrapped an arm around my waist, acting as a crutch, and guided me toward the glass entrance.
Every step was a battle against shame. I wanted to dissolve. I wanted the pavement to open up and swallow me whole.
Ding!
The bell. That cheerful, welcoming chime that mocked my current state.
We stepped inside. The cool air conditioning washed over us, carrying the rich aroma of roasted beans.
"Hey! The Queen returns!"
The shout came from the corner. The leather-jacket regular. He was raising a hand, a grin plastered on his face, ready to launch another teasing remark about my 'glow'.
Then he saw me.
The grin died. His hand lowered slowly.
Silence rippled through the cafe like a shockwave. The laughter cut off. The clinking of cups stopped. Even the espresso machine seemed to hiss into quietness.
I ducked my head, hair falling forward to curtain my face. I gripped Saskia’s arm so hard my nails must have been digging into her skin.
"Excuse me," Saskia announced, her voice sharp and protective, daring anyone to make a comment.
"Ms. Elara?"
The voice came from the bar. Not the loud, joking voice of Dimas.
The deep, grounding baritone of the owner.
I froze.
Slowly, painfully, I lifted my gaze.
Dio was standing at the brew bar, a pitcher of milk in his hand. He was wearing the black apron over a grey t-shirt.
He looked at Saskia. Then his dark eyes shifted to me.
He took in the red, swollen eyes. The trembling shoulders. The absolute devastation etched into my posture.
There was no hesitation. No awkward question of "How are you?" or "What can I get you?"
Clang.
He set the metal pitcher down on the counter with a heavy thud.
He rounded the bar in three long strides, moving with a speed and intensity I hadn't seen before. The relaxed barista was gone; the protective father was front and center.
He stopped two feet away from us, creating a physical barrier between me and the staring patrons.
"Upstairs," he commanded. His voice was low, leaving no room for argument.
He looked at Dimas, who was standing frozen with a rag in his hand.
"Handle the floor. No one comes up."
"On it, Boss," Dimas replied, his usual playfulness replaced by instant seriousness.
Dio turned back to us. He didn't touch me—he seemed to sense that I might shatter if he did—but he gestured toward the wooden door next to the counter.
"Go. It’s unlocked."
Saskia nodded, steering me forward.
As I passed him, I kept my head down, unable to meet his gaze. The shame was burning a hole in my chest. I was bringing my mess, my drama, my broken life into his sanctuary.
But as I stepped toward the stairs, I felt a presence at my back. A shield.
"You're safe here, Elara," he murmured.
The words were simple. But they broke the last screw holding me together.
A sob ripped from my throat, raw and ugly. I stumbled up the first step, fleeing from the world, with the sound of Dio locking the door behind us.
- Writer
