All Chapters of Between Three Loves : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The hum of the freighter’s massive engines vibrated through the steel floor of the cabin, a low-frequency growl that felt like the heartbeat of a leviathan. Dewangga sat at the small, bolted-down desk, his eyes reflecting the harsh blue light of the laptop screen. Outside the porthole, the moonless night had turned the sea into an infinite void of ink. He was no longer in Indonesian waters; he was in the "in-between," a ghost drifting through the legal grey zones of the high seas.He looked at the list he had begun to compile. The names were more than just identities; they were pillars of a corrupt architecture. At the very top sat Vivian Surya. Below her, a web of generals, tech moguls, and silent partners who had turned the Surya name into a synonym for untouchable power.A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration. Before he could answer, the Singaporean man—known now only as Chen—stepped inside. He looked at the screen, then at Dewangga, his expression unreadable."The board

The mountain air was a sharp contrast to the humid, suffocating weight of Jakarta. As the three figures ascended the narrow goat path, the world below began to dissolve into a tapestry of deep greens and morning mists. Dewangga walked with a steady pace, his body aching but his mind clearer than it had been in years. Behind him, Sarah guided Davian, who moved with a newfound, albeit fragile, determination.They reached a small stone hut perched on a ridge that overlooked a valley so deep the bottom was hidden by clouds. This was the sanctuary Sarah had promised—a place that didn't exist on any map, owned by a man who owed his life to a secret long buried.Dewangga dropped his pack and leaned against the cold stone wall. He watched as Sarah helped Davian into a chair. The silence here was absolute, broken only by the whistling of the wind through the pines."You're thinking about her," Davian said, his voice stronger now, though still textured like gravel.Dewangga didn't turn around.

The train hummed along the tracks, the repetitive vibration acting as a catalyst for Dewangga’s thoughts. Jakarta’s skyline had long since been replaced by the sprawling emerald of paddy fields and the jagged silhouettes of the Dieng Plateau. In his hand, he held a small wooden talisman—a gift from one of the children at the orphanage. It was a simple thing, carved from scrap teak, yet it felt heavier than any of the gold-plated trophies that used to line the shelves of the Surya mansion.Dewangga opened his laptop. The cursor blinked on the white screen, a steady, rhythmic pulse like a second heartbeat. He looked at the title he had written: Light Behind the Mist. For the first time in his life, he wasn't trying to predict the reader's reaction or manipulate a plot twist. He was simply letting the truth flow.In the women's correctional facility, the atmosphere was thick with the smell of floor wax and stale air. Vivian sat in the visitor's room, her hands folded neatly on the wooden

The dawn mist still blanketed the narrow path leading to the villagers’ settlement as Dewangga stepped out of the hut. The cold mountain air pierced to the bone, yet the tightness that usually gripped his chest felt slightly eased. In his jacket pocket, he carried a small wooden carving—his work from the night before—its surface now smooth beneath his thumb.This morning was his first day teaching at the village school. A simple building with a rusted tin roof and weathered bamboo walls. Yet to Dewangga, it was his last line of defense against the madness of his past.Upon arrival, he was greeted by the village head, an old man whose face had been carved by the sun and years of hard labor. They sat on a bamboo platform, sipping hot, bitter coffee.“The children here are bright, Adrian,” the village head said, using Dewangga’s alias. “It’s just that their world is small. They think the peak of this mountain is the end of everything. I hope you can show them that there’s a wider world b

The mountain air that morning felt unusually heavy, as if the mist itself refused to part for the sun. Dewangga walked toward the village school with an uneasy mind. Each step felt burdened, shadowed by his brief encounter with the man dressed as a hiker the previous afternoon. He hadn’t told Davian the full details of his suspicion—he knew his brother would only escalate things with reckless plans.Inside the bamboo structure that served as a classroom, the chatter of children softened as Dewangga entered. Bimo, the most enthusiastic of them all, was already seated in the front row with a clean slate in hand.“Today, we’ll learn about description,” Dewangga said, forcing a smile. “Not just about what you see, but what you feel when you see it.”He began writing on the board, but his focus kept drifting toward the window. He watched every movement outside—the swaying leaves, birds in flight, even the footsteps of passing villagers. He felt like prey, aware of a predator lurking just b