Lahat ng Kabanata ng Possessive Gravity : The Alpha's Claim: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

The silence in the thirdfloor archives of the university library was thick and suffocating. Fine dust motes drifted between the gaps of towering, aged wooden shelves, refracting the reddening lateafternoon sunlight filtering through the dusty windowpanes.Bima stood before the section housing alumni documents and foundation activity reports from five years prior. His cold fingers slid through thick, dusty folders, his eyes scanning rapidly for the names of board members and the list of campus operational vehicles from that time.Behind him, Arka was never more than a meter away. The massive man leaned against a shelf across the aisle, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes weren't on the surrounding books, but locked onto every movement Bima made and every corner of the secluded aisle. The earlier incident with Satya still left a heavy, suffocating aura of dominance hanging over Arka."Find anything?" Arka’s baritone voice echoed softly among the old shelves."The sch

The light from the chandelier above the marble dining table in Unit 1502 dimmed, leaving a warm glow that fell upon five profile photos of highranking officials from the Dewantara Foundation. Beside the photos, Arka’s heavyduty laptop continued to run a network encryption program, emitting a faint hum.Bima sat crosslegged on a marble chair, wearing one of Arka’s loose shirts that covered half his thighs. His slender fingers slid one of the photos over—a middleaged man with whitening hair and goldrimmed glasses."Professor Kusuma," Bima said the name in a calm yet sharp voice. "He’s the Vice Chairman of the Board of Trustees. Five years ago, he was the one who pressured the police to clear the scene of Mas Arya’s accident in under two hours, citing 'university asset sterilization' as the reason."Arka stood directly behind Bima, both hands resting on the edge of the marble table, trapping Bima between his sturdy arms. His broad, warm chest occasionally brushed against Bima's back as h

Nine o'clock at night. A fierce wind cut through the gaps in Jakarta's skyscrapers, carrying the scent of damp earth and the lingering rain that had drenched the asphalt. On the fifteenth floor of Unit 1502, the silence felt thick, heavy with the weight of an encroaching threat.Bima stood before the large mirror in the master bedroom. He wore a black turtleneck that clung to his slender frame, layered under a thick, matching jacket. His face, usually expressive of gentleness or resignation, now appeared profoundly calm—a cold, sharp, lethal serenity. There was no more hesitation in his eyes. The fear of death had evaporated the moment he decided to stand by the side of the man who had kept him in this gilded cage.Behind him, Arka stepped closer. The tall, powerfully built man wore an allblack shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, showcasing his muscular forearms and tense veins. Tucked into the small of his back was a leather holster holding an unregistered, custombuilt pistol—a

The South Jakarta Metropolitan Police Station was a flurry of camera flashes and screaming sirens that morning. The arrest of the Dewantara Foundation’s Director of Student Affairs, Hendra Dewantara, on charges of premeditated murder and evidence tampering five years prior, had become the headline that shook the national media. But inside the special interrogation room on the third floor, the atmosphere was far from a victory. Bima sat on a cold wooden chair, his hands gripping a paper cup of tea that had long since gone lukewarm. Beside him, Arka stood tall like a fortress tower. The large man hadn’t sat down once since they arrived at the station three hours ago. His dark, sunken eyes—heavy with predatory instinct—continuously tracked every movement of the investigators and the officers passing by the glass door. One of Arka’s hands rested on the back of Bima’s chair, his fingers reflexively brushing Bima’s shoulder—a protective gesture that made it clear to everyone in the room t

The torrential rain on the slopes of Mount Salak showed no signs of letting up. Sand, black mud, and sodden leaves clung to their trousers and boots. Behind them, the distant night sky glowed with a faint, orange hue—the dying embers of the Wooden Villa that had once belonged to Arka’s late mother.The roar of helicopter rotors in the night sky slowly faded, muffled by the dense canopy of giant pines and the natural gorge walls where the river rushed below.Arka led the way. One hand gripped a lowpower tactical flashlight, casting a sharp beam onto the slick ground, while his right hand held Bima’s—his grip unyielding. Arka’s stride remained steady, heavy, and firm, as if the shrapnel wound in his left shoulder had no effect on his powerful frame.Yet, Bima could feel a subtle tremor in Arka’s chest muscles every time the man took a deep breath."Arka, slow down," Bima whispered. His voice was hoarse, colliding with the thunder of rain hitting the leaves. He tugged at Arka’s hand, for