Chapter 10

That morning, sunlight fell gently across the spacious courtyard of St. Haris International Academy, an elite school with modern architecture surrounded by lush green gardens. For Clarisa, this place felt like another planet compared to the dark corners of her father’s house, which was filled with shouting. Here, there was no grandmother twisting her ear, no Aunt Vanes looking at her with disgust, and no father ignoring her existence.

Serena adjusted the collar of Clarisa’s navy-blue uniform. “Sweetheart, you have drama class today, right? What do you want to be?”

Clarisa beamed, revealing her neat row of small teeth. “I want to be a princess who can fly, Mom! But not the kind who waits to be saved—I want to be the princess who saves the dragon!”

Serena chuckled softly, her heart warming. She kissed her daughter’s forehead before letting her run into class. Haris, who had been standing nearby holding his work tablet, approached Serena.

“She has natural talent,” Haris said, his eyes following Clarisa. “Her teacher said that during yesterday’s improvisation session, she delivered her lines with very genuine emotion. Your producer’s and artist’s blood runs strong in her veins.”

“I just want her to be happy, Haris. That talent is only a bonus for me,” Serena replied gently. Yet behind that softness was a deep sense of vigilance. She knew that last week’s court victory was only the opening act. Dewangga would not stay silent after being publicly humiliated by the circulating video of his abuse.

On the other side of the city, Dewangga sat in his increasingly suffocating meeting room. The public relations team he had hired at an exorbitant cost was presenting a strategy to “clean” his name.

“Mr. Dewangga, the public sees you as a monster right now,” one of the PR consultants said. “The only way to turn things around is to show that you are a loving father and that the video was just a misunderstanding or a moment of regret. You need to be seen with Clarisa in public. You need to appear as though you’re trying to rebuild your relationship with your daughter.”

Dewangga growled, gripping his pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Serena won’t let me get near Clarisa. The judge issued a 100-meter restraining order!”

“That’s why we won’t come officially,” the consultant whispered. “Tomorrow, Clarisa’s school is holding an open art festival. As her biological father, you have the moral right to attend. We’ll bring selected journalists who have already been ‘arranged’ to capture a sweet moment between you and Clarisa.”

Dewangga fell silent for a moment. He didn’t care about Clarisa’s longing. He only cared about his company’s plummeting stock due to the public boycott. “Do it. I’ll play the role of the father who suffers the most from being separated from his child.”

The day of the art festival arrived. Serena attended looking stunning, seated in the front row of the school auditorium. Haris accompanied her, giving the public the impression that they were an inseparable alliance.

When the stage curtain opened, a short play titled The Brave Star began. Clarisa was the lead. She stood at center stage in a sparkling star costume. Her small yet clear voice echoed throughout the room.

“I don’t need the sun’s light to shine,” Clarisa declared in her monologue about independence. “Because I have a fire in my own heart.”

The audience was captivated. Her facial expressions, her hand movements, and the intensity in her eyes reminded everyone of Serena Zea at the peak of her career. Haris glanced at Serena and whispered, “She’s not just your motivation, Serena. She’s a rising star who will dominate the screen.”

But amid the excitement, Serena noticed something strange. In the back row, several men with large cameras—clearly not school photographers—were getting ready. And near the entrance, a tall figure she knew all too well appeared, holding a large bouquet of sunflowers.

Dewangga.

As soon as the performance ended and the students came down from the stage to meet their parents, Dewangga pushed his way into the crowd. He ignored the school’s security warnings, using the excuse of “missing his child” to force his way through.

“Clarisa! My daughter!” Dewangga shouted, his tone carefully crafted to sound emotional.

The journalists he had arranged immediately pointed their cameras at him. Dewangga dropped to his knees, spreading his arms, trying to embrace Clarisa as she emerged from backstage.

“Clarisa, Daddy’s here, sweetheart. Daddy misses you so much. Please forgive me,” he said, his eyes glistening (thanks to eye drops he had used in the car earlier).

Clarisa froze. Seeing the man who had only ever given her coldness and fear suddenly trying to touch her caused all her trauma to erupt. Instead of running into her father’s arms, she stepped back unsteadily.

“No! Don’t touch me!” Clarisa screamed, her voice sharp with genuine fear.

Dewangga tried to grab her arm, sticking to his “father trying to reconnect” script. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s Daddy. Don’t be afraid. Daddy brought flowers for you—”

“NO! GO AWAY! I’M SCARED! DON’T HIT MOM AGAIN!” Clarisa shrieked hysterically. She covered her ears with both hands, her body trembling violently. She began screaming in terror—a scream that could only come from a child who had truly experienced deep trauma.

The real journalists—not the ones hired by Dewangga—quickly redirected their cameras. This was not a sweet moment. This was a public relations disaster.

Serena rushed forward at lightning speed, blocking Dewangga and immediately pulling Clarisa into her arms as the girl sobbed uncontrollably on the floor. “Dewangga! Stop! You’re violating the court order!”

Haris Nasution stepped forward, standing in front of Serena and Clarisa like a concrete wall. His face burned with anger. “Dewangga, you truly have no shame. Leave now before I drag you to jail tonight.”

Dewangga tried to defend himself in front of the still-rolling cameras. “I just wanted to see my daughter! Look at how Serena has brainwashed her into being this afraid!”

But Clarisa, still in Serena’s embrace, looked up with tear-streaked cheeks. She pointed at Dewangga with a trembling finger. “Daddy is lying! Daddy doesn’t love Clarisa! Daddy only loves Aunt Vanes! Go away, bad Daddy! I don’t want a father like you!”

Silence fell. The innocent words of a small child were more devastating than any legal accusation. Everyone in the auditorium stared at Dewangga with contempt. Even the journalists he had hired didn’t dare take more photos—they knew the script had completely fallen apart.

Dewangga stood there, his face pale. He looked around, realizing that his plan to repair his image had backfired spectacularly. He had just shown the entire world how broken his emotional relationship with his own child truly was.

“This isn’t over, Serena,” Dewangga hissed in a low voice, trying to avoid the microphones—but Haris heard him.

“For you, maybe it’s not over, Dewangga,” Haris replied coldly. “But for Clarisa, you died today.”

Dewangga was forced to retreat under the firm escort of school security. He walked out with his head bowed, while flashes from cameras chased his expression of defeat.

That night, the video of Clarisa’s hysterical reaction went viral under the title: “Tragedy at an Elite School: Dewangga Nasution’s Daughter Rejects Her Father While Screaming in Fear.” His carefully crafted image as a “devoted father” shattered into pieces. The public became even more convinced that Dewangga was truly a monster.

Inside Clarisa’s quiet bedroom, Serena held her daughter, who had begun to calm down. Clarisa gripped Serena’s hand tightly.

“Mom… was my acting good today?” Clarisa asked softly.

Serena froze, then gently stroked her daughter’s hair. “Why do you ask that, sweetheart?”

“I was really scared, Mom. But I remembered what you said—that we have to be strong in front of bad people. So I shouted so everyone would know that Daddy is bad,” Clarisa answered innocently.

Tears streamed down Serena’s face. Her daughter was not just a survivor—Clarisa was the driving force in this fight. She had learned to use her voice to protect herself and her mother.

“Yes, sweetheart. You were amazing. You’re Mommy’s hero,” Serena whispered.

In his apartment office, Haris Nasution watched the evening headlines with a satisfied smile. He knew Dewangga’s next move would be even more desperate. But he also knew that with Serena as the producer and Clarisa as the driving force, the story of Dewangga’s downfall had now entered its unstoppable climax.

“Dewangga,” Haris murmured as he closed his tablet, “you never realized that your greatest enemy isn’t me or Serena… but the seeds of evil you planted in your own child’s heart.”