Chapter 5
---
Author's Voice
The black SUV rolled to a stately stop before Pratama Mansion—an edifice of marble and might, where every column proclaimed legacy and every gilded arch flaunted power.
Inside, two new prisoners of circumstance sat in tense silence: one bound by duty, the other by fear.
Beyond those gates, whispers of a silent bride and a shadowed heir would stir ancient loyalties and fresh rivalries…
---
Alya's POV
My heart pounded as the car door opened, cold night air washing over me. My bridal lehenga—once soft ivory—felt like armor too tight, its weight magnified by every breath. I followed Reyhan's rigid form up the grand staircase, eyes fixed on the polished marble beneath my feet.
I dared not glance at the towering windows, the crystal chandeliers, or the stern portraits lining the walls. This was a world built for voices of influence, not for the silence I carried like a secret.
At the top of the steps, a royal tableau awaited.
---
Family's Reaction
Dewi Pratama, regal in midnight blue, stood motionless—her question suspended between protocol and shock:
> "Reyhan… who is this?"
Reyhan's reply was like steel:
> "My wife."
Silence fractured into chaos.
Tari, the youngest sister, squealed,
> "Brother, a secret wedding? And we—his own sisters—weren't even invited?"
Nisa clasped her hands to her heart,
> "This is better than any drama series! Who is she? Where did you find her?"
Tay Ammi Linda stepped forward, gaze as sharp as her tongue,
> "Another clandestine bride. Reyhan Pratama, have you lost your mind? Explain yourself."
Reyhan stood unmoved. I felt the sharp sting of their stares, each glance a whisper of accusation and curiosity. My fingers trembled against my dupatta as they closed in around me.
Dewi raised a hand, silencing the storm.
> "Take her inside. She's exhausted."
Nisa offered a gentle smile:
> "Come, bhabi. Let me show you to your room."
Tari looped her arm through mine:
> "Welcome to the madhouse, sister-in-law. Hope you brought your sense of humor!"
They guided me through the hall—endless corridors of silk rugs and ancestral relics—until we reached a tall, carved door.
Nisa grinned:
> "Ready, bhabi? Once inside, there's no turning back."
Tari gasped theatrically:
> "Reyhan's room—the heart of the Pratama fortress. Watch your step!"
With a final push, they ushered me in and left, laughter trailing down the hall.
---
Alya's POV
Silence reclaimed me as the door clicked shut. The room was vast and uncluttered: dark mahogany furniture, deep navy drapes, a king-sized bed made exactly to a soldier's standard. No pictures, no warmth—just the promise of isolation.
I stood motionless, the hush pressing against my skin. My breath sounded too loud in the void.
A soft hum from the air conditioner was the only company. My veil slipped from my face, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and wide, uncertain eyes.
Tentatively, I moved to the window. Silver moonlight pooled on the floor, and for a moment I closed my eyes and whispered a dua—my first prayer in this gilded cage.
---
Reyhan's Entrance
The door opened. Reyhan entered, coat in hand, sleeves rolled up. He paused when he saw me—small and solemn in the half-light.
His lips parted, but no words came. He walked to the closet, as though unwilling to disturb the fragile spell of silence between us.
I lowered my gaze, throat tight. My heart ached with questions I could not voice.
---
Author's Voice
In that quiet exchange—two silhouettes cast in moonlight—the mansion's grandeur faded. A silent bride and a reluctant groom stood on the brink of a darker alliance, bound by vows made in desperation.
Outside, unseen eyes watched and waited. Victor Arman's shadow moved through the city, plotting his next strike.
Inside, a fragile truce of silence had just begun.
---