Chapter 17

The online world seemed to hold its breath as the digital clock struck 00:00. On Zea Production’s official YouTube channel, a two-minute and thirty-second video had just been uploaded. Its title was short yet piercing: THE BETRAYAL – Official Trailer. Within minutes, the view count skyrocketed from thousands to millions, sparking a tidal wave of comments that flooded social media from Jakarta to Cannes.

The trailer opened with suffocating cinematography—a luxurious mansion that looked more like a gilded prison, cloaked in gray shadows. A minimal yet haunting score accompanied the scene of a woman standing in the rain, being cast out by a man whose face was deliberately obscured, yet whose gestures felt eerily familiar to the Indonesian public.

“You’re nothing but a script I’ve already finished reading,” the actor’s voice rang coldly—uncannily similar to Dewangga’s tone whenever he belittled others.

Every cut in the trailer felt like a scalpel, reopening old wounds with breathtaking artistry. There was a scene of a little girl curled up in a corner while the looming shadow of a grandmother approached with a raised hand. Another depicted betrayal in a lavish bedroom, strikingly similar to the hotel room where the infamous bloody engagement party took place.

The brilliance of the trailer lay not only in its resemblance to real-life scandal, but in its production quality—on par with Hollywood blockbusters. Serena Zea wasn’t just selling gossip; she was delivering a masterpiece.

By morning, the hashtags #TheBetrayal and #JusticeForSerena topped global trends. International film critics began publishing brief reviews, praising Serena Zea’s bold return to cinema with such a deeply personal psychological drama.

In a shabby internet café on the outskirts of the city, Dewangga sat with swollen eyes, staring at the monitor. His hands trembled as he read the comment section beneath the trailer.

“This isn’t just a film—it’s historical evidence of a businessman’s depravity!” one account wrote, gathering thousands of likes.

“Look at how she portrays the hospital scene—it’s heartbreaking. Serena is truly a genius!” another added.

Dewangga felt as though his dignity was being flayed alive in public. The film hadn’t even been released yet, and he had already been sentenced by public opinion. To him, The Betrayal was a final assault—one meant to erase what little remained of his name from the world.

“She can’t do this!” Dewangga slammed the café desk, drawing cynical glances from those around him. “This is defamation! She’s stealing my life to make money!”

Clinging to the last flicker of determination amid his ruin, Dewangga went to Wardojo & Partners, a prestigious law firm he once hired to intimidate business rivals. He wore a wrinkled shirt and an old jacket to conceal his identity, though the musty smell of his rundown apartment clung stubbornly to him.

“Mr. Dewangga,” the senior lawyer, Mr. Wardojo, greeted him in a formal yet cold tone. He didn’t even offer coffee as he used to.

“Mr. Wardojo, I want to sue Serena Zea and Zea Production,” Dewangga said hastily. “That trailer—it’s an insult! She’s using my life story without permission. She’s portraying me as an abuser of my child and wife before the entire world. I want that film banned!”

Mr. Wardojo removed his glasses and leaned back. “Mr. Dewangga, let’s be realistic. First, to file a lawsuit of this scale, you need a substantial retainer f*e. We checked your accounts, and that appears to be… difficult.”

Dewangga fell silent, his face reddening. “I’ll pay after we win! My stocks will rise again if that film is banned!”

“Second,” Mr. Wardojo continued, ignoring the hollow promise, “a defamation claim requires proof that the statements are false. However, the evidence Serena holds—medical records, servant testimonies, even CCTV footage already circulating—is legally strong. If this goes to court, she could countersue based on material truth. The film is protected as a fictional work ‘inspired by real events.’ Legally, your position is zero, Dewangga.”

Dewangga slammed the table. “So you’re refusing to help me?!”

“Not just me,” Mr. Wardojo replied calmly. “I’ve spoken with colleagues at other firms. No lawyer is willing to risk their reputation defending a man labeled a national monster—especially without guaranteed payment. You’d be better off saving what little money you have left for survival.”

While Dewangga was turned away from law offices one after another, Serena sat in an editing studio with Haris Nasution. They were reviewing the trailer’s statistics, which had now surpassed 50 million views in just 24 hours.

“Dewangga tried to sue us this morning,” Haris said, handing Serena a cup of coffee. “But it seems no law firm is willing to even take his call.”

Serena smiled faintly, her eyes still fixed on the monitor displaying the film’s climax. “He always believed money and power were the highest law. He forgot that in this industry, narrative is the true ruler. I don’t need a courtroom to destroy him—I only need to tell the truth beautifully.”

“This trailer has shaken the international market, Serena. Distributors from America and Europe are already making offers for screening rights,” Haris added proudly.

Serena stood and walked toward the large studio window. Across the street, a massive billboard now displayed the face of the lead actor from The Betrayal, with bold words: SOON IN THEATERS.

“Dewangga thought he could burn the script of my life and end it on that sidewalk that night,” Serena whispered. “He didn’t realize I’m the most relentless writer. If he wants this story to end in his destruction, then that’s exactly what the audience will see.”

That night, in his cramped apartment, Dewangga could only sit weakly on the floor. He saw Serena’s film poster everywhere—on social media, on television, even on the food packaging he bought. He felt like a character trapped in a film he couldn’t stop.

For Serena, The Betrayal trailer was more than promotion—it was a declaration of victory. For Dewangga, it was a daily reminder that he had lost everything: his wealth, his family, and now, even control over his own name. The world no longer saw him as Dewangga Nasution, the successful businessman—but as the antagonist in Serena Zea’s masterpiece, waiting for his final collapse.