Farhan Raksamudra woke up before the alarm. This rarely happened. For years, his sleep had always been an internal battlefield between anxiety and self-control, requiring external nudges to bring him back to reality. But this morning, he awoke with a different sensation calm, almost peaceful. Outside the window, Jakarta was beginning to stir, yet inside the penthouse, everything was in perfect geometric order.
That calm had a name, and that name was preparing breakfast in the kitchen entirely controlled by Farhan. Farhan stepped into the dining room, wearing a personalized, expensive bathrobe, punctual according to the domestic protocol. There, Sekar was already waiting for him.
Sekar wore the dark gray silk robe Farhan had sent the night before. The fabric was soft, but it did not exude luxury, only appropriateness. Her face was a study in serenity. On the table, the dishes were neatly arranged. Farhan's schedule for the day consolidated and adjusted minute by minute by Sekar was available beside his plate, presented not on a tablet, but neatly printed on a small card scented with coffee.
"Good morning, Sekar," Farhan said, his tone neutral a judgment, not a warm greeting.
"Good morning, Mr. Farhan," Sekar replied. "Breakfast is ready, as usual. The five minutes allocated for adjusting the breakfast schedule will begin now. Are there any additional instructions regarding your appointment with the CEO of Pacific Corp this afternoon?"
Farhan sat. Sekar remained standing beside him, ready to respond. She was the personification of efficiency a function without emotion, a calming machine promising that nothing would go off track. This was what Farhan needed: a constant variable amid business chaos.
"I notice you have adjusted to the pajama protocol I created," Farhan said, scooping up the fruit cereal prepared by Sekar.
"Of course, Mr. Farhan. My cotton pajamas clearly violated Raksamudra's visualization ethics. That was a deficiency that needed immediate correction. I have accounted for the silk robe expense in the domestic expenditures and recorded it as an office asset, not a personal one. If one day I am no longer 'Mrs. Raksamudra,' the asset will remain here."
Farhan smiled faintly. Not a joyful smile, but a satisfied one. It was proof of unrivaled dominance. Sekar not only obeyed but internalized Farhan's logic of control, making it the new standard of herself. She was a true professional willing to surrender her autonomy for a greater purpose, or in Sekar's case, for her mother's financial stability.
"Good, Sekar. Total efficiency. Sit down. Our meal time is communal; we must use it to sharpen our minds."
Sekar sat in front of Farhan, her body straight. She took a few bites of breakfast, her movements almost inaudible. Her role now overlapped: she was a wife before society (or a notary), a household manager, an executive secretary, and now, a breakfast debate partner.
"What's your view on Alpha Group's stock increase last night?" Farhan put down his spoon, staring at Sekar.
This was one of the absurd requests he had begun making routinely. Farhan did not need a report; he had already read everything. He was merely testing Sekar's depth of readiness.
Sekar paused her meal and immediately switched to analysis mode. "It was a purely speculative reaction to their infrastructure project announcement. The transaction volume is not supported by the previous quarter's fundamental reports, Sir. I suspect they wanted to increase liquidity before a large-scale sale by early investors."
Sekar spoke calmly and logically, outlining four critical points about Alpha Group's market strategy without consulting any documents. Her speed, and especially her clinical accuracy, was music to Farhan's ears.
"A bold hypothesis," Farhan murmured. "What's your strategy to respond to this false surge?"
"Not to respond, Mr. Farhan. But to leverage it. If my assumption is correct, the market will undergo a drastic correction in three days. We must position Raksamudra Group as an entity countering the euphoria-driven market sentiment. If you issue a skeptical but informed press statement today, we will gain the board's attention, and more importantly, rational investor trust when the correction occurs."
Farhan grinned. His absurd request had been met with a response better than he might have received from his head of analysis. Sekar's calm was a spring he did not realize he had thirsted for. With Sekar, everything seemed possible, because everything was controlled.
The second week after Sekar's move, this pattern had solidified into reality. Farhan felt his emotional calm improve. He no longer woke in the middle of the night with a racing heart. He internalized Sekar her compliance as a tool to soothe his own anxiety.
Farhan saw Sekar as the embodiment of order. He did not realize that the order he felt stemmed from Sekar's painful compliance, not true harmony. Meanwhile, Sekar felt increasingly suffocated.
The overlapping roles blurred boundaries further. By day, she was the perfect secretary; by night, she was the 'professional wife' maintaining the brand image, always ready to be Farhan's intellectual mirror.
One night, Farhan asked Sekar to prepare a presentation for him at the dining table while they both had dinner in thick silence.
"Sekar, focus on the operational risk breakdown. Don't use 'high.' Give actual numbers and clear probabilities," Farhan instructed between bites.
"Yes, Sir." Sekar typed on her laptop, her hands lightning-fast. She could not show hesitation, not make a single typo, and most importantly, she could not display the emotional burden of her dual roles.
Farhan watched Sekar. The laptop light illuminated her profile. This woman, Farhan thought, was a marvel of social engineering. She accepted total objectivity with dignity. No complaints. No drama. Only perfect performance.
"I need this now, Sekar. I won't have time to review it tomorrow," said Farhan.
Sekar nodded silently and completed the task efficiently, without interrupting her dinner.
When done, Sekar asked for permission to go to her 'Designated Privacy Area' her room. She needed to breathe air not controlled by Farhan.
"Fine. I'll call you afterward; there are two urgent emails you must check immediately," Farhan said.
Sekar entered her room. She closed the door, exhaling the breath she had been holding since dinner. Her mind worked overtime, analyzing business risks while controlling her hands so they did not tremble.
She walked to her nightstand, searching for a small container not the pills she had already discarded, but strong mint candies. The sharp coolness of the candy often served as a physical substitute to distract from the sensory storm she struggled to control.
She popped a candy into her mouth. The cold sting jolted her senses, reminding her to stay present. Farhan's control effectiveness was beginning to wane; her body sought an alternative emergency outlet.
As Sekar grabbed the candy, she suddenly remembered: tonight she had skipped a routine not a calming ritual, but a mandatory safeguard. A routine to check that she had indeed fully discarded her old anti-anxiety pills. Since disposing of them in Chapter 3, she always double-checked, fearing Farhan would discover the empty bottle, triggering questions about her fragility.
Sekar sank. Her mind was so filled with projects and Farhan's demands that she almost forgot something so vital. This was a sign of real exhaustion a mental fatigue piercing her professional fortress.
She moved quickly to the bathroom. In the trash, hidden under a pile of papers, she groped for the small pill bottle she had discarded weeks ago. Fortunately, it was still there, untouched by the cleaning staff. Sekar immediately crushed the plastic bottle flat and buried it deep in her old tote bag. She did not want any trace of chemical weakness discovered by Farhan. Her contract could not be questioned due to physical fragility.
She breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief vanished quickly.
Farhan entered. He did not knock. He violated Sekar's 'Designated Privacy Area,' because, in his view, privacy rules were merely formalities, not real boundaries. Farhan saw Sekar standing, slightly startled, in the middle of her room. His eyes scanned, inspecting as if searching for invisible logistical errors.
"Is something wrong, Mrs. Raksamudra?" Farhan asked, his voice calm, but his gaze intense, capable of exposing hidden emotions.
Sekar spun professionally, blocking Farhan's view of her work desk and tote bag.
"No, Mr. Farhan. I was just… preparing your reading materials for tomorrow morning," Sekar replied, controlling every quiver in her voice. Though she lied about her actions, Farhan only cared about results.
Farhan stepped closer. "I've sent that email to your inbox. Review it quickly. There's a sensitive paragraph on liquidity risk I want your eyes on before you sleep."
Farhan did not wait for an answer. He left as swiftly as he had entered, leaving Sekar in her room, her heart pounding like a drum. They were only inches apart, yet in that interaction, Sekar had to activate her maximum mental defenses.
Sekar froze, on the brink of physical exhaustion. Farhan left, carrying the controlled chaos he had spread. Sekar loosened her grip. Her palms were wet not from heat, but from stress.
She looked at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes of brief interaction, yet it felt like a mental marathon. She had successfully hidden her physical response, destroyed evidence of past fragility.
Sekar exhaled. She had just escaped close surveillance, but the cost was her energy. Tucked between the folds of her bed pillow, tightly hidden, lay a strip of light prescription sleeping pills a gift from her old doctor before she moved now secured. Pills not anti-anxiety, but to ensure deep sleep so Farhan's control system in the morning would not be disturbed by puffy eyes from lack of rest.
Sekar almost forgot she had taken this risk. Almost forgot to discard the old traces, almost forgot to secure the new emergency ammunition.
Total exhaustion not from work, but from hiding. Sekar had to fight harder, not against the world, but against Farhan and the control that suffocated her, just to appear perfect in the eyes of the Absolute Control.