Chapter 3: The Queen’s Return

The Grand Hyatt Jakarta was a fortress of glass and gold tonight. The Dirgantara Foundation’s Annual Charity Gala was the most coveted ticket in the city a place where the elite came to flaunt their wealth and whisper about the latest scandals.

Five years ago, Anindira had attended this same gala as the "invisible wife." She had worn a modest, off-the-rack dress and spent the night in the shadows, making sure Arjuna’s glass was never empty and his mother’s seat was comfortable. No one had even known her name then. She was just "The Prawiro girl who got lucky."

Tonight, the air was different.

The valet opened the door to a sleek, matte-black Maybach. A leg draped in shimmering midnight-blue silk emerged, followed by the rest of Anindira. Her dress was a masterpiece of haute couture a backless, floor-length gown that clung to her curves like a second skin, embroidered with thousands of tiny sapphires that caught the light like a galaxy. Her hair was swept up in a sophisticated chignon, revealing a neck adorned with a diamond choker that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime.

She didn't wait for an escort. She stepped onto the red carpet with the poise of a woman who owned the ground she walked on.

Inside the ballroom, the chatter died down the moment she entered. The "Iron King" himself, Arjuna Dirgantara, was standing at the center of a circle of investors. He looked as cold and imposing as ever, but the moment his eyes landed on Dira, his champagne glass tilted dangerously. 

Beside him, Siska was draped in a pale pink gown, her "White Lotus" persona in full bloom. She had spent the last hour basking in the attention of being the "almost-Mrs. Dirgantara." When she saw the woman in blue, her face turned a sickly shade of grey.

"Juna... is that...?" Siska’s voice was a frantic whisper.

Arjuna didn't answer. He couldn't. His heart was thundering against his ribs so loudly it felt like it would crack a bone. Five years of guilt, five years of searching for a ghost, and here she was not just alive, but a goddess.

Siska’s fear quickly turned into a sharp, venomous jealousy. She noticed the whispers of the socialites. “Who is she?” “Is that really Anindira Prawiro?” “She looks like a queen!”

Siska grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and began to weave through the crowd. *She’s just a fraud,* Siska thought. *She probably sold herself to some old man in Singapore to get that dress. I’ll show everyone who she really is.

Dira was standing by the balcony, sipping sparkling water, when Siska approached.

"Dira? My goodness, it really is you!" Siska shouted, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby. She feigned a look of deep concern. "We all thought you were dead! Where have you been? And this dress... Juna didn't give you a cent in the divorce. How could you afford such luxury? Did you find a... 'generous' benefactor?"

The room went silent. The "benefactor" comment was a clear insinuation of sex work. It was the ultimate social insult.

Dira didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head, her gaze sweeping over Siska as if she were a particularly annoying insect. "Siska. I see your taste in dresses hasn't improved. Pink still makes you look like a washed-out peony."

Siska’s face flushed red. "Don't try to deflect! You’ve been missing for five years. Our parents were heartbroken! How could you show up here, at Arjuna’s event, wearing stolen diamonds?"

Siska "stumbled" forward, tilting her hand. The red wine in her glass aimed straight for Dira’s midnight-blue gown.

The crowd gasped. But Dira’s reflexes were sharpened by years of motherhood and professional grit. She didn't scream or jump. She simply took a half-step back and extended her left hand, catching Siska’s wrist mid-air with a grip of steel.

The wine sloshed in the glass but didn't spill a drop on Dira. Instead, the momentum caused it to splash back onto Siska’s pale pink bodice.

"Oh!" Siska shrieked, looking down at the massive red stain on her chest. "You... you did this on purpose!"

"I caught you from falling, Siska. You should be more careful with your balance," Dira said, her voice smooth and cold. She leaned in closer, whispering only for Siska to hear. "And as for my 'benefactor'... I am the benefactor. My company, A.P. Studio, is the primary sponsor of this gala. You’re currently drinking wine paid for by me, in a room rented by me."

Siska’s eyes went wide. "That’s a lie! You're just a—"

"Is there a problem here?" 

The crowd parted as Arjuna approached. His presence was like a cold front moving through the room. He looked at Siska’s stained dress, then at Dira’s calm, mocking expression.

"Juna! She pushed me!" Siska wailed, the tears starting to flow on command. "She’s here to ruin your night! She’s jealous that you finally chose me!"

Arjuna didn't even look at Siska. His eyes were fixed on Dira, searching for a trace of the girl who used to look at him with adoration. He found nothing.

"Anindira," Arjuna said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't name. "We need to talk. Privately."

"Mr. Dirgantara," Dira replied, using his formal title like a weapon. "I’m here for business. I believe you’ve met my business partner, Raka Mahendra?"

From the crowd, a tall, ruggedly handsome man in a charcoal tuxedo stepped forward. Raka Mahendra was the CEO of Mahendra Constructions Arjuna’s biggest rival and the man who had been the "Protector" of Dira and the twins in Singapore.

Raka placed a possessive hand on the small of Dira’s back. "Arjuna. Good to see you. I hope you aren't bothering my Lead Architect. We have a very tight schedule."

Arjuna’s gaze dropped to Raka’s hand. The jealousy that flared in him was so hot it felt physical. "Your architect? She is my—"

"She is no one’s but her own, Arjuna," Raka interrupted with a smirk. "Dira, the Chairman of the National Heritage Board is waiting for us. Shall we?"

"Of course," Dira said. She didn't give Arjuna a second glance. As she walked away, she stopped next to Siska, who was still fuming and clutching her stained dress.

"By the way, Siska," Dira said loudly enough for the surrounding socialites to hear. "The Prawiro family hasn't been 'heartbroken.' My father has been sending me emails for five years begging for money to cover his gambling debts. I have the receipts if you’d like to see them."

The whispers in the room shifted instantly. The "poor, grieving parents" were actually greedy gamblers. Siska’s social standing crumbled in seconds.

Dira walked away, her head held high. 

Arjuna stood in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the elite of Jakarta, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. He watched her laugh at something Raka said, her eyes bright and full of a life he had never allowed her to have.

"Chandra," Arjuna snapped to his secretary.

"Yes, Sir?"

"I want everything on A.P. Studio. I want her address, her bank records, and her travel history for the last five years." Arjuna’s eyes narrowed as he watched Dira disappear into the VIP lounge. "And I want to know exactly who those clients are in her house , if they are her children and . If they are mine..."

"And if they aren't, Sir?" Chandra asked cautiously.

Arjuna’s grip tightened on his champagne glass until the crystal shattered in his hand. Blood dripped onto the white marble floor, but he didn't feel it.

"If they aren't mine," Arjuna whispered, his voice dark with a dangerous obsession, "I’ll make her forget the man who gave them to her. She’s coming back to the Dirgantara house, whether she wants to or not."

***

The Penthouse, Two Hours Later

Dira stepped out of her heels, the silence of the penthouse a welcome relief after the noise of the gala. She walked to the twins' room. 

Bumi and Langit were fast asleep, their small faces peaceful. She sat on the edge of Bumi’s bed, stroking his dark hair. He looked so much like Arjuna it hurt. 

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. An unknown number.

She swiped it open. It was a photo. A photo of her and Raka at the gala tonight, taken from a distance. 

Below it was a single text message:

"You can hide for five years, Anindira. But you can't hide my blood. I’m coming for what belongs to me."

Dira’s blood ran cold. The war hadn't just begun. It had just turned personal.