Semua Bab The Lieutenant's Vengeful Desire: Bab 31 - Bab 40

The call from Nayla had barely ended, but the pulse of anger still throbbed in Hastan’s temple. His jaw locked tight, the muscle ticking as his left hand strangled the helmet in his grip—an anchor for the storm brewing in his chest.With a violent breath, he mounted his Harley again. The engine roared, heavy and guttural, slicing through the silence of the fading afternoon. Selaras smelled of hot asphalt and dust, yet all Hastan could taste was the singular need burning inside him—Meira.The ride to her office blurred. When the glass monolith finally rose before him, gleaming under the descending sun, it looked cold, untouchable—like her. He strode inside, the chill of the air-conditioning brushing over his heated skin.Gasps rippled through the front office. Heads turned—especially the women. Their eyes lingered, wide and unashamed, on the towering figure who moved with lethal grace: broad shoulders, sharp lines of a dark shirt against his chest, and an aura too dangerous to ignore.

The tension inside the server room was a storm. Monitors flickered with cascading code, alarms pulsing like a heartbeat on the edge of collapse.On the table, Nayla’s phone buzzed—soft, almost drowned by the beep of the system warning. The screen lit up with a name that cut through the heat of the room like a blade:“Meira – PT. Medinova Teknosurgica.”Nayla froze. Her eyes widened, breath hitching in her throat. That name struck like static in the already charged air.Hastan didn’t move. He sat rigid at the central console, fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes locked on the torrent of code that streamed like an unstoppable current. His focus was lethal, single-minded. Winning was the only thing in his orbit.The phone buzzed again, insistent. Urgent. Almost impatient.Nayla hesitated, then—against better judgment—snatched it up and slipped out, closing the door behind her. The soundscape of the server war dulled to a distant thrum. In the dim corridor, she pressed the phone to he

The staccato rhythm of keys—once a relentless hail of gunfire—slowly faded. Only the low hum of cooling fans remained, their steady drone spilling chilled air through the IT room of RS Harmoni Medika.Hastan sat upright, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the main screen. Line by line, he had fortified the system—each string of code a sharpened blade, each firewall a wall of steel. The ransomware threat was dead, strangled in its cradle. The red alerts that once bled across the network map now glowed a calm, taunting green.For the first time since dawn, his chest loosened. The war was won. Or so he thought.Because as soon as the adrenaline ebbed, another war rose inside him.Meira.Her name slipped into his mind like a knife through silk, effortless and merciless. It lingered, echoing, until the sharp taste of her absence filled his throat. Desire pressed hard, coiled with anger, sour with betrayal.He hated how he still wanted to know if she was safe. He hated that her face haunted

The late afternoon wind slapped against Meira’s face as her motorbike shot out of the parking lot. Her heart was still hammering, unruly and frantic, after that glance.That glance that split time apart, ripping through the walls she had spent years building.Hastan.There was no mistaking him. That sharp jawline, those piercing eyes, even the way his hands gripped the handlebars—it was all too familiar. Meira bit her lip behind the visor. Why now? Why here?The longing she thought had calcified suddenly melted, spilling into a violent mix of fear, fury… and something far more dangerous. She twisted the throttle harder, the roar of her bike drowning out the thundering of her pulse.Back in the lot, Hastan froze only for a breath. Full-face helmet, leather jacket, motorbike—yet those eyes… God, those eyes could never belong to anyone else. They had haunted him through sleepless nights and empty mornings.Meira.Without hesitation, he yanked the brakes, leaning into a sharp turn. His Ha

Meira stepped carefully into Angel’s house, the sting in her knees a constant reminder of the accident. The bandages pulled tight against her skin, every movement sharp with pain. The warm evening air clung to her hair, but she forced herself to stay composed. She couldn’t afford to look shaken.In the living room, Angel sat with Chris and Dio, who had dozed off on Chris’s lap. The television hummed with canned laughter until it cut into silence. One by one, their gazes landed on her—searching, dissecting, demanding answers.“Heh, what the hell happened to you, Ra?!” Angel’s voice cracked, half panic, half disbelief.Meira exhaled slowly. “I fell off the bike,” she muttered, trying for nonchalance. But inside, guilt gnawed at her. The bike that had been hauled off by the tow truck… wasn’t hers. It was Chris’s. Damn it. If it had been her own, she wouldn’t have cared. But this? This was trouble.“Chris… I’m sorry. Your bike… it got taken to the yard,” she admitted, her voice heavy.Chr