Coffee, Lies and My Student's Dad

Chapter 10: The Golden Shackle

Elara Dwijaya

The digital clock on the bedside table blinked a lazy 3:15 PM.

Silence ruled the room, broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of the child buried under the rabbit-patterned duvet. Lyra looked like a small angel, her dark lashes fanning against her cheeks, her grip on the giant brown teddy bear, Bobo, absolute and unyielding.

Watching her sleep felt like intruding on a sacred ritual. The sage green walls seemed to absorb the chaos of the outside world, leaving only this pocket of peace. It was a tranquility I couldn't afford, yet here I was, stealing seconds of it.

Creak.

The sound was barely a whisper, but in the stillness, it snapped like a twig.

My head turned. Dio stood in the doorway. He had shed the apron, returning to the grey t-shirt that clung to his frame. For a second, he just watched us—me sitting on the edge of the bed, his daughter lost in dreams.

He moved into the room with the silence of a shadow, his socks sliding over the parquet floor to avoid waking her.

"How long has she been out?" His voice was a low rumble, pitched perfectly to not disturb the air.

"Five minutes. Her battery hit zero," I whispered back.

A small smile touched his lips. He crouched on the other side of the bed, bringing his face level with Lyra’s. His hand moved, large and calloused, to gently pull the duvet up to her chin. It was a gesture of practiced tenderness, the kind that couldn't be faked for an audience.

"Thank you, Elara," he murmured, his dark eyes lifting to meet mine across the sleeping form of his daughter.

"Usually, nap time involves a negotiation process that rivals a hostage situation."

"She was tired. And I didn't mind. It was... peaceful."

We stayed there for a moment, bookends to the sleeping child. The scent of lavender from the diffuser drifted between us, masking the smell of coffee that usually clung to him.

Realization hit me. I was lingering. I was getting too comfortable in a life that wasn't mine.

"I should go," I said, my voice barely audible.

"It’s getting late."

I stood up slowly, careful not to shift the mattress. Dio rose with me, nodding. He didn't try to keep me, and for some reason, that stung just a little.

"I’ll walk you out."

We exited the room like thieves, Dio pulling the heavy door shut until the latch engaged with a soft, expensive click.

The descent down the stairs was a transition between worlds. With every step, the muffled silence of the apartment faded, replaced by the rising hum of the cafe below.

Blam.

The door at the bottom of the stairs swung open, and the noise hit us. The hiss of the espresso machine, the clatter of ceramic on wood, and the low roar of conversation washed over me.

"Finally! The eagle has landed!"

Dimas was the first to spot us. The shaggy-haired barista was shaking a metal tumbler above his head like a maraca, grinning maniacally from behind the bar.

Heads turned. The corner table—the peanut gallery—swiveled in unison.

"So, Boss?" The man in the leather jacket leaned back, blowing a plume of vape smoke toward the ceiling.

"Did you secure the date, or are we still in the negotiation phase?"

"Look at that glow!" another shouted, pointing a teaspoon at me.

"That’s the 'I just met the parents' glow!"

Dio’s face went from stoic to a shade of crimson that rivaled a ripe coffee cherry. He massaged the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, suffering sigh.

"Ignore them," he muttered to me, though there was no real venom in his voice. Then, louder: "Get back to work, or I’m docking your tips. All of you."

"Tyrant!" Dimas yelled back, laughing.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but strangely, the shame didn't follow. This wasn't the malicious gossip of high society, where whispers were designed to destroy reputations. This was warm. It was messy. It was a community.

I raised a hand, offering a small, awkward wave to the room.

"Goodbye, everyone. Have a good afternoon."

"Bye, Ms. Teacher!" The chorus was ragged but enthusiastic.

Dio shook his head, a small smile betraying his annoyance, and pushed the glass door open for me.

The Jakarta heat slapped us the moment we stepped onto the pavement. The air was thick with dust and exhaust fumes, a stark reminder that the sanctuary upstairs was the exception, not the rule.

We stopped beside my car. Dio shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the asphalt, stretching his silhouette until it touched my shoes.

"Sorry about the peanut gallery," he said, looking at a spot somewhere over my left shoulder.

"They mean well, but their filter is broken."

I spun my car keys around my index finger, leaning against the driver's door.

"You know, you’ve apologized four times in the last hour."

Dio blinked, his gaze snapping back to me. He looked genuinely confused for a second before a dry chuckle escaped him. He scratched the back of his neck—a nervous tic I was starting to find endearing.

"Have I? Bad habit."

"It’s fine. I actually... liked it. It feels alive in there."

"It’s a zoo," he corrected, but his eyes were soft.

"Drive safe, Elara."

"See you at school, Dio."

I slipped into the driver’s seat. The engine purred to life, and as I pulled away, I checked the rearview mirror. He was still standing there, a solitary figure in a grey t-shirt, watching until my car turned the corner.

A smile tugged at my lips, stubborn and unbidden. The heavy weight that usually sat on my chest—the debt, the pressure, the family name—felt lighter. For the first time in months, the drive home didn't feel like a funeral procession.

"Today was... good," I whispered to the empty dashboard.

But happiness in my life was always a loan, never a gift. And the interest rate was about to skyrocket.

• • •

Thirty minutes later.

The black iron gates of the Brawijaya residence loomed ahead. My smile died instantly.

Parked right in front of the garage, blocking the main entrance like a territorial beast, was a sleek black sports sedan. The paint was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting my own beat-up car in its distorted surface.

I knew that car. I knew the arrogance required to park it there.

Rei.

My stomach dropped. The oxygen in the cabin seemed to evaporate, replaced by a sudden, crushing nausea. The warmth of the cafe, the taste of the turmeric fish, the sound of Lyra’s laughter—it all dissolved into ash.

"What is he doing here?" I hissed, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

I killed the engine. For a moment, I just sat there, breathing in the stale air of the car, trying to build a fortress around my emotions.

Inhale. Exhale. Armor up.

Blam.

I slammed the car door with more force than necessary. My heels clicked aggressively against the pavement as I marched toward the front door.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the temperature plummeted. The central air conditioning was set to a bone-chilling temperature, carrying the cloying, expensive scent of sandalwood that my mother insisted on using. It smelled like a mausoleum.

I walked into the living room and stopped dead.

Rei was sitting on the imported leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other, looking entirely too comfortable. He held a porcelain teacup with a delicate grip, blowing on the steam.

My mother sat opposite him. Her posture was rigid, her face a mask of tight-lipped displeasure.

As soon as she saw me, she stood up. Her eyes swept over me like a scanner looking for defects.

"Where have you been?"

Her voice was low, vibrating with a threat.

"I was out. With a friend," I replied, keeping my tone flat. I tried to walk past them toward the stairs, desperate to avoid the ambush.

"Which friend?"

Mother moved with surprising speed. She intercepted me, her hand clamping around my upper arm. Her fingers dug into my flesh, sharp manicured nails pressing through the fabric of my blouse.

"Do you have a roster of my friends now? Do I need to submit a list for approval?"

"Senopati. Arx Cafe. Your car was parked there since one o'clock."

Thud.

My heart slammed against my ribs. The specificity of the information was a bucket of ice water.

My head snapped toward Rei. He was setting his teacup down on the saucer with a gentle clink. He offered a small, easy smile—the kind that didn't reach his eyes.

"I happened to be passing by, Elara," Rei said smoothly.

"I saw your car. I was worried something happened to it, or to you. I stopped to check, but you weren't downstairs."

My jaw tightened until my teeth ached.

"You went inside? You asked about me?"

"I asked the staff if you were there," Rei shrugged, feigning innocence.

"Just making sure you were safe. It’s a dangerous city."

"Rei," I said, my voice trembling with a cocktail of rage and violation.

"Since when did you become my private investigator?"

"I’m just looking out for you," he countered, his tone dripping with fake concern.

"I tried calling, but you didn't pick up. Naturally, I came here to inform your mother. We were worried."

"Worried? Or controlling?"

"Watch your mouth, Elara!" Mother snapped.

She yanked my arm, spinning me around to face her. Her eyes were wide, manic with the desperation of a woman clinging to her fading social status.

"Rei cares about you! He came all this way because he couldn't find you! And what were you doing? Hiding in some cheap cafe? With who? A man?"

I looked at her. Really looked at her. In her eyes, I wasn't a daughter. I was a failing stock option. I was the collateral for a loan she couldn't pay.

"I was having lunch," I said, my voice rising.

"I am twenty-six years old. I don't need a GPS tracker attached to my ankle!"

"You are a Dwijaya! You act like one!"

"I am a human being!"

I ripped my arm from her grasp.

Smack.

The sound of my hand swatting hers away echoed through the high-ceilinged room.

Silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating.

Mother stared at her hand, then at me, her mouth agape. Rei straightened on the sofa, his eyes narrowing. The mask of the polite suitor slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the predator underneath.

"That’s enough, Auntie," Rei said, standing up. He walked over, placing a calming hand on my mother’s shoulder, positioning himself as the mediator. The reasonable one.

"Elara is clearly tired. She’s not thinking straight," he said, looking at me with a pitying expression that made me want to scream.

"Let her rest. We can discuss her... behavior... later."

The condescension was physical. It felt like slime coating my skin.

I looked between them. The tyrant and the manipulator. They deserved each other.

"I’m done," I whispered.

I turned my back on them.

"Elara! Come back here! Apologize to Rei!" Mother shrieked.

I didn't stop. I took the stairs two at a time, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Blam!

Click.

I slammed my bedroom door and turned the lock. My back slid down the wood until I hit the floor. The sanctuary of my room felt flimsy, the lock on the door insufficient against the monsters downstairs.

My hands were shaking as I fumbled for my phone in my bag.

The screen lit up. The wallpaper was still the default geometric pattern, but my mind flashed to the photo in my gallery—the one of me, Dio, and Lyra. The warmth of that memory felt a million miles away, separated by a gulf of cold ambition.

I opened my messages. I found the thread with Rei.

My thumbs flew across the keyboard, fueled by adrenaline and pure, unadulterated loathing.

To: Rei Darvian

Forget everything you said last night. Stop following me. Stop checking on me. I will never be your girlfriend, and I will certainly never be your wife. Do not contact me again.

Send.

I threw the phone onto the mattress. It bounced once and settled face down.

I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my arms. The silence of the room returned, but it wasn't peaceful like the one in Dio’s apartment. It was lonely.

Downstairs, the enemy was plotting. Upstairs, I was under siege.

And for the first time, I realized that the lock on my door wasn't there to keep people out. It was there to keep me in.