Farhan Raksamudra didn't need to check the clock to know when Sekar would arrive. He had studied her rhythm for four years an algorithm of habits that allowed him to predict her every move. When his office door opened without a single hesitant knock or breathy sound, he knew it was her. 10:37 p.m. Exactly seventeen minutes after his call almost impossible, even with the cautious pace she kept in the elevator. Sekar was precision itself.
She entered silently, closing the door behind her without meeting his eyes. Her black work jacket was perfectly neat again, her hair tied in a low ponytail a style she only used for high-pressure, professional situations that demanded extra calm. She carried a notebook and pen, exactly as instructed.
No questions. No frowns. No sign of exhaustion, even this late at night. Sekar was the opposite of the unpredictable variables Farhan despised.
"Sit down, Sekar."
It wasn't an invitation it was placement. She obeyed, sitting straight on the leather sofa, notebook on her lap, waiting.
Farhan stood before the window, as if needing reassurance from the glowing city below that his control was still intact before starting this conversation. Tonight wasn't about quarterly numbers or investment strategies. Tonight was about a trade of lives spoken in the only language he truly understood: transaction.
"I made a strategic decision tonight," Farhan began, turning around. "About my father's will. You already know part of it. There's a six-month deadline. I need absolute compliance, not vulnerability. That's why I chose you."
Sekar said nothing. Her calm brown eyes reflected the cold light of the office. She waited to be given data to process and execute.
Farhan walked to his desk. On it lay a thick leather folder more than necessary for a will. Inside was a Marriage Contract Deed, as thick as a university textbook.
"I'm not proposing to you, Sekar," he said flatly. "I'm hiring you for a new role a dual role with pay far beyond your current position. The role is a contract wife. Two years. Legal, fulfilling the will's requirements, and eliminating all emotional risks."
Sekar drew a faint breath, almost inaudible the first physical response Farhan noticed that night.
"What are the domestic and professional duties you require, Sir?" she asked softly.
Farhan smiled faintly a cold curve.
The perfect answer. She didn't ask about love, promises, or rings. She asked about duties.
"This folder contains the Marriage Contract," he explained, pushing it toward her. "Fifty pages, detailed. My lawyer, Harsono, and the best notary prepared it to ensure no clause could be exploited not by the Board, not by any rival, not even by you. No emotional claims, no financial demands in the future."
Sekar touched the folder as if it might explode. She flipped through the pages carefully, eyes moving with surgical focus. Her gaze lingered on the underlined clauses: Emotional Claims Waived, Physical Interaction Limits, Final Compensation with No Future Claims.
Farhan gave her time. He wanted her to feel the inhumanity of it to understand this was not a white promise, but a Black Deed.
"I'll cover all your mother's medical expenses," he continued, his tone as calm as a financial report. "I'll pay off your family's debts and secure investments that will sustain you for life after the contract ends. The numbers are on page thirty-nine. Think of it as an early luxury retirement in exchange for total obedience."
Sekar paused on the page he mentioned. Her usually unreadable face wavered slightly before she caught herself holding her breath to regain control.
Farhan recognized that flicker. Her weakness wasn't ambition; it was need. Her mother. The illness. The crushing financial weight. And Farhan used that need as leverage a guarantee of control.
Sekar closed the folder and looked up. Her eyes no longer belonged to a secretary waiting for instructions, but to a negotiator with a knife pressed to her throat.
"With all due respect, Mr. Farhan," she said quietly, her tone lower than usual rare, but raw. "This contract severely restricts basic human rights, even outside the context of marriage. Every interaction, even dinner at home, is categorized as a 'public appearance' with a scripted demeanor I must follow. You even regulate my sleep schedule and personal space."
"Exactly," Farhan replied without remorse. "This is a control audit. I don't want drama or variables. You are an investment, Sekar, and I have the right to ensure my asset performs within its parameters. If I marry to protect my 51% of Raksamudra shares, then I'll also control 100% of my household. Is there any clause you legally cannot fulfill?"
He already knew there wasn't. The clauses were cruel, but legal as long as she signed willingly.
Her conflict wasn't legal it was moral. Between dignity and survival.
Sekar fell silent. Farhan didn't see fear in her stillness he saw calculation. And that's when he knew he'd won. Sekar would choose her mother over herself.
Click.
The metallic sound of her pen echoed through the room sharp, final.
It wasn't just a sound; it was the moment of surrender. Awareness. A step into the dark she could never walk back from.
"I've read it," Sekar said calmly. "I understand. Compensation, my mother's safety, and strict limitations in this relationship. No emotional rights, no expectations."
"Will you sign it, Sekar?" Farhan asked, his tone testing her last trace of rebellion.
But she didn't rebel. She simply was. Perfect order just as he wanted.
Sekar picked up the final page, where her signature was required beside Farhan's and the notary's. With a firm stroke, she signed her full name, transforming herself from a devoted secretary into a legally bound contractual property.
When she set the pen down, silence filled the office. Not loneliness but a chilling calm. The kind born from total certainty.
Farhan took the signed folder. The transaction was complete. His father's will had been neutralized.
He leaned slightly closer, their eyes finally meeting not as boss and subordinate, but as husband and wife under a cold, lifeless contract.
"From now on, your role doubles, Sekar," Farhan said evenly. He locked the contract inside his steel safe sealing their relationship behind unbreakable metal and logic.
A faint smile touched his lips thin, precise, emotionless.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Raksamudra," he said softly, pausing to let the title settle a hollow honor. Then, with chilling clarity, he added,
"This is a contract, Sekar. Not a commitment."