Novels by Hen-hen018

The mahogany doors of the primary conference room swung open with a muffled, expensive thud, instantly cutting off the low murmur of anticipation rippling through the Jakarta elite.Aris glided into the room first, his charcoal suit pressed to absolute perfection, a polished silver tie clip catching the midday glare from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He didn't just walk; he owned the trajectory, moving with the practiced, predatory grace of a man who believed the corporate ladder was built exclusively for his boots.Behind him, Dimas hauled a heavy, matte-black projector case, his newly acquired thrift-store charcoal jacket feeling slightly stiff across the shoulders. A tiny, defiant strip of silver duct tape remained hidden beneath the inner lining—just in case—but his posture was straight, his chin up. Hana followed close behind, her heels clicking a sharp, unforgiving rhythm against the imported Belgian carpet, her expression

"If you order one more iced coffee, your heart is going to explode right here on the linoleum floor, and I am not legally or morally obligated to drag your corpse out of this convenience store," Hana said, slamming a heavy ceramic mug down onto the Formica table.Dimas didn't look up from the glowing blue screen of his laptop. The harsh fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store buzzed overhead, casting an unforgiving glare across rows of instant noodle packets and discounted energy drinks."My heart is fine, Hana. It's my soul that's currently flatlining," Dimas muttered, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard with a frantic, rhythmic clatter. "Besides, caffeine is a legal requirement in Jakarta after midnight. Look at page fourteen. Tell me that doesn't fix our entire problem."Hana leaned over the back of his plastic chair, her sharp eyes scanning the digital layout glowing on the screen. The famil

"You look like a walking biohazard," Hana said, leaning against the glass door of the office and staring pointedly at Dimas’s left arm."Good morning to you too, Hana. And for your information, this is structural engineering," Dimas muttered, keeping his arm pinned tightly to his torso to prevent the silver strip of duct tape from snapping. "The fabric gave out. It’s an organic reaction to working twenty hours a day under fluorescent lights.""It’s embarrassing. You’re representing the agency now, even if you’re currently one step away from debtor’s prison," Hana crossed her arms, her diamond-encrusted watch catching the office light. "Get your bag. We’re leaving.""Leaving? Where? We have the stakeholder review in three days. I haven't slept since the gala—""Precisely why you look like a corpse wrapped in a carpet. We are going to Blok M," Hana interrupted, cutting him off with a wave of her hand that brooked zero argument. "If you show up to pitch the New Horizon project wearing a

"Ten billion Rupiah, Aris? Are you out of your mind?" Dimas hissed, his voice bouncing off the cold concrete walls of the underground parking garage."Keep your voice down, you absolute idiot," Aris snapped back, stepping out from the shadow of a concrete pillar. He didn't look like the polished corporate executive from the seventeenth floor anymore; his tie was loosened, his collar unbuttoned, and his eyes were wide with a frantic, desperate edge. "That money isn't missing. It’s... reallocated. Fluid capital for high-priority operational contingencies.""It’s embezzled," Dimas corrected flatly, holding up his smartphone. The screen cast a harsh blue glow over his face, displaying the exact transaction logs, shell company invoices, and wire transfers Aris had tried so hard to bury. "You’ve been siphoning the New Horizon marketing budget into a ghost agency for six months. I have the trail right here. From the first fraudulent invoice to the final sweep into your offshore account."Ari

The hum of the central office air conditioner felt like a physical weight pressing down on Dimas’s neck. He slumped into his ergonomic mesh chair, the plastic wheels letting out a dry squeak against the gray commercial carpet. Across the open-plan floor, the rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the muffled murmurs of conference calls created a dull, background static that did nothing to soothe his caffeine-addled brain.He stared blankly at the dual monitors on his desk, the screens glowing with row after row of financial disclosures, quarterly projections, and marketing budget allocations for the sprawling "New Horizon" development."Focus, Dimas. Just look at the numbers," he muttered to himself, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his palms.His fingers danced across the mechanical keyboard, clicking open a deeply buried sub-folder labeled Phase_One_External_Audits_Final_v3. It was a folder most junior cre

"Corporate strategy meetings and PowerPoint decks about lifestyle synergy are officially dead," Dimas declared, stepping out from the air-conditioned sanctuary of the office lobby and straight into the humid, exhaust-choked chaos of the Jakarta afternoon.Hana grimaced, pulling her designer trench coat tighter around her as a passing city bus blasted a wall of black diesel smoke across the sidewalk. She stepped back instinctively, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm against the cracked pavement."If you are dragging me to some subterranean basement office to eat questionable street food because you think it’ll magically cure your lack of creative inspiration, I am billing you for my dry cleaning," Hana snapped, dodging a delivery driver who mounted the curb on an overloaded scooter."Dry cleaning is tax-deductible if it's research," Dimas shot back without missing a beat, weaving deftly through a thick cluster of