Chapter 18

The filming location, nestled in a lush hillside area, was under tight security. Barricades were set up at every corner, ensuring that no intruders could disrupt the production of The Betrayal. Today was a major moment for the media—Zea Production had just officially announced that Clarisa, Serena’s only daughter, would play a key role in the film.

Not as a mere accessory, but as a symbol.

Under her mother’s direction, Clarisa portrayed a child rising from trauma—a role that seemed to mirror her own life. On the monitor, Serena watched her daughter’s performance closely. Clarisa looked incredibly natural; the fear that once filled her eyes had been replaced with intelligence and quiet strength.

“She’s incredible, Serena,” Haris Nasution whispered beside the director’s chair. “The public already loves her even before the film is released. She’s no longer just a child from a scandal—she’s an icon of inspiration.”

Serena smiled with pride. “She found her voice again through this art, Haris. That’s worth more than anything.”

Outside the shooting gate, a man in worn-out clothes and a cap pulled low tried to negotiate with the security guards. It was Dewangga. The arrogance that once defined him had faded into a gaunt, unkempt figure. His stomach twisted with hunger, and the few coins in his pocket wouldn’t even cover next month’s rent for his shabby apartment.

He stared at a large poster of Clarisa displayed near the entrance. Envy, shame, and desperation tangled within him. He hadn’t come out of longing—he came because he had heard about the massive contract Clarisa received for the film. In his selfish mind, he believed he deserved a share, simply because he was her biological father.

“I’m her father! Let me in!” Dewangga shouted at the guards. “I just want to talk to my daughter!”

The guards, already instructed by Haris, looked at him coldly. “Mr. Dewangga, you are under a restraining order. Please leave, or we will call the police.”

But Dewangga spotted a gap as a group of crew members entered. He rushed through the barricade, ignoring the guards’ shouts, and made it to the backstage area where Clarisa was resting on a folding chair, quietly reading a book.

“Clarisa! Sweetheart!” Dewangga called out, his voice hoarse.

Clarisa flinched. She looked up and saw the man she once called “Papa.” But her reaction was no longer fear, no longer the terrified screams from her past. She simply fell silent. Slowly, she closed her book and stood.

Dewangga tried to approach, but his steps were halted as two large bodyguards sent by Haris blocked him, gripping his arms tightly until he winced in pain.

“Clarisa, please… help Papa,” Dewangga pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down his face. “Papa is struggling. I don’t even have money to eat. You’re successful now—you’ve earned so much from this film. Help Papa, just this once. I promise I’ll change.”

Serena and Haris quickly arrived after hearing the commotion. Serena stepped forward, ready to lash out, but Haris gently stopped her. He signaled for her to let Clarisa handle this.

Clarisa took a single step forward, still shielded by the guards. She looked Dewangga up and down. There was no anger in her expression, no tears—only a distant gaze, as if she were looking at something insignificant on the side of the road.

“Sir,” Clarisa said, her voice clear and far too mature for her age, “I don’t know who you are.”

Dewangga froze. “Clarisa, it’s me! Don’t say that!”

“My father is someone who protects me and my mother,” Clarisa continued calmly. “My father doesn’t hit me. My father doesn’t throw us out onto the street. So if you’re looking for your child, you must have the wrong place.”

It felt as if a heavy hammer had struck Dewangga straight in the chest. Those simple words hurt far more than any slap Serena could have given him.

“Clarisa… please, just a little money. I could go to prison if I don’t pay my debts…”

“Guards, please remove this stranger,” Clarisa ordered briefly. Then she turned her back on him and returned to her seat, as if nothing significant had happened.

Haris gestured to his men. “Take him out. And if he comes back again, make sure he spends the night in a police station.”

Dewangga was dragged roughly toward the exit. Along the way, he became a spectacle for the crew and actors. They looked at him with disgust—the once-great businessman now reduced to begging from the very child he had abused.

At the gate, he was thrown onto the dusty ground.

“Listen, Dewangga,” Haris said, appearing briefly and looking down at him. “Serena is too kind to destroy you further—but I’m not. Don’t ever try to use Clarisa as your ATM. She’s no longer yours. She belongs to the world now—and the world despises you.”

Dewangga could only pound the ground with trembling hands as Haris’s luxury car drove back into the set. From a distance, he saw Clarisa laughing again with Serena—a moment of happiness he would never be part of again.

That night, news of Dewangga begging at the film set spread everywhere. His image as a “monster father” was further cemented with a new label: “a disgrace who exploits his own child.”

Back on set, Clarisa continued her scenes brilliantly. For her, the encounter was not a source of trauma, but the closing chapter of a painful past. She had proven that although she was once a victim, she had grown into a star whose light was far too bright to ever be touched by someone like Dewangga.

After filming wrapped, Serena embraced her daughter tightly, realizing that Clarisa was not just an actress in her film—but the true hero of their real life.