My eyes barely blinked as I stared at Damar's face, which was so close to mine. His sharp gaze made me shrink, but I wouldn't show my fear in front of him.
"This time, it's not because you're Handoko Wiratman's grandson," I replied, trying to shift my position so Damar wouldn't be too close. But with his hand still holding onto my blanket and his body pressed against my side, I felt like I couldn't move.
"Isn't that the main issue?" he asked, while I strongly resisted the urge to push him away. One shove might make him fall—should I do it now?
"The fact that you're Handoko Wiratman's grandson is undeniable, even if you intended to hide it at first. I don't care about that anymore," I said, matching his intense gaze. I didn't know how long I could endure this awkward position. Couldn't he just talk normally without standing so close?
"Then... what made you act like this?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Act like what?" I replied, feigning ignorance.
"Do you expect me to treat you with respect or be friendly over trivial matters? My priority is work, not insignificant things like that," I said again.
Damar's face remained tense, but the sharpness in his eyes began to fade. I turned my face away because I could no longer withstand the awkwardness of his proximity.
I tried to breathe normally. Damar would never understand what I was feeling because he had probably always gotten whatever he wanted easily. Unlike me, who, no matter how hard I fought, still couldn't obtain what I desired.
Being disappointed and coming second were things I often experienced—things Damar had likely never gone through. No matter how much I tried to explain, this man would never understand.
"Forget it. I'm not that upset just because you're the grandson of Global Kimia's owner," I said in a lower tone than before. Showing my disappointment in front of Damar would only make me look pathetic.
"I'm sure you have your reasons for hiding it," I added. Damar remained silent in his position, even though I hoped he would just ignore what happened today and go back to being the Damar I knew.
"Then why does your face still look upset?" he asked. I let out a long sigh, feeling like Damar wouldn't be satisfied until I treated him nicely.
"I'm tired and sleepy. Tomorrow morning, I'll be fine," I answered.
"I'll move to another room as soon as a vacant one is available," I added, turning my back to him so he wouldn't see my face. Calm down, Bulan. He'll get bored and leave soon.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard his long exhale and felt his hand slowly releasing my blanket. But honestly, I really was very sleepy.
***
The loud alarm on my phone jolted me awake. Still half-asleep, I tried to sit up.
Wait… I remember falling asleep on the long sofa last night, so how did I end up in bed?
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting stripes of gold across the hotel bedding. I blinked against the glare, my body still heavy with sleep. The pillow beneath my cheek smelled faintly of cedar—unlike the generic hotel detergent scent I remembered from last night. My fingers dug into the mattress as realization dawned, this wasn't where I'd fallen asleep. The sheets were too soft, the space too wide. Damar's doing, undoubtedly.
My eyes widened as I looked around. I was alone in the room—Damar was nowhere to be seen. Even his bag was gone. Did he move to another room? He was supposed to wake me up last night since this room was originally his.
If Damar had moved to another room, that was for the best.
I glanced at my phone, which showed five in the morning, and quickly got out of bed. Today's event would start at eight, but I needed extra time to get ready.
I must have slept so soundly that I didn't even notice Damar leaving. Wait… did he move me to the bed? No, that was unlikely. I must have moved in my sleep without realizing it.
Today's agenda was the branch presentations. Damar was in charge of presenting, and I was only assisting with the materials. Despite his annoying personality, I had to admit he was excellent at presentations. Unlike me, who often lacked confidence, Damar always looked composed.
I should focus on preparing instead of thinking about Damar.
The bathroom door stood ajar, revealing a spotless counter devoid of toiletries. No toothbrush, no shaving kit, not even a stray water droplet on the mirror. He'd erased himself completely, as if last night's confrontation had never happened. Only the indentation on the sofa cushions betrayed where he must have slept—if he'd slept at all. The digital clock's relentless blinking seemed to mock me: 05:03. Too early for answers, too late for apologies.
I hesitated as I held my phone. Should I call him to ask where he was? What if he had already left for Niachemical's office? That would be bad—I didn't even know where Niachemical's office was in Singapore.
But my pride got the best of me, so I put my phone back into my bag and quickly grabbed my laptop bag. I would wait for Damar in the lobby, and if he didn't show up in fifteen minutes, I'd call Mieke to ask for the office address.
I waited anxiously in the lobby, my eyes scanning the people stepping out of the elevator, hoping to see Damar among them. For the first time, I actually wanted to see him.
The elevator doors slid open with a hushed chime, releasing a burst of coffee-scented air from the lobby below. My stomach growled, but hunger was secondary to the prickling unease crawling up my spine. What if he'd left without me? The thought sent my fingers twitching toward my phone again—until a familiar baritone voice cut through the morning quiet.
My anxiety grew as time ticked by. My breath hitched when I finally saw Damar exiting the elevator.
Part of me wanted to rush over to him, but… no, I had to stay calm, as if I wasn't expecting him at all.
After last night's incident, I wasn't as upset anymore. But I still wasn't ready to be friendly with him.
He moved through the lobby like a shadow given form—all sharp angles and restrained energy. His navy suit jacket stretched across his shoulders as he adjusted his cufflinks, the morning light catching the silver threads in his tie. For a heartbeat, I saw him as the hotel staff must: polished, untouchable, a man who belonged in boardrooms rather than cramped economy seats. Then his gaze found mine, and something flickered behind his carefully neutral expression—something that made my pulse stutter.
"There's a car from Niachemical waiting for us," he said as he approached.
"Alright," I replied in a formal tone, following his steps.
I wanted to ask when the hotel assigned him a new room, but I held back when I saw his serious expression. Sometimes, I couldn't figure out what was on his mind. He could be considerate and caring at times, yet cold and irritating at others.
Once again, I found myself struggling to keep up with his hurried pace. He walked fast, completely ignoring my efforts to catch up. But at least this time, I wore low-heeled shoes, so I didn't have to worry about my feet cramping like last time.
The car door shut with a muffled thud, sealing us in a bubble of conditioned air and strained silence. Through the window, Singapore's skyline blurred into streaks of steel and glass as we accelerated. Damar's knee brushed mine when the car took a sharp turn, sending a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the sudden movement. I pressed closer to the Malaysian delegate beside me, but her perfume—cloying and floral—only made Damar's clean citrus scent more noticeable by contrast.
As if noticing my struggle, Damar slowed down. He reached out his hand as if asking for something, making me frown in confusion.
"Laptop," he said briefly.
It seemed like he wanted to return my treatment by speaking curtly to me. Though still puzzled, I handed him my laptop bag. Without another word, he took it. What is he up to? We haven't even gotten in the car yet. Why does he need my laptop?
My forehead remained creased as I sat in the company car, sandwiched between Damar and a woman from Malaysia. If I had a choice, I would rather sit far away from him.
After what happened last night, I kept recalling the expression on Damar's face when he said he didn't want to be Handoko Wiratman's grandson. There was sadness and loneliness in his eyes, making me feel… sorry for him.
Pity? Oh no! I must be out of my mind if I feel sorry for this annoying man!
Damar finished his phone call just as I was still staring at him. I gasped but couldn't look away—I was frozen in place. Damn! I must be losing my mind!
His palm was upturned, fingers slightly curled—a businessman's gesture, efficient and impersonal. Yet the calluses along his knuckles betrayed years of work beyond executive desks. This wasn't the soft hand of a spoiled heir. The realization unsettled me almost as much as the warmth that radiated from his skin when our fingers brushed during the laptop exchange. I snatched my hand back too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from the Malaysian woman beside me.
"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked. (*)