Semua Bab Rejected After First Love Return's: Bab 21 - Bab 30

The atmosphere in front of the William Group lobby, usually calm and exclusive, had transformed into a nauseating stage of drama. Bastian, the man once known as an industrial titan with unshakable authority, now looked shattered. His expensive white shirt was wrinkled, his tie had vanished somewhere, and his breath came in ragged gasps, exhaling the scent of alcohol mixed with the cold sweat of rage."William! Come out, you bastard! You've stolen my wife!" Bastian screamed, his hoarse voice echoing among the skyscrapers of Jakarta. His voice bounced off the walls, drawing the attention of pedestrians and employees who began whispering behind the glass partitions.Bastian didn’t stop there. His frustration exploded into an act of anarchy. He kicked a large porcelain flower pot adorning the entrance until it shattered into pieces. Soil and ceramic shards scattered across the polished marble floor. Not satisfied, he punched the lobby's concrete pillars with his bare hands, as if physical

Bastian’s footsteps no longer carried the authority that could once silence an entire room. His expensive loafers dragged across the lobby floor, which was now littered with dust and torn paper, creating a pathetic scratching sound in the hollow silence of a building that used to hum with the noise of fax machines and ringing telephones. He stared at the rows of cubicles, now completely empty. Swivel chairs were left in random positions, and several computers remained on, displaying static blue screens as if their occupants had just fled a nuclear blast.Bastian walked toward the executive floor, his heart pounding with uncontrollable anxiety. Every step felt heavy, as if the shadows of his past were pulling at his feet. He found Vivian sitting dejectedly on the lobby sofa in front of his office, her face swollen from crying and her fingers trembling as she held a glass of cold water."Vivian... where are our employees?" Bastian asked, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper swallowed by t

The old iron gate let out a sorrowful creak as Bastian pushed it open slowly. The sound seemed to tear through the stillness of the night in the quiet residential neighborhood, far removed from the chaos of the city center. He stood before the teakwood door of his childhood home—a place he once saw as a symbol of comfort, but which now felt like the most terrifying courtroom in the world. The night wind cut through him, lifting the edge of his expensive suit, which now looked no better than a pitiful, worn rag.With trembling hands, the faint stains of dried blood still marking his knuckles from his earlier desperation at the office building, he gathered the courage to knock. Once, twice—the hollow sound echoed, reverberating against the tightness in his chest. Then, at last, the sound of a lock turning broke the silence, and the door slowly opened.Bastian’s mother, Mrs. Sarah, stood there. Her silver hair was neatly tied in a flawless bun, reflecting the discipline and principles sh

The morning sunlight brought no warmth into the narrow, damp room of “Losmen Melati”—a cheap inn tucked away in a cramped alley of West Jakarta. Instead, the light pierced through the grimy window, highlighting the peeling wallpaper and the stale scent of stagnant water clinging to the thin mattress. Bastian sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at a plastic basin filled with murky water where he had tried to wash his only decent shirt. His hands—once well-groomed and accustomed to signing million-dollar contracts—were now red, cracked, and trembling.The silence in the room felt heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional cough from a guest in the next room. Bastian felt like a cornered animal. He had spent the night jolting awake at every sound, convinced that the shifting shadows beneath the door were debt collectors—or worse, ghosts of the life he had destroyed with his own hands.He reached for his phone, instinctively checking for messages from inve

Casandra’s footsteps echoed through the cold prison corridor, thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant. There was no trace of expensive perfume or the chaotic buzz of trading floors here—only a suffocating silence, occasionally broken by the clang of iron doors or the hoarse murmurs from behind the cells. She walked with her chin held high, dressed in a striking maroon power suit that stood out against the dull gray walls.A guard opened the door to a private visitation room. Inside, behind a scratched wooden table and a thick glass divider, sat a man Casandra could barely recognize.Bastian.His once perfectly styled hair had been shaved short. The arrogance that used to define his face was gone, replaced by dullness and deep dark circles beneath his eyes—proof of sleepless nights. When he saw Casandra enter, he flinched. He tried to stand, but the handcuffs clanged against the table with a harsh metallic sound.“Casandra…” Bastian whispered, his voice cracked, as if his throat wer