Chapter 3 – Controlled Chaos
Chapter 3 – Controlled Chaos
Reyhan had never liked late mornings.
To him, the sun after 7:00 a.m. was already loud, bloated, and intrusive. Yet that Friday, he found himself watching the golden streaks of sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office—annoyed by their cheerfulness.
He hadn’t slept well.
Ever since that question escaped his lips the day before—“Do you remember me?”—he had been furious with himself. That wasn’t something he did. Reyhan Azhari didn’t ask personal questions, and certainly not to employees.
And yet... her answer—or lack of one—had disturbed him more than he admitted.
She didn’t remember him.
Or she was pretending not to.
Both scenarios unsettled him.
He looked up from his laptop screen as the office door opened. Nadira stepped in with her usual efficiency—beige blazer, pencil skirt, glasses, clipboard in hand.
But today, she wore her hair up.
It was a simple bun, tight and neat, but for some reason, it made his throat tighten.
“Morning, sir,” she said. “Your meeting with Dr. Aswin has been postponed. His flight from Surabaya was delayed.”
Reyhan nodded.
“There’s also a rescheduling request from the marketing team—they want to move the 2 p.m. to 4.”
“No,” he said, his voice firm. “If they can’t be on time, they can submit the report via email. I don’t reschedule for late people.”
“Understood.”
She turned to leave.
“Nadira.”
She stopped mid-step.
He rarely called her by her name. In fact, he had never used it with that particular tone—low, restrained, thoughtful.
She turned slowly, “Yes, Mr. Azhari?”
He stood and walked toward the window, hands behind his back. “Do you think I’m difficult to work with?”
A pause.
“Yes,” she said simply.
He turned his head slightly.
“But not impossible.”
Now he turned all the way to face her. “Why stay, then?”
“Because impossible men tend to build impossible empires.” She met his eyes. “And I like watching how they do it.”
Something flickered in his chest at her answer. Admiration? Respect? Something warmer?
He masked it with a smirk. “Careful, Miss Salma. You sound dangerously close to flirting.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t flirt during office hours.”
“And after office hours?”
“I go home.”
He stared at her for a beat too long before chuckling—a rare, real sound. “Touché.”
She dipped her head and exited.
Later That Afternoon
It was just after 3:00 p.m. when the disaster hit.
The company’s data analytics vendor had mistakenly sent out a confidential draft of Azhari Group’s upcoming merger plans to an external investor—one not yet under NDA.
By 3:03 p.m., Reyhan knew.
By 3:06, the vendor was blacklisted.
By 3:10, the legal department was scrambling for damage control.
And by 3:12, Nadira was already coordinating a response plan from her desk with chilling calm.
Reyhan leaned against the frame of his office door, arms crossed, watching her bark orders over the phone without raising her voice.
“No, I don’t want speculation, Rudi. I want logs. Timestamped. Who accessed what and when. If we can't prove it was accidental, we’re open to liability,” she said into the receiver. “And contact Ms. Vanessa in legal. Full review of the nondisclosure clauses.”
She ended the call and turned to find Reyhan watching her.
“Five more minutes and I’ll have a temporary press draft ready. Do you want to lead the statement, or should we let PR soften it?”
“Let them soften it,” he said. “Your voice sounds too sharp.”
“You’re welcome.”
His lips twitched. “Where did you learn to handle crises like that?”
“Orphanage,” she said lightly. “A hundred kids, two adults, and no air-conditioning. You learn early how to make things happen without panicking.”
His expression shifted subtly at the mention of the orphanage.
“You grew up in one?”
She nodded, not breaking stride as she gathered papers and typed simultaneously. “From age four to thirteen. Then foster care. Then scholarships.”
He didn’t reply, but something in his eyes—something unreadable—held on to her a moment longer than necessary.
And she noticed.
Evening – 7:45 p.m.
The office was nearly empty. Most of the employees had long gone home. But Nadira remained, hunched over her screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Reyhan emerged from his office without a word, set a cup of black coffee beside her, and sat across her desk.
It was the first time he had ever sat on the other side—the assistant’s side.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I needed a different view,” he said. “Do you ever stop working?”
“When there’s nothing left to fix.”
“You know, that’s exactly what I’d say.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “Then I guess we’re both doomed.”
A moment passed.
Quiet.
Comfortable.
He looked at her then—really looked. Not as a boss appraising an employee, but as a man observing a woman who was calm in chaos, sharp in silence, and still a mystery.
“I was eight,” he said suddenly, voice softer than usual. “The first time I visited a panti asuhan. Our school made it a field trip. Most kids were bored. But I remember a girl. Small. Glasses too big for her face. She taught me how to play checkers.”
Nadira’s fingers froze above the keys.
“She said I was bad at it.”
A breath caught in her chest.
“She laughed at me. It was the first time anyone did that without fear.”
He looked directly into her eyes now. “And she had your voice.”
Silence stretched thin between them.
Then she whispered, “What if I told you I remember a boy who refused to eat anything but rice and fried egg... and then gave me his slice of birthday cake because I didn’t get one?”
Reyhan’s jaw tightened. “I’d say you took too long to remember.”
Nadira lowered her gaze. “I wasn’t sure it was real. Or if I imagined it.”
He leaned forward slightly. “It was real.”
They sat there, the buzz of the city below them, the ghosts of two children caught in the bodies of two professionals—tethered by memory and glass walls.
Just before either could say more, Adrian walked in with a stack of files.
“Oh,” he blinked, clearly startled. “Didn’t realize we were having a... moment.”
Reyhan straightened. “We weren’t.”
Nadira smiled faintly. “We were working.”
Adrian held back a grin. “Of course. Just... let me know if you need anything. Like, I don’t know, candles or something.”
“Get out,” Reyhan said without looking.
As Adrian left, Nadira returned to her screen—but her hands trembled slightly now.
And Reyhan didn’t miss that.
Not at all.
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