Chapter 1: The Incidental Clause
The mahogany table felt freezing beneath Karin’s palms. She sat straighter in the leather chair and smoothed the front of her plain cotton blouse, trying to slow the erratic thumping of her heart. The private meeting room on the fortieth floor was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Devan Hartono sat directly across from her. His charcoal suit was tailored to perfection, and his sharp, dark eyes never left her face. He hadn't spoken a single word since walking into the room ten minutes ago, yet the heavy pressure in the air clearly belonged to him. He was a man accustomed to giving orders and watching people scramble to obey.
Between them rested a thick folder bound in dark leather. Inside was a marriage contract.
There was no romance in this arrangement. Nobody had brought flowers, and there were no whispered promises under the stars. This was a cold, calculated transaction born out of desperation on her part and corporate survival on his.
Karin’s gaze dropped to the first page of the document. The legal jargon blurred slightly before she forced herself to focus on the bolded headings. Duration: two years. Living arrangements: shared residence at the Hartono estate. Public appearances: mandatory attendance at all company galas and family dinners.
"Read it carefully," Devan said. His voice was low, steady, and completely devoid of warmth. "My lawyers drafted it this morning. Once you sign, there will be no amendments."
Karin lifted her chin, meeting his stare. "Two years is a long time, Mr. Hartono. Especially when the terms require me to quit my current job and move into your house."
"My grandfather expects a wife who stands beside me, not someone working twelve-hour shifts at an underfunded community clinic," Devan replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "Besides, your father’s medical center is currently drowning in debt. If the bank forecloses next week, you won't have a job to go back to anyway."
His words stung, mostly because every single syllable was true. Karin’s fingers curled tightly against her knees under the table. Her father had spent thirty years building that clinic to treat low-income patients in their neighborhood. A sudden lawsuit from a pharmaceutical supplier and a string of unpaid bills had pushed the place to the brink of ruin. She had spent the last month begging banks for extensions, only to have doors slammed in her face.
Then Devan Hartono had offered a lifeline, complete with strings attached.
"And what happens after the two years are up?" Karin asked, keeping her tone as level as possible. "The clause on page four mentions a settlement, but the wording is vague."
"You walk away with enough money to fund your father’s clinic for the next decade," Devan stated simply. "In return, you give me two years of public compliance so the board of directors approves my appointment as CEO. No scandals, no emotional attachments, and absolute discretion."
He reached forward and slid a heavy silver fountain pen across the polished wood. It stopped right beside the leather folder.
The terms are non-negotiable, Karin," he added, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching her face for any sign of weakness. "You give me what I need to secure the board’s approval, and my family’s legal team clears your father's debts by tomorrow morning. You have until five o'clock to decide."
Karin glanced at the digital clock resting near the wall. It was 4:52 PM.
She looked down at the silver pen again. Signing her name on that dotted line meant giving up her freedom, living under the same roof as a complete stranger, and pretending to be a devoted wife in front of Jakarta's elite. Every instinct told her to stand up, walk out the door, and figure out another way.
Yet the image of her father sitting alone in his empty office, staring at the eviction notice with red-rimmed eyes, flashed in her mind. She didn't have another way. She didn't even have another day.
Taking a slow breath, Karin reached out. Her fingertips brushed the cold metal of the pen. She picked it up, uncapped it, and hovered the nib just above the signature line at the bottom of the final page.
Before pressing the ink to the paper, she looked back up at Devan. His expression hadn't changed—still calm, still distant, entirely certain of his victory.
A faint, unreadable flicker crossed Devan’s eyes before he gave a single, slow nod. "Sign the paper, Karin. Let’s see what you’re made of."
