The evening sky here looks the same as in Jakarta—orange-red with a warm atmosphere. Damar and I walked out of the airport after completing several immigration procedures.
This wasn't my first time in Singapore, but every time I came here, the atmosphere at Changi Airport always amazed me. However, the man beside me made everything feel different.
Since we finished the immigration procedures, Damar's steps had become faster, as if he had something urgent to chase. Yet, the event wouldn't take place until tomorrow morning.
I struggled to keep up with his long strides, finding it difficult with my backpack on my shoulders, my laptop bag slung over one side, and a travel bag in tow. Meanwhile, the man ahead of me moved effortlessly, pulling only a small travel bag.
Annoying. He didn't even offer to help. Maybe he thought watching me struggle was amusing.
A private airport transfer car was already waiting at the airport driveway. Without a word, Damar approached the car, letting the driver load his belongings into the trunk while he immediately got into the vehicle. I exhaled in frustration and dragged my travel bag to the trunk, eventually assisted by the driver.
It seemed Damar had returned to his true self—the cold, indifferent man I knew so well.
I let out a long sigh once inside the car. That annoying boss was already sitting comfortably, playing with his phone, while I was still catching my breath from keeping up with his pace.
Fine, I wouldn't start a conversation until tomorrow morning either.
It didn't take long for the private transfer driver to take us to a hotel on Jellicoe Road—a strategic location for getting around, including to the Niachemical building.
Damar once again walked briskly the moment he got out of the car. Truly irritating. Like it or not, I had to match his pace since he had all the documents for checking in.
I was gasping for air by the time Damar stopped at the reception desk. Initially, I didn't pay much attention to his conversation with the receptionist because I was still catching my breath. But the receptionist's tense expression and the unusually long discussion over what should have been a simple room key collection piqued my curiosity, prompting me to step closer.
"Once again, we apologize, sir. Our staff prepared the room based on the initial data sent and didn't realize there had been a change," the receptionist said. I frowned, not understanding what the issue was.
"We will find a solution," she continued, bowing deeply. I glanced at Damar, whose face was just as tense as the receptionist's. My curiosity nearly made me ask him a question. No, Bulan, remember—you're still mad at him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but unfortunately, all rooms are fully booked tonight. A new room will only be available by tomorrow afternoon," the receptionist said after a moment. Fully booked? Didn't Niachemical already reserve rooms for all Annual Meeting attendees?
"We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience," said a man approaching Damar. He was likely the hotel manager or someone in a high position.
"Based on the initial employee list provided by Niachemical, the names listed were for two male employees. However, Niachemical later sent an updated list with a slight change—one male and one female. Unfortunately, our staff overlooked this update and prepared a room based on the initial data, which resulted in only one room being available," he explained apologetically.
"We truly apologize, and we are currently looking for a solution to resolve this issue."
My eyes widened at his explanation.
"So, there's only one room available now?" I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity any longer.
"That's correct. At the moment, we're trying to find an empty room so that you both can rest properly," he answered.
"In the meantime, while we check for available rooms, we will take you both to the existing room. Once again, we apologize for the inconvenience," he added regretfully.
I glanced at Damar, but he didn't notice my gaze.
Was I never meant to be the one attending this event in the first place? Did Damar arrange for me to come? Considering how persistent he was in convincing me the other day, I shuddered at the thought of what he might be planning.
The hotel corridor stretched endlessly as we followed the manager, our footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Damar's silhouette moved ahead of me, his shoulders rigid beneath his crisp white shirt. The scent of lemongrass and sandalwood from the hallway diffusers did nothing to calm my frayed nerves. Somewhere behind us, a room service cart rattled, the sound sharp against the tense silence between us.
After assuring us they would notify us as soon as a new room became available, the manager led us to a room originally assigned to Damar and another male employee.
The door clicked open to reveal a space that was all cool neutrals and sleek modernity—the kind of room meant for business travelers who valued function over comfort. Two queen beds stood neatly made, their crisp linens mocking my predicament. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Singapore's glittering skyline, the city lights winking like they were in on some private joke at my expense.
A mix of confusion and disappointment settled in as I realized I wasn't supposed to be here. I had thought I was chosen for my good performance, but in reality, I was just a backup replacement.
The disappointment made me fall silent, even after being left alone in the room with Damar.
The enthusiasm and excitement I had felt earlier were now replaced with anger. This was my fault for getting too excited—when, in truth, I was always just the second choice.
The air conditioning hummed too loudly in the sudden quiet. I focused on the vibration of the minibar fridge beneath my fingertips, counting the seconds until Damar would inevitably say something to break this unbearable stillness. Outside, a siren wailed in the distance, its mournful cry mirroring the sinking feeling in my chest.
"Who was supposed to share this room with you?" I asked once I sat down on one of the chairs and carelessly dropped my bag.
"Mr. Hardi," he replied. I had expected that. So, my name was never in the original plan.
Damar's tie slid through his fingers as he loosened it, the silk whispering against itself. For a man who'd just dropped a bombshell, he looked infuriatingly composed—like this was just another boardroom negotiation. The dim lighting caught the sharp angle of his jaw as he turned, and I hated how familiar that profile had become over months of stolen glances during meetings.
"But Mr. Hardi refused and thought you were more deserving," he added.
A pang of pain hit my chest. I told myself over and over—this wasn't new to me. I shouldn't take it so hard.
Not wanting to dwell on something that only made me angrier, I got up, grabbed my change of clothes, and headed straight to the bathroom. I wanted to sleep—I didn't care if I had to share a room with Damar. Sitting around, simmering in anger, would only make me look pathetic.
The bathroom tiles were icy against my bare feet when I finally escaped there. Steam from the shower fogged the mirror within minutes, blurring my reflection into something unrecognizable—just like how this trip had distorted everything I thought I knew. I turned the water scalding hot, hoping it would burn away the sting of being an afterthought.
Damar said nothing as I pulled a blanket from the bed and carried it to the long sofa. I curled up and covered myself, waiting for the hotel to notify me about an available room.
"You can sleep on the bed," he said, but I pulled the blanket over my head, unwilling to listen to anything he had to say.
"Bulan..." he called, but I remained silent, pretending to be asleep.
"Are you mad because you just found out I'm Hartono Wiratman's grandson?" he asked, unfazed by my attempt to ignore him.
That wasn't the only reason I was upset. The fact that I was only a backup choice for the Annual Meeting frustrated me just as much.
I had no intention of responding to him. He could talk all he wanted.
His shadow fell across my face when he approached, blocking the ambient city glow. I kept my breathing deliberately slow, though my pulse hammered loud enough that I feared he might hear it. The sofa creaked under his weight as he sat beside me, the heat of his body radiating through the thin blanket like a brand.
"If you had known from the start, would you have ignored me like this?" he asked again, though I clearly wasn't going to answer any of his questions.
"If everyone had known from the beginning, would they have treated me the same way?"
I struggled to breathe under the blanket, but I refused to acknowledge his words. He didn't understand my disappointment and anger—it wasn't just about discovering his true identity.
Suddenly, with one quick pull, my blanket was yanked away. Damar sat beside me, holding the blanket to keep me from reclaiming it.
"I never expected to be Hartono Wiratman's grandson either," he said, his face so close that I could feel his breath on my skin.(*)