The CEO's Contract

Nadia signed her name three times: on the contract, on the power of attorney, and on a bank form she hadn't even had time to read in full. Her hand shook on the third signature, and Bara Mahesa noticed — Nadia was sure of it, though the man said nothing. "Twelve thousand dollars will be in your account before five this afternoon," Andi Wijaya said, tidying the folder. "Our team will also settle your late father's debt this week. You won't need to meet them again." "Meet who?" Nadia asked. "The people who came to collect from you yesterday." Andi smiled professionally. "From now on, that's our business." Nadia turned to Bara, who had already stood up and was straightening his suit as if this meeting were just one item on a list of twenty. "When do I move in?" Nadia asked. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. My driver will pick you up." Bara paused at the door. "Bring only what you need. The apartment is fully furnished." "And... the wedding?" "The ceremony is next week. Small, private. Only those who need to know." Bara looked at her. "Until then, you remain Nadia Prameswari. After that, you are Mrs. Mahesa — in public." The door closed. Nadia was left alone with the lawyer and the stack of papers that had just changed her life. "ARE YOU INSANE? You are insane, Nadia!" Sinta nearly dropped her glass of iced tea. They sat at a street food stall near Nadia's boarding house, and Nadia had just told her everything — except one thing she kept to herself: the forbidden room. "So you... a contract marriage? With a CEO? For thirty thousand dollars?" Sinta leaned in, her eyes shining somewhere between horror and amazement. "Nad, this is a soap-opera plot. Except you're the one starring in it." "Sin, I'm serious. This isn't a joke." "I know you're serious! That's why I'm panicking!" Sinta grabbed Nadia's hand. "Listen. People that rich don't need a contract wife unless there's a catch. Are you sure he's not... weird?" "The contract is clear. I read all of it." "Contracts can be broken, Nad." Nadia fell silent. She remembered Bara's gaze in the meeting room — assessing, measuring, deciding. Cold, yes. But there had been something behind that gaze when he asked about Nadia's father. Something... not cold. "He asked about Father," Nadia said quietly. "About what?" "Why Father resigned from Mahesa Group two months before he died." Nadia stirred her iced tea. "Sin, I didn't even know Father ever worked there. Fifteen years, Sin. Fifteen years and Father never told me." Sinta frowned. "But your father said he worked at a welding workshop?" "The welding workshop was a side business, apparently. Or... I don't even know anymore which one was the side." Nadia looked at her friend. "Weird, right?" "Weird is that you're only finding out now." Sinta sighed. "Nad, I won't tell you not to do this. Aunt Lastri's surgery can't wait, and those debt collectors won't be patient. But promise me one thing: if anything goes wrong — anything — you call me. Any hour." Nadia nodded, her eyes burning. Nadia's phone vibrated at exactly 4:47 p.m. Mobile banking notification: incoming funds, $12,000. Twelve thousand dollars. A number she had previously only seen in corruption news. Five minutes later, an unknown number called. "Miss Nadia? I'm calling from Mr. Andi's office. The matter with the collectors has been settled — they won't contact you or your mother again. We'll send the settlement receipt to your email." "Se... settled? That easily?" "For us, yes." The caller sounded like he was smiling. "Good afternoon, Miss." Nadia stared at her phone for a long time. Twenty thousand dollars of debt that had haunted her for the past week — gone in a single phone call. She should have felt relieved. But what she felt instead was a chill: this is what it felt like to be under the protection of someone very powerful. Safe — and small. That evening, she visited her mother at the hospital. Lastri looked thinner than the last time Nadia had seen her, but her smile was the same. "The doctor says the surgery can be moved up, Mom," Nadia said, peeling an apple. "The cost... it's taken care of." Lastri studied her daughter for a long moment. "From where, dear?" Nadia had prepared this answer. "An office loan. Deducted from my salary." It was the first lie of many she would tell over the coming year. It tasted bitter on her tongue. "You don't have to push yourself," her mother said gently. "I can still wait." "What are you talking about, Mom." Nadia forced a laugh. "The doctor said it has to be soon. Just listen to the doctor." "All right, all right." Lastri stroked Nadia's hand. "You're like your father. Stubborn, but soft-hearted." Nadia swallowed. "Mom... did Father work at Mahesa Group?" Her mother's face changed — only for an instant, but Nadia caught it. Surprise. "How do you know?" Lastri's voice was quiet. "I read an article yesterday. Why did you never tell me?" Her mother fell silent, twisting the edge of the blanket. "Your father asked. He said... let the past be the past. After he left that place, he didn't want that name mentioned in this house again." "Why did he leave, Mom?" "I don't know, dear. I swear, I don't know." Lastri looked at her daughter with wet eyes. "All I know is, the last two months before he passed, he was often lost in thought. Like a man being chased by something." Nadia's chest tightened. "Mom—" "Enough, enough. Don't think about it." Her mother patted her hand. "What matters now is my surgery is covered, and you're healthy. That's all." Nadia nodded, but in her head her mother's words kept turning: like a man being chased by something. Nadia started packing at nine that night. Her boarding room was small — her whole life fit into two suitcases and three boxes. Clothes, books, an old laptop, and a small wooden box holding her father's things: a dead wristwatch, reading glasses, and old photographs. At the bottom of the box, beneath the pile of photos, her fingers touched something: a thick brown envelope, neatly sealed. On the front, in the upright handwriting she knew so well — her father's handwriting: For Nadia. Do not open before the time comes. Nadia froze. An envelope from her father. One she had never known existed. Hidden at the bottom of the box, under the photographs — as if her father had wanted her to find it someday, but not too soon. Without thinking, she lifted the envelope to her nose. The old paper still faintly carried the smell of eucalyptus oil and tobacco — her father's smell. Six months. It had been six months since she had smelled it, and suddenly tears fell onto the seal. "What were you keeping, Father?" she whispered. "Why did you never tell me?" Do not open before the time comes. When is "the time"? Her father had died six months ago. Had the time already passed — or had it not yet come? Her heart pounded. She turned the envelope over. The seal was still intact. The contents felt thick — like several sheets of paper, and something small and hard inside. Her hand moved toward the seal — A car horn sounded from below. Twice, short. Nadia startled and peeked out the window. A gleaming black sedan was parked right in front of the boarding house — far too luxurious for this narrow alley, and the neighbors had already started peeking out of their doors. Her phone rang. Another unknown number. "Miss Nadia? I'm Darman, Mr. Bara's driver." A polite, middle-aged man's voice. "Sorry to disturb you so late, Miss. Mr. Bara asked me to pick you up early — he wants you at the apartment tonight. There's... a sudden matter tomorrow morning that requires your presence." Nadia looked at the envelope in her hand, then at the suitcases that were not yet fully packed. "I... I haven't finished packing." "That's fine, Miss. I'll help. Mr. Bara is waiting." The call ended. Nadia slipped her father's envelope into her sling bag — deepest inside, behind her wallet. Whatever was in that envelope, she would not open it in front of other people. She went down the stairs of the boarding house carrying two suitcases, three half-closed boxes, and one new secret that even Bara Mahesa did not yet know she had. Below, Darman was already waiting with the car door open. In the dark back seat, Nadia's phone vibrated once more — a message from a number she did not recognize at all: Welcome to the Mahesa family, Miss Nadia. We will meet often. — W. Nadia stared at the message. Her fingers went cold. Who is W? [To be continued — Chapter 3]