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You're Eyeing My Future Husband
img img You're Eyeing My Future Husband img Chapter 2 Arga stood in the center of the suite
2 Chapters
Chapter 6 I hope you're ready to be an aunt img
Chapter 7 we become the monsters they're afraid of img
Chapter 8 Arga stood in the center of the living room img
Chapter 9 Opposite him img
Chapter 10 a souvenir from a childhood he never talked about img
Chapter 11 The jasmine bush she had planted was thriving img
Chapter 12 A week later img
Chapter 13 Let them have their reunion img
Chapter 14 You're shaking img
Chapter 15 Get him in! img
Chapter 16 The Singapore morning was too bright img
Chapter 17 I looked at Arga img
Chapter 18 But ours img
Chapter 19 Blood tasted like rust and salt img
Chapter 20 We walked inside the house img
Chapter 21 I sat on the edge of the mahogany bed img
Chapter 22 Steam rose from the black asphalt of the mountain road img
Chapter 23 Rainwater didn't just fall anymore img
Chapter 24 Waves slammed against the hull like rhythmic hammer blows img
Chapter 25 Cold iron bit into my palms img
Chapter 26 He needs a doctor img
Chapter 27 Coffee's bitter today img
Chapter 28 a single man against an empire img
Chapter 29 I didn't stop to check the blood img
Chapter 30 Fluorescent lights hummed with a clinical img
Chapter 31 My hands were still stained with the dark img
Chapter 32 Red emergency lights flickered to life img
Chapter 33 Bleak morning light filtered through the thick img
Chapter 34 Every alarm in the corridor outside img
Chapter 35 My fingers img
Chapter 36 Rain didn't just fall in Darwin img
Chapter 37 Arga img
Chapter 38 Dust motes danced in the pale img
Chapter 39 watching the water turn from a murky img
Chapter 40 Stop it, Arga img
Chapter 41 My breath came in shallow img
Chapter 42 Arga leaned heavily against me img
Chapter 43 Broken waves slapped against the hull of Beni's weathered trawler img
Chapter 44 You're doing it again img
Chapter 45 Grit and copper img
Chapter 46 He looked like a statue carved from exhaustion and old trauma img
Chapter 47 Father Mateo img
Chapter 48 Mud clung to my boots like a heavy img
Chapter 49 We were deep in the bowels of a ship that shouldn't exist img
Chapter 50 Arga looked like he'd been hollowed out from the inside img
Chapter 51 Sweat turned to ice on my skin as the dry img
Chapter 52 The Ledger isn't just a leak img
Chapter 53 Red dust swirled around us like a shroud of dried blood img
Chapter 54 They were up there img
Chapter 55 sweet scent of rotting peaches img
Chapter 56 his face set in a grim mask of stoic fury img
Chapter 57 They won't see us unless they walk right over our heads img
Chapter 58 glided across the cracked salt pan img
Chapter 59 rhythmic rasp of Arga's breathing img
Chapter 60 Arga was sprawled on a cot three feet away img
Chapter 61 We aren't moving anywhere if we can't seethe stairs img
Chapter 62 Don't let the mast snap img
Chapter 63 bruised violet img
Chapter 64 Where do we go then img
Chapter 65 Sand was the only thing left in my mouth img
Chapter 66 You got that look img
Chapter 67 Can't get a handshake img
Chapter 68 Are we still continuing img
Chapter 69 The Ledger is the fire img
Chapter 70 Run until the ink dries img
Chapter 71 Welcome to the underground img
Chapter 72 It smelled like the only thing left worth fighting for img
Chapter 73 Dust choked my lungs img
Chapter 74 the fire would never go out img
Chapter 75 Wind whipped my hair into a frenzied tangle of knots img
Chapter 76 carrying the scent of parched earth img
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Chapter 2 Arga stood in the center of the suite

The morning light in Jakarta didn't feel like a new beginning; it felt like a spotlight on a crime scene. Arga stood in the center of the suite, his expensive silk shirt hanging open, looking at the hollow imprint on the bed where the girl had been just an hour ago. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning that now felt like ice against his skin. His head throbbed, a rhythmic pounding that reminded him of every mistake made in the dark.

He wasn't a man who panicked. Arga Putra Wijaya was the guy who stayed calm when stocks plummeted or when a factory burned down. But this? This was a different kind of fire. This was personal. This was a stain that wouldn't come out with a press release.

"Damn it, Bram," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button for his head of security, but then he paused. If he called the team now, there would be a paper trail. Logs. Witnesses. In his world, information was the only currency that mattered, and right now, he was bankrupt.

He walked over to the nightstand and saw it-a small, silver earring shaped like a teardrop. It was stuck between the mattress and the frame. He picked it up, the cold metal biting into his palm. It was delicate, cheap compared to the jewelry the women in his circle wore, but it felt heavy with the weight of what he had done. He didn't even know her face. The drug had turned his world into a blur of heat and desperation. All he remembered was the way she felt-fragile, like glass ready to shatter under his touch.

His phone buzzed again. Another message, but not from Bram. It was a link to a private gossip forum frequented by the elite. His heart skipped a beat as he opened it. There it was. A grainy photo of him entering the room, and another of a girl-her face blurred but her dress unmistakable-stumbling out of the lobby. The caption read: *The Golden Boy's Secret Suite: Who is the mystery girl in Room 404?*

"They're fast," he whispered. He felt a surge of nausea. This wasn't just a prank. This was a calculated execution of his reputation.

He moved quickly now, dressing with a robotic precision. He had to find her before the press did. Not because he wanted to apologize-the word felt foreign in his mouth-but because he needed to shut her up. He needed to buy her silence, her life, whatever it took to keep the Wijaya name from dragging in the mud. He left the hotel through the service exit, his cap pulled low, blending into the morning rush of hotel staff and delivery drivers.

Meanwhile, across the city, Zara felt like she was walking through a dream that had turned into a nightmare. The taxi ride home was a blur of neon lights and the smell of stale tobacco. When she finally stepped out in front of her family's house, the sight of the white marquee and the flowers made her want to scream. It was supposed to be her day. She was supposed to be putting on a white veil, not hiding bruises under a torn dress.

She pushed open the front door, hoping to slip upstairs, but the house was an ambush.

"Where have you been?"

Her father's voice was like a whip. Rudi Marligh stood in the foyer, his face purple with rage. Behind him, her mother was clutching a handkerchief, sobbing softly. And Intan-Intan was there, tucked into a corner, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Dad, I... I was hurt. Someone took me," Zara started, her voice cracking. She looked at Intan, waiting for her sister to speak up, to admit to the "milk" she had served.

But Intan didn't speak. She let out a small, theatrical whimper. "Oh, Zara... how could you? Dion is upstairs. He's seen the pictures. Everyone has seen them."

"Pictures? What pictures?" Zara felt the world tilt.

Her father threw a tablet onto the coffee table. The screen showed the forum post. The grainy photo of her, looking disheveled and broken, leaving the hotel. To anyone else, it looked like a walk of shame. It looked like she had spent the night in a drug-fueled tryst with a billionaire.

"I didn't choose this!" Zara screamed, her voice echoing through the house. "Intan, tell them! You gave me that drink! You told me it would help me sleep!"

Intan looked up, her eyes wide and watery. "Me? Zara, I was in bed by ten. I even checked on you, but your room was empty. I thought you went to see Dion for one last talk before the wedding. I tried to cover for you, but when these photos came out..." She trailed off, sobbing into her hands.

"You liar!" Zara lunged toward her sister, but her father grabbed her arm, his grip bruising.

"Enough!" Rudi bellowed. "You stay out all night with Arga Wijaya-the man who is trying to bankrupt our family's textile business-and then you try to blame your innocent sister? Have you no shame?"

"Arga Wijaya?" Zara whispered the name. It tasted like poison. She didn't care about his money or his empire. She only cared that he was the man who had stolen her future.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made everyone freeze. Dion walked down, his suitcase in hand. He didn't look at Zara. He looked at the floor, his jaw set in a hard line. He was the man she had loved since high school. The man who promised to protect her.

"Dion, please," Zara begged, breaking away from her father. "Look at me. Look at my eyes. I was drugged. I don't even remember how I got there."

Dion finally looked up, but there was no love in his eyes. Only a cold, shimmering disgust. "I saw the photo, Zara. You didn't look like you were struggling. You looked... occupied."

The slap she wanted to give him died in her soul. The betrayal was complete. Her sister had sold her, her father had judged her, and the man she loved had branded her.

"Get out," her father said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

"What?" Zara blinked.

"You are no longer a Marligh. I will not have a whore under my roof. You've ruined the merger, you've ruined our name, and you've ruined your sister's reputation by association. Go to your billionaire. See if he wants you now that the world knows what you are."

He didn't give her time to pack. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her toward the door. Zara stumbled onto the porch, the very porch that was decorated with symbols of her supposed happiness. The neighbors were watching. She could see the curtains twitching in the house next door.

"Dad, please! I have nowhere to go!"

The door slammed shut. The lock turned.

Zara stood there in the humid Jakarta heat, wearing a ruined dress and carrying a heart that had been ripped into a thousand pieces. She looked down at the gravel driveway. The engagement ring lay there, sparkling in the sun like a cruel joke. She didn't pick it up.

She began to walk. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't stay. Every step hurt. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. She hated Intan. She hated Dion. But most of all, she hated Arga Putra Wijaya.

She reached a small park a few blocks away and collapsed onto a bench. She put her head in her hands and finally let the tears come. They weren't soft tears; they were jagged, ugly sobs that tore through her chest.

"Rough morning?"

She looked up, startled. A man was standing there, leaning against a tree. He was wearing a dark hoodie and sunglasses, but she recognized the silhouette. The broad shoulders. The way he carried himself like he owned the air around him.

It was him.

Arga had followed the address he'd squeezed out of a hotel clerk. He had arrived just in time to see the drama on the porch. He had watched her get thrown out like trash. A part of him felt a twinge of something-maybe guilt, maybe just annoyance-but he pushed it down. He had a mission.

Zara stood up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, violent heat. "You," she spat.

Arga took a step forward, pulling off his sunglasses. His eyes were tired, but they were still the eyes of a predator. "We need to talk."

"Talk? You want to talk?" Zara laughed, a shrill, broken sound. "You raped me. You destroyed my life. My family just disowned me because of you! What is there to talk about, Mr. CEO?"

Arga flinched at the word 'rape'. "I was drugged," he said, his voice tight. "Just like you. I didn't know who you were. I didn't know where I was."

"And that makes it okay?" Zara stepped closer, her finger poking his chest. "Does your 'I was drugged' excuse get me my wedding back? Does it get me my home back? You're Arga Wijaya. You'll go back to your office and make another billion. I have nothing!"

Arga grabbed her hand, his grip firm but not painful. "That's exactly why we're talking. You have nothing. I have everything. And right now, the press is about to turn both of our lives into a circus. I'm not going to let that happen."

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

Arga looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. She was beautiful, even with the smeared makeup and the raw, red eyes. There was a fire in her that most women in his world lacked. "No," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm going to marry you."

Zara froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. "What?"

"It's the only way," Arga said, his mind already spinning through the possibilities. "If we're married, the night at the hotel isn't a scandal. It's a 'passionate secret affair'. The investors stay happy, your family looks like fools for throwing you out, and I get to keep my company."

"You're insane," Zara said, shaking her head. "I hate you. I want to see you in prison, not at an altar."

"Go ahead," Arga challenged, spreading his arms. "Call the police. Tell them your story. See who they believe-the CEO with a clean record or the girl whose own family called her a liar. You'll spend years in court, and you'll end up with nothing but more shame. Or, you come with me. You get a house, a name, and the power to make everyone who hurt you today crawl back on their knees."

Zara looked at him. She looked at the man who had taken her innocence, now offering her a golden cage. She thought about Intan's smirk. She thought about Dion's disgust. She thought about her father's cold eyes.

She didn't love Arga. She might never even like him. But he was offering her a weapon.

"If I do this," Zara said, her voice trembling but steady. "I'm not your wife. Not really. I'm your nightmare."

Arga felt a ghost of a smile touch his lips. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of a man who had just signed a contract with the devil. "Deal."

He led her to a black SUV parked around the corner. As the door closed, shielding them from the world, Zara looked out the window one last time at the direction of her old life. She wasn't the girl who loved jasmine and white veils anymore. That girl was dead.

The woman sitting in the back of Arga Wijaya's car was someone else entirely. Someone who was going to make sure that if she had to live in hell, she was going to be the one holding the pitchfork.

Arga watched her from the corner of his eye. He knew he had just invited a storm into his house. But as the car sped away, he realized he didn't care. He had always been better at surviving storms than enjoying the sun.

The engine roared, drowning out the sound of Zara's silent, final sob. The city of Jakarta blurred past, a concrete jungle where two broken people were about to start a war under the guise of a wedding.

"One condition," Zara said suddenly, her voice cold.

Arga didn't turn his head. "What?"

"Your sister. Your family. Anyone who had a hand in this night... they pay. You help me destroy them."

Arga shifted in his seat. He thought about his own father, Rudi Wijaya, who probably had a hand in Bram's plan just to "test" him. He thought about the sharks in his boardroom.

"Consider it done," Arga replied.

The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with the promise of a revenge that would leave no one standing. They weren't a couple. They were two survivors of a shipwreck, clinging to the same piece of debris, waiting for the tide to turn.

And the tide was coming. It was coming for Intan, for Dion, for Bram, and for anyone else who thought they could play with Arga Putra Wijaya's life and get away with it. But as Arga looked at the teardrop earring still clutched in his hand, he wondered if he was the one being played.

He had the money. He had the power. But as the car pulled into the driveway of his secluded mansion, he realized he was no longer the one in control. The girl next to him, with her ruined dress and her shattered soul, was the one who held the matches now.

And he was just the house waiting to be burned.

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