The CEO’s Secret Heirs: Chasing My Runaway Ex-Wife

The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Dirgantara mansion in Menteng, mirroring the coldness that had settled in Anindira’s bones. 

In her hand, she clutched a small plastic stick. Two thin, red lines stared back at her. To anyone else, it was a miracle. To Dira, it was a death sentence for her heart. She was pregnant. After three years of a silent, loveless marriage to Arjuna Dirgantara, she finally had the one thing she thought would bridge the gap between them.

But she was five minutes too late.

The heavy oak doors of the master bedroom swung open. The scent of rain, expensive tobacco, and sandalwood filled the room a scent Dira once found comforting, but now made her stomach churn.

Arjuna Dirgantara stepped in. He was breathtakingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous, his charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. His eyes, usually as cold as the grey Jakarta skyline, were even sharper tonight.

He didn't look at her. He never did. He walked straight to the mahogany desk and tossed a manila folder onto its surface. The sound of the paper hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot.

"Sign it," he said. His voice was a low, melodic baritone that offered no warmth.

Dira hid the pregnancy test behind her back, her fingers trembling. "What is it, Juna? I made your favorite Soto Betawi for dinner. I thought we could talk about-"

"I didn't come home to eat, Anindira," he interrupted, finally turning to face her. His expression was one of pure boredom. "I came home to end this farce. Siska is back. She landed at Soekarno-Hatta an hour ago."

The name felt like a physical blow. Siska. Her older sister. The woman Arjuna was supposed to marry three years ago before she ran away with a struggling musician, leaving Dira to be the "substitute bride" to save the Prawiro family’s reputation.

"She’s back?" Dira whispered, her voice cracking. "But we’ve been married for three years, Juna. I’ve been a good wife. I’ve cared for your mother, I’ve managed this house, I’ve... I’ve loved you."

Arjuna let out a sharp, mocking breath. He stepped closer, invading her space until she could see the flecks of ice in his pupils. "Love? You were a business transaction, Dira. A placeholder. You knew the rules. You were the shadow that filled the space Siska left behind. Now that the light has returned, the shadow is no longer needed."

Dira felt the sting of tears but refused to let them fall. She looked down at the folder. *Surat Cerai.* Divorce papers. 

"I have something to tell you," Dira said, her voice gaining a sudden, desperate strength. "Before I sign anything. It’s important. It’s about... us."

She began to pull the pregnancy test from behind her back, her heart hammering against her ribs. Please, Juna. Just once, look at me like I matter.

But Arjuna’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, and for a split second, his cold facade shattered. A look of genuine tenderness a look Dira had spent 1,095 days praying for crossed his face.

"Siska is at the hospital," Arjuna said, his voice urgent. "She’s had a dizzy spell. The stress of the flight was too much for her delicate condition."

"Her delicate condition?" Dira asked, a hollow feeling growing in her chest.

"She needs me. Unlike you, Dira, Siska is fragile. She doesn't have your... calculated resilience." He turned to leave, but Dira’s next words stopped him.

"I’m pregnant, Arjuna."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Arjuna froze. He slowly turned back, his eyes scanning her face, then dropping to the plastic stick in her hand. For a moment, Dira saw a flicker of something was it regret? Shock?

Then, his lips curled into a sneer.

"How much did you pay the doctor for that fake result, Dira?"

Dira gasped, the air leaving her lungs as if she’d been punched. "What?"

"You knew she was coming back today, didn't you? You’ve always been the 'sensible' one, the 'smart' sister. Using a child to trap a man who doesn't want you... I expected better from a Prawiro, but then again, your family has always been desperate for Dirgantara money."

"It’s not a lie," Dira sobbed, the tears finally spilling over. "It’s yours, Juna. That night after the charity gala... you were drunk, but you called my name. You held me like you loved me."

"I was drunk," he spat, his words like venom. "And if there is a child, I don't want it. A child born from a scheme is not a Dirgantara heir. It’s a mistake. If you think I’ll let you use a baby to block Siska’s path to being my wife, you’re mistaken. Sign the papers, or I’ll have my lawyers strip you of every cent you have. You’ll leave with nothing not even the clothes on your back."

He checked his watch, his impatience returning. "I have to go. Siska is waiting. I expect those papers signed by the time I return tomorrow. And Dira? Get rid of it."

"Get rid of what?" she whispered.

"The 'mistake' in your womb. I won't have you tying me to you for the next eighteen years."

He walked out, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed through the empty mansion, a final punctuation mark on her marriage.

Dira sank to her knees on the cold marble floor. She looked at the pregnancy test, then at the divorce papers. 

A mistake.

He had called their children the only things she had left in the world a mistake.

A strange thing happened then. The crushing weight of the heartbreak didn't break her. Instead, it hardened into something else. A cold, shimmering resolve. 

She looked at the Soto Betawi she had spent three hours preparing. She looked at the wedding photo on the wall a photo where she was smiling and he was looking at the camera with total indifference.

Dira stood up. She didn't cry anymore. Her eyes were dry and burning with a newfound clarity. 

She picked up the pen from the desk. With a steady hand, she signed the divorce papers. But she didn't stop there. She pulled a blank piece of stationery from the drawer and wrote a single sentence:

"You asked me to get rid of the mistake. I’ve decided to take your advice. I’m getting rid of you."

She went to the safe and took out her passport and the jewelry her grandmother had left her the only things that didn't belong to the Dirgantara family. She didn't take a single designer dress Arjuna had bought for her to wear as his "trophy." She changed into a simple pair of jeans and a hoodie, looking like the girl she was before the Prawiros sold her to the Dirgantaras.

She walked out of the mansion and into the torrential Jakarta rain. She didn't call a driver. She walked to the main road and hailed a blue taxi. 

"To the Merak Port," she told the driver.

"The port, Miss? In this weather? The ferries might be delayed," the driver cautioned.

"Just drive," Dira said, looking out at the blurring lights of the city that had swallowed her whole for three years.

As the taxi sped away, Dira felt a flutter in her stomach. It wasn't just the morning sickness. It was the first breath of a woman who was no longer a shadow. 

Arjuna Dirgantara wanted her gone. He wanted his "mistake" erased. 

Fine. She would be a ghost. And one day, when he finally realized what he had thrown away, she would make sure he was the one begging for mercy.

She pulled out her phone and sent one final text to her best friend, the only person she could trust.

*“If anyone asks, tell them I was on the 10:00 PM ferry to Sumatra. Tell them there was a storm. Tell them I’m dead.”*

Dira turned off the phone and threw the SIM card out the window into a puddle. The "Substitude Bride" was dead. 

Long live Anindira Prawiro.