The King Return

   The boardroom on the top floor of Sanjaya Corp’s tower was filled with a suffocating chill that pressed down on everyone inside. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed a sweeping view of the city, yet no one dared to look outside. Every pair of eyes was locked instead on the stack of reports laid across the long glass-topped table.

The ticking of the wall clock cut sharply through the heavy silence.

At the head of the table, a young man sat back with composed ease. His black suit was perfectly tailored, his tie knotted with precision. His movements were minimal, yet every gesture radiated authority. His face was as cold as if carved from stone, and his gaze—piercing, unrelenting—seemed capable of stripping bare anyone who dared defy him.

He was Sagara Haksa Sanjaya.

That name alone was enough to make the executives seated before him break into cold sweat. At only twenty-seven, he had already risen to the very top as CEO of Sanjaya Corp—a vast conglomerate that dominated property, energy, banking, and even media.

With a single smooth motion, he closed the report in his hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and calm—yet it made every heart in the room pound faster.

“Your quarterly report…” He pressed each word with deliberate pauses. “…shows a decline of eight percent. Now, explain to me—why should I be reading such disgraceful numbers?”

The sound of held breaths rippled through the seats. The directors exchanged nervous glances, each hoping someone else would gather the courage to speak.

At last, a middle-aged man—the Director of Property—summoned his voice. It quivered as he began,

“M-Mr. Sagara, this decline was caused by the property market slowdown. Many projects were delayed due to the new government regulations that—”

BANG!

Sagara straightened in his chair and tapped the file against the table. The sound wasn’t loud, yet sharp enough to jolt the entire room. His gaze locked on the man before him—piercing, like a blade slicing through flesh.

“Never bring the government into this room,” he said, his voice flat but laced with pressure. “We are not some small company living off handouts. We are Sanjaya Corp. If the market slows, it is our job to create one. If the government blocks the way, it is our job to find another path.”

The Director of Property turned pale. He bowed his head, his words caught in his throat.

Silence once again consumed the room. No one dared to argue.

Sagara began tapping his finger against the table—slow, rhythmic. Each tap felt like a warning, a countdown to his dwindling patience.

“I do not pay you to come up with excuses,” he said coldly. “I pay you to deliver solutions. If these numbers don’t improve by next month…” He paused, sweeping his gaze across the table. “…your seats will be filled by someone else.”

No rebuttals. No voices. Only the ticking of the clock, hammering louder in their ears.

Sagara rose to his feet. His suit draped along his frame with effortless elegance, as though the room itself were a stage crafted solely for him.

“Meeting dismissed,” he declared.

In an instant, the directors stood. They bowed, offering words of respect. None dared to meet his eyes directly.

Sagara strode out, his steps measured, not once looking back. A young man in a gray suit hurried behind him, arms full of documents. This was Damar, his personal assistant—always at his side, wherever he went.

    The corridor to the private lift echoed with silence, broken only by the click of Sagara’s leather shoes against marble. Damar had to half-run just to match his boss’s pace.

“Sir,” Damar ventured carefully, “you have a dinner scheduled with the Tokyo investors this evening. Shall I confirm your attendance?”

“Cancel it,” Sagara replied curtly, without turning his head.

Damar blinked in shock. “But, sir, they’ve flown all the way from Japan—”

Sagara halted abruptly. Damar nearly collided with him, stumbling back just in time. The CEO’s cold gaze turned on him, freezing him in place, his heart sinking.

“I said, cancel it.”

The words were flat, yet final. Enough to end all discussion.

Damar lowered his head, swiftly noting it down on his tablet. “Understood, sir. I’ll handle it right away.”

The private lift opened. They stepped inside, and the metallic doors sealed shut, cutting them off from the outside world.

Silence enveloped them.

Sagara pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up. His eyes scanned the headline quickly.

Damar caught a glimpse before lowering his gaze back to his tablet. The words on the screen were clear:

“Alana Adinegara Fails Again in Lawsuit Against Ratna Prameswari, Judge Rejects Petition.”

He swallowed hard, pretending not to notice. He knew better than to comment on anything related to that name.

But Sagara’s gaze lingered on the screen. His cold expression shifted—subtly, almost imperceptibly. In his eyes, something flickered. A buried emotion, rarely seen beneath the mask of arrogance.

His hand tightened around the phone.

The lift came to a halt in the basement. The doors slid open, revealing a sleek black car waiting. The driver stepped forward and pulled the rear door open, while Damar hurried to straighten the stack of documents in his arms.

Without a word, Sagara slid into the back seat. He leaned against the cushion, closing his eyes for a moment. Damar settled into the front, giving quick instructions to the driver.

The car glided out of the basement, merging into the chaos of the city center bathed in neon lights. Towering skyscrapers lined the horizon, silent reminders of the Sanjaya family’s dominion.

But inside the cabin, silence reigned.

Sagara unlocked his phone again. A photograph filled the screen—a woman’s weary face, her eyes swollen from crying, yet still burning with fire.

Alana Adinegara.

His gaze lingered, his jaw tightening.

From the rearview mirror, Damar risked a glance. His heart lurched when he caught sight of the same headline on the screen, then quickly looked away before Sagara noticed.

Sagara closed his eyes once more. But it wasn’t rest he sought. Memories clawed their way to the surface, dragging him back eight years into the past.

That night. The night everything shattered.

He had just returned from his overseas studies when the news arrived. His mother—the gentle woman who had always been his sanctuary—was gone in a car crash. His father, whose body had long been frail from illness, followed soon after from a heart attack.

Within days, he had lost everything.

Before he could even grieve, his grandfather sent him away again—this time to be forged in the brutal fires of business. From a young age, he was forced to master the empire’s machinery, hardened until there was no room left for tears or weakness.

Grief had no place inside him. Pain had no use.

And Alana…

Sagara drew in a deep breath. He could still remember her face—tear-streaked, the night he left without a word. He hadn’t explained, hadn’t said goodbye. All he left behind was a hollow ache that cut deep.

Since that night, in Alana’s eyes, he must have been nothing more than a coward. A traitor.

He opened his eyes again, gaze fixed on the phone screen still showing Alana’s picture. Her face had hardly changed. Yet the gentle light he once knew was gone, replaced by a hardened look carved out of pain.

The traffic light forced the car to stop. From the window, a massive digital billboard lit up the skyline, broadcasting the same breaking news.

“Alana Adinegara fails again in her lawsuit against Ratna Prameswari…” The anchor’s voice echoed, Alana’s face displayed larger than life.

Sagara’s stare sharpened, his jaw tightening.

“Ratna…” he muttered, almost a growl. The name tasted bitter on his tongue.

His hand clenched into a fist on his thigh. “This time, I won’t stay silent.”

Damar, seated in front, glanced back hesitantly. “Sir?”

Sagara leaned against the seat, his expression returning to icy calm.

“Find out everything about Alana. Where she lives, what she does, who’s close to her. I want every detail, as soon as possible.”

Damar gave a sharp nod. “Understood, sir.”

“And one more thing,” Sagara added in a low voice. “No one must know this order came from me.”

The car rolled forward again. Yet inside Sagara, a storm had already broken free.

He had not returned merely to reclaim the family empire. He had returned to settle an old debt. To protect the girl he once left behind.

Alana.

This time… he would never let her go again.