Imbue

The first time Kei saw Akdiasa Permana Dergajati, he looked less like a grieving son and more like a man surviving entirely on discipline.

The burial had ended hours ago, yet the Dergajati residence remained crowded with guests offering condolences in carefully measured voices. The air inside the mansion felt heavy—thick with expensive perfume and polished wood. Politicians, businessmen, distant relatives—everyone moved through the enormous house dressed in immaculate black sometimes white, their shoes muffled against thick carpets, carrying sympathy that felt rehearsed rather than genuine. Even grief looked expensive here.

Kei already wanted to leave. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come alone.

Her stepmother, Gendhis, walked beside her with practiced elegance, as one hand looped comfortably around the arm of the man who used to be her ex-husband before becoming her husband again after Kei’s father died. Damar.

Trailing behind them were his son, Ollan, and daughter, Nareika, both around Kei’s age and both looking far too pleased to be there.

Nareika admired the luxurious interior openly—the glittering chandelier light reflecting in her eyes as she greeted people with effortless familiarity. Ollan wasn’t any better, smiling easily whenever someone acknowledged him, clearly enjoying the attention that came with being associated with wealth.

Kei hated all of them equally. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to make every family gathering feel suffocating.

“Smile a little,” Gendhis murmured softly, her voice smooth and controlled as they entered the main living room, where low conversations blended into a steady hum. “People are watching.”

Kei kept her expression pleasant anyway. Years of public appearances had taught her how to fake civility well enough.

“I am smiling.” Barely.

Damar gave her the same cautious look he always did in public—careful, polite, vaguely uncomfortable. Kei ignored him entirely.

What irritated her most wasn’t even the remarriage anymore. It was how naturally they all moved together now, how their laughter blended, how their shoulders leaned toward each other without thought—like her father had merely been a temporary interruption before they returned to their original family.

As if none of it had hurt anyone.

Kei stopped believing in sincerity a long time ago. Which was why the conversations surrounding Aksa barely interested her at all.

No dating history at all. Such a respectable man. Cold, but dependable. Very much like his father. Kei glanced toward the man standing across the room.

Akdiasa Permana Dergajati stood near the staircase in a black stand-collar shirt, the soft golden lighting casting sharp shadows along his features. Tall. Controlled. Impossible to read. He accepted condolences with quiet efficiency—polite nods, brief murmurs, gloved restraint in every movement. Even the way he held his posture felt deliberate, as if emotion itself were something to be contained and filed away.

Not once did his expression falter.

Kei decided immediately—he looked exhausting. A man like that probably treated emotions like unfinished paperwork.

Eventually, the suffocating warmth of the room and its constant low murmur pressed too tightly against her senses. She slipped away unnoticed. The back garden was quieter. Cooler.

A faint breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and trimmed grass. The distant chatter from inside dulled into a soft, indistinct hum. Dim garden lights flickered weakly against the darkness, casting long shadows across stone paths.

For a moment, it felt like she could breathe again—Until she noticed someone already there. Kei stopped.

Aksa stood beneath the pale garden lights, their glow outlining his figure in soft contrast against the night. In front of him was a woman.

Instinctively, Kei stepped back into the shadows, the gravel barely crunching beneath her heel.

The woman looked elegant in simple mourning clothes, her dark hair catching faint strands of light. Kei was too far to hear words, but the silence between them didn’t feel empty. It felt familiar. Comfortable.

The woman reached up first, her fingers brushing lightly against Aksa’s collar, smoothing the fabric with quiet ease. And Aksa—who had spent the entire evening looking carved from stone—allowed it.

Not stiffly.

Not reluctantly.

Naturally.

That alone made Kei’s breath pause. Then the woman leaned in. The kiss was brief—soft, controlled, almost soundless in the still night air.A quiet farewell more than romance. No urgency. No hesitation. Just something steady, known, understood.

When they pulled apart, her hand lingered lightly against his arm, just for a second, before she turned and disappeared through the side gate. The faint creak of metal echoed briefly before settling back into silence.

Aksa didn’t move immediately. He simply stood there, watching the empty space she had left behind, the garden lights catching faintly in his eyes.

Kei stayed where she was a moment longer, the cool air brushing against her skin. Honestly, it irritated her more than it should have—like discovering a contradiction she hadn’t agreed to consider. The man inside the house and the man out here—Didn’t match.

Before Aksa could turn, Kei stepped back quietly and returned inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around her again. The scent of perfume, polished wood, and quiet performance returned instantly. And so did he.

Akdiasa Permana Dergajati stood among the guests once more—cold, composed, untouched. As if the man in the garden had never existed at all.

Kei had barely reclaimed her seat when a man approached with a polite smile.

“There you are,” he said warmly. “Thank you for coming today.”

Kei immediately recognized him as Aksa’s older brother, Deco.

Unlike Aksa, Deco felt different—his voice carried a natural warmth, even layered with grief.

Gendhis smiled elegantly beside her husband. “Of course. Our deepest condolences.”

“Thank you. And this must be Kei,” Deco added. Kei stood politely just as another figure approached from the opposite side.

Aksa.

Up close, he felt sharper somehow—the faint scent of sandalwood on his cologne, clean and restrained, the quiet weight of his presence, the stillness in the way he stood.

“This is my younger brother, Aksa,” Deco said.

Their eyes met for the first time. And Kei almost scoffed internally. Because if she hadn’t seen the garden— She would have believed every single rumor.

Cold. Detached. Untouchable. Not a trace remained of the man under the garden lights.

“Nice to meet you,” Kei said.

Aksa gave a single nod. “Likewise.”

Short. Controlled. Final.

Rude bastard, Kei thought immediately.

Then again, maybe she shouldn’t expect warmth from someone who looked like he hadn’t smiled voluntarily in years.