Chapter 16

The stock exchange monitor looked like a line of death. Red dominated the screen, numbers plunging endlessly with no sign of stopping. The stock code DWNG—once a favorite among brokers—had now become a toxic asset everyone avoided. The “Bloody Party” scandal and the video of child abuse involving Dewangga Nasution had become the catalyst for the collapse of the business empire he had built on arrogance.

Dewangga sat in his vast office, but the room no longer felt like a throne. It felt like an isolation cell. The phone on his desk rang nonstop—calls from furious investors, business partners canceling contracts unilaterally, and threats of lawsuits from shareholders.

“Sir, the majority shareholders have just conducted a vote,” his secretary said in a trembling voice, entering without knocking. “They have officially removed you from your position as CEO. And… the bank has issued an asset seizure order as collateral for the company’s unpaid debts.”

Dewangga didn’t respond. He simply stared blankly out the large window overlooking Jakarta’s skyline. The sky he once believed was beneath his feet now felt as if it were collapsing on top of him.

The collapse did not come slowly; it came like a flood. Within forty-eight hours of the DNA scandal being exposed, officials from the bank and the court arrived at his mansion. The iron gates that had once been shut tightly against Serena were now wide open for moving trucks.

Dewangga stood in the yard, watching his luxury cars—his Lamborghini, Mercedes, and collection of superbikes—being loaded onto tow trucks. Each engine that roared away felt like a piece of his soul being torn out.

“Sir, please hand over the keys to this house,” an officer said coldly. “According to procedure, you have one hour to pack your personal belongings. The rest will be auctioned.”

Dewangga stepped into the house, which now felt unfamiliar. He passed Clarisa’s room—it was empty. He remembered how he had allowed Emely to throw away Clarisa’s toys just to make space for Vanes’s belongings. Now the room was silent, echoing with the laughter he had once ignored.

He walked into the master bedroom—the place he had once shared with Serena. He remembered how she always waited for him with a sincere smile, no matter how exhausted she was. He remembered how she would massage his shoulders when he was stressed. Now, all that remained was the cheap scent of Vanes’s perfume and an overwhelming sense of nausea.

He packed only one old suitcase—the same one he had used when he first started his career. A bitter irony. He had returned to zero, but with a far heavier burden of sin.

That night, Dewangga did not go to a luxury hotel. He no longer had access to any of his credit cards. All his accounts had been frozen. With the little cash left in his pocket, he rented a unit in a low-end apartment on the outskirts of the city—a decaying building with moldy walls and a frequently broken elevator.

The unit was tiny—perhaps only a third the size of his old bathroom. The mattress was thin and musty, and the noise from the street seeped through the cracked window without restraint.

Dewangga sat on the edge of the bed, staring around. This was his life now. The man who once called Serena a “parasite” had truly become one in his own world.

He tried to close his eyes, but every time he did, the past replayed like a horror film. He saw Serena’s tear-streaked face when he slapped her. He saw Clarisa screaming in fear when he shouted at her. Each gust of wind through the broken window sounded like Clarisa’s voice whispering, “Papa is mean… Papa is mean…”

“I’m sorry…” Dewangga whispered into the darkness. But the cold apartment walls gave no answer.

Hunger soon crept in. Dewangga went out to find food, but quickly realized his face had become too well-known—not as a successful businessman, but as a national disgrace. At a small food stall, people began whispering and pointing at him.

“Hey, isn’t that Dewangga? The one who abused his child?”

“Yeah… poor his ex-wife. Good thing she escaped that devil.”

Dewangga lowered his head, pulling his jacket collar higher. The shame hurt more than the hunger. He returned to his apartment empty-handed.

He sat on the floor, leaning against the damp wall. Taking out his cracked phone, he searched Serena’s name online. What he found were headlines about her success—photos of Serena smiling beside Haris Nasution at an award ceremony. She looked happy. Free.

Then he saw a photo of Clarisa. His daughter looked healthier, brighter, and beautiful in her little dress. She no longer looked afraid.

Dewangga broke down in tears. Not because he had lost his wealth, but because he finally realized he had thrown away heaven for the hell he created himself. He had abandoned the two people who loved him most for a twisted obsession with a male heir that was never his.

“Serena… Clarisa…” he sobbed.

He remembered the night he drove Serena out into the rain. Now, he knew what it felt like to be cast aside—without friends, without family, without dignity. Dewangga Investment was dead, and so was his soul.