The Runaway's Revenge

The smell of expensive jasmine lilies filled the room, a scent that was supposed to represent purity and new beginnings. But for Liana, it felt like the smell of a funeral. She sat in front of the vanity mirror, staring at her own reflection. The white lace of her wedding dress felt heavy, like a cage made of silk and beads. She was twenty-one, an age where her friends were busy chasing internships or traveling the world, yet here she was, wearing a ring that felt like a shackle.

"It's for Mom, Liana. Just for Mom," she whispered to herself. Her voice trembled, barely audible over the distant sound of the wedding reception music downstairs.

Her mother's dying wish had been simple yet suffocating: "Marry Raka, Liana. His family will protect you. I can't leave you alone in this world." Liana, ever the dutiful daughter, had swallowed her dreams of moving to Florence to study fine arts. She had traded her paintbrushes for a marriage certificate.

She thought Raka was a decent man. He was charming in a rehearsed way, always saying the right things when their parents were watching. She truly believed that even if love wasn't there yet, safety would be. She expected a protector. She expected a home.

The door clicked open. Liana turned, expecting a bridesmaid or her new mother-in-law. Instead, she saw Raka. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo jacket anymore. His tie was loosened, and his eyes looked glassy, bored.

"The guests are asking for the bride," he said, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't look at her with admiration. He looked at her like a piece of furniture he had just purchased and wasn't sure where to put.

"I just needed a moment, Raka. It's... it's a lot to take in," Liana replied, trying to offer a small smile.

Raka chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Don't get all dramatic on me, Liana. We did the ceremony, the papers are signed. Just come downstairs, smile for the cameras, and then you can go back to being the quiet little doll my mother wanted."

He didn't wait for her answer. He turned and walked away, leaving a cold draft in the room. Liana felt a shiver run down her spine. A week. She just had to get through the first week, and maybe they would find a rhythm.

But the rhythm she found was a nightmare.

Fast forward six days. The honeymoon phase didn't exist. Raka was barely home, claiming "work emergencies" at his father's firm. The sprawling house they lived in felt haunted. Liana spent her days wandering the cold hallways, her art supplies still packed in cardboard boxes in the corner of the guest room-the room she had been sleeping in because Raka claimed he "snored too loudly" and didn't want to disturb her.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. A heavy rain was drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion. Liana was heading to the kitchen to make some tea when she noticed something strange. The door to the laundry suite, usually tucked away near the back stairs, was slightly ajar.

She heard a giggle. It wasn't a sound of a worker doing chores. It was high-pitched, flirtatious. Then came a man's voice-a voice she recognized all too well.

"Careful, Maya. If the 'little princess' hears you, we're in trouble," Raka's voice drifted through the gap.

Liana's heart stopped. Her breath hitched in her throat, feeling like she had swallowed glass. She moved closer, her hand trembling as she pushed the door just an inch further.

The sight inside burned itself into her retina. Raka was there, his hands wrapped around Maya, the young maid who had been hired just two weeks before the wedding. They weren't just talking. The intimacy, the way they looked at each other-it wasn't new. It was practiced. It was old.

"She won't hear anything," Maya whispered, leaning into him. "She's too busy playing the mourning daughter in her room. Why did you even marry that boring girl, Raka? You promised me it would just be us."

Raka pulled her closer, kissing her neck with a passion he had never shown Liana. "You know why. My father's will was tied to that old woman's friendship. If I didn't marry Liana, I'd lose the CEO chair. It's just business, babe. She's just a placeholder. You're the one I actually want in my bed."

Liana felt the world tilt. The "protection" her mother promised was a lie. Her marriage was a business transaction for a man who disgusted her. She didn't cry-not yet. Instead, a cold, sharp clarity washed over her. She had sacrificed her entire life, her passion, and her future for a man who saw her as a "placeholder."

She stepped back, her heels clicking softly on the marble. She didn't hide. She pushed the door wide open.

The two of them jumped apart. Maya scrambled to straighten her uniform, her face turning pale. Raka, however, didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed. He straightened his shirt, staring at Liana with eyes that were as cold as stone.

"Liana. You should learn to knock," he said, his voice devoid of any apology.

"A placeholder?" Liana's voice was steady, surprisingly sharp. "Is that all I am? While you roll around with the help in the house my mother helped your father build?"

Raka rolled his eyes. "Oh, cut the melodrama. You have the house, you have the credit cards, and you have the family name. Just go back upstairs and pretend you didn't see anything. We can keep this civil as long as you stay out of my business."

"Civil?" Liana took a step forward. "There is nothing civil about this, Raka. This isn't a marriage. It's a joke."

"It's a contract," Raka snapped. "And you're not going anywhere. What are you going to do? Run away? You have no money, no parents left, and no career. You're a 21-year-old girl with a half-finished portfolio. You need me."

Liana looked at him-really looked at him-and realized she didn't recognize the man she had promised to spend her life with. Or maybe, she finally saw him for exactly who he was.

"I'd rather be a beggar on the street than your 'placeholder'," Liana said. She reached for her finger, tugging at the diamond ring that felt like a parasite. It was tight, stubborn, but she pulled until her skin was raw. She threw it on the floor. It made a pathetic clink sound as it rolled toward Maya's feet.

"Keep it," Liana said to the maid, who was trembling. "It's as fake as he is."

She turned on her heel and walked away. Raka shouted after her, his voice echoing in the hollow hallway, calling her ungrateful, calling her a fool. But Liana didn't stop. She went to the guest room, grabbed her backpack and the one box of paints she hadn't unpacked, and walked out into the pouring rain.

She had no plan. She had no home. She was a widow of a living marriage, a divorcée before she had even reached her first anniversary.

She walked for what felt like hours, her thin sweater soaked through. The neon lights of the city blurred into streaks of color. Eventually, her legs gave out near a high-end shopping plaza. She sat on a stone bench, shivering, her box of paints clutched to her chest like a shield.

"Mom... I tried," she sobbed into her knees. "I tried so hard."

"Excuse me?"

A small, soft voice broke through her crying. Liana looked up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Standing in front of her was a little girl, maybe five or six years old. She had long, dark hair and was wearing a bright yellow raincoat. She was holding a stuffed rabbit that looked just as wet as Liana.

"Are you a princess?" the little girl asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You look like the sad princess in my book. The one who lost her castle."

Liana tried to choke back a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "I'm not a princess, sweetie. I think... I think I'm just lost."

"Mika! I told you not to run off!"

A deep, commanding voice boomed from behind the girl. Liana looked up and saw a man approaching. He was tall, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that screamed power, even with a black umbrella held over his head. His face was chiseled, handsome in a way that felt intimidating, but his expression was as cold as a winter morning in the mountains.

This was Adrian Dirgantara. Even in her mess of a life, Liana recognized the face from business magazines. The man they called the "Ice Architect."

Adrian stopped in his tracks when he saw Liana sitting on the bench, soaked to the bone, looking like a drowned bird. His eyes flicked from Liana to his daughter, Mika, who was now standing right next to the stranger.

"Mika, come here. Now," Adrian said, his voice like a whip.

"But Daddy, she's crying! And she has paints! Look!" Mika pointed at Liana's box.

Adrian looked at Liana again. There was no pity in his eyes, only a cold, analytical gaze. He looked at her wet clothes, her messy hair, and the way she held onto her art supplies like they were worth more than gold. To him, she looked like trouble. She looked like a distraction.

"I'm sorry if she bothered you," Adrian said to Liana, his tone incredibly stiff and formal. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't offer his umbrella. He simply grabbed Mika's hand. "Let's go, Mika. We're late."

"No! I want to stay with the paint lady!" Mika protested, her little shoes splashing in the puddles. She suddenly broke free from her father's grip and hugged Liana's leg. "Don't be sad, paint lady. My Daddy is rich, he can buy you a new castle!"

Adrian's face darkened. He looked at Liana with a mix of annoyance and something else-a flash of frustration. "I apologize for my daughter's behavior. She's... overly imaginative."

Liana looked up at the man, her own eyes red and swollen, but her spirit wasn't entirely broken. "She's just being kind," Liana said, her voice shaking from the cold. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

Adrian froze. Nobody spoke to him like that. Not his employees, not his rivals, and certainly not a girl who looked like she had just crawled out of a river. He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tightening.

"Kindness doesn't get you far in this city," Adrian snapped. He pulled Mika back, more firmly this time. "Come. Now."

As they walked away toward a waiting black limousine, Mika kept looking back, waving her hand. Liana watched them go, feeling the cold seep into her bones. She didn't know then that this wasn't the last she'd see of the man with the frozen heart.

She didn't know that the little girl in the yellow raincoat had just decided who her new mother was going to be.

Liana stood up, her muscles aching. She looked at the limousine disappearing into the traffic. She had lost everything today-her mother's house, her husband, her reputation. But as she looked at her paint box, she realized she still had the one thing Raka couldn't take. She had her name. And she had her pride.

The rain started to thin out, but the air remained freezing. Liana began to walk again, not toward the past, but toward a future she couldn't yet see. A future where she would have to face a man even more difficult than the one she had left-a man who didn't believe in love, and a man she was determined to change.

But first, she had to survive the night.