Chapter 6
The air in Adrian Mahesa’s office always felt like polished steel—cold, hard, and reflecting every sharp angle. Elara Kencana felt it pierce her to the bone, even though a luxurious wool coat was draped over her shoulders. She sat across from Adrian’s glass desk, a table large enough to host a banquet, yet it felt cramped with the tension hanging in the air. Adrian, like a living marble statue, sat erect in his chair, his gaze as blue as ice, unwavering even as the projector screen behind him displayed the losses for their charity project.
“Twenty-five percent of our budget has simply vanished,” Adrian began, his voice calm and controlled, yet every word felt like the crack of a whip. His fingers tapped lightly on the report before him, a rhythm that was deafening in the thick silence. “All because of a ‘missent’ email. A mistake that, statistically, has a lower probability than winning the lottery twice in a row.”
Elara met his gaze, a defiant fire flickering in her eyes. “And you really believe it was a simple ‘mistake,’ Adrian? After everything that’s happened? After your ‘oversight’ in including our preliminary design concept in yesterday’s press release?”
Adrian raised an eyebrow, a faint expression of disgust etched on his face. “The ‘preliminary’ concept that was so conveniently leaked by Kencana Mode’s PR team? The one that, had I let it stand, would have made the Mahesa Group look like a mere copycat? Forgive me if I choose to protect the reputation of a company that has stood for decades.”
“Reputation? Or your ego, Adrian?” Elara hissed, her hands clenching into fists beneath the table. “You know perfectly well that I replied to the confirmation email for the agreement with the organic silk vendor yesterday afternoon. You knew it was critical. Fifty percent of the raw materials we’ve already ordered for the opening collection!”
“And you know, Elara, that our approval protocol requires both parties to review before the final dispatch,” Adrian replied, unshaken. “Perhaps if your design concepts weren’t so sudden and ‘visionary’ with every passing hour, we wouldn’t have reached a stage where so many ‘mistakes’ occur.”
A heavy sigh came from Baskara, the Mahesa Group’s COO, who sat beside Adrian. He was trying his best to maintain a neutral expression, but the furrow in his brow betrayed his anxiety. “We’ve been over this, Adrian. There was a miscommunication. We can make it up to the vendor, perhaps with an additional fee.”
“An additional fee that the Mahesa Group will not be covering,” Adrian cut in sharply, his eyes fixed on Elara. “I will not allow this clearly intentional mistake to eat into the company’s profitability. Grandfather would not approve.”
“Grandfather?” Elara laughed cynically, her voice bitter. “Your wise grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he knew his grandchildren cared more about who to blame than solving the problem. This is a charity project, Adrian, not a contest to see who’s superior!”
“It’s precisely because this is a charity project that every mistake will be scrutinized by the public. Every loophole will be exploited,” Adrian retorted, his voice rising slightly, a rare sign he was losing his composure. “I cannot allow Kencana Mode—or more accurately, you—to drag the Mahesa Group’s name into your aimless design chaos.”
“Aimless design?” Elara shot up from her chair, her hands slamming onto the glass desk with a loud, vibrating thud. Adrian only flinched slightly, not even blinking. “Maybe the Mahesa Group needs a little chaos now and then, Adrian! Or you’ll forever be stuck in rigid designs only fit for museum mannequins!”
Meanwhile, in Kencana Mode’s brighter, more colorful conference room, Rina, Elara’s head designer and best friend, tried to de-escalate the tension over a video call. Her face was fraught with concern. “Elara, listen to me. The vendor is willing to renegotiate. They understand this is a major project and…”
“Understand what, Rina?” Elara interrupted, now pacing between the table and a large window overlooking the crowded Jakarta cityscape. “That they’re dealing with the pyromaniac CEO of Mahesa? I’m tired of these childish games! This project is going to be ruined before it even starts!”
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over Elara from head to toe. “Childish games? Which ones are you referring to, Elara? The blame game you started, or the fact that I’m trying to bring structure and professionalism to what you call a ‘vision’?”
“That vision is what will save this project from the eternal boredom Mahesa always offers!”
“And that structure is what will save it from the financial ruin you always ignore!”
Their dialogue was like a sword duel, each word swung with precision to wound. Baskara finally had enough. “Adrian, Elara, stop! You’re both at fault here. The email mistake, whoever was responsible, is our shared responsibility. If we want this project to succeed, we have to stop blaming each other and start working together.”
Adrian snorted. “Cooperation is an illusion, Baskara. This is a competition disguised by Grandfather’s will.”
Elara, breathing heavily with rage, pointed at Adrian. “Listen, I am not going to let this project fail, Adrian. Not for the money, not for the inheritance. But because Grandfather Subroto believed in us. He believed we could create something meaningful.” Her voice softened, as if the mention of their grandfather’s name awakened a vulnerability she tried to hide. “This is more than just business to me.”
Adrian saw the shift in Elara’s expression, a slight crack in the fortress of her anger. Something stirred in his chest, a familiar feeling he recognized—the guilt he had buried deep since that night. But he quickly suppressed it. Vulnerability was a weakness, and he couldn’t afford to show it in front of her.
“And you think I don’t care about Grandfather’s legacy?” Adrian shot back, his voice turning cold again. “My entire life has been dedicated to upholding the Mahesa name. That’s a responsibility, Elara, not a fleeting emotion. If this project fails, both of our reputations will be destroyed. And not just ours, but the family name. Is that what you want?”
From the video screen, Rina gripped her phone tighter. She had known Elara long enough to know that behind all the anger and sharp words, there was an old wound that had never healed. And Adrian, with all his masks, was the one who always managed to reopen it.
“Why do you always have to make everything so difficult, Adrian?” Elara asked, her voice now more of a whisper than a shout. There was a palpable desperation in it. “Why do you always have to be like this?”
Adrian leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into her. “Because I have to. Because this is how I stay on top. I don’t have the luxury of being impulsive and letting my emotions take over, unlike… some people.” He let the sentence hang, a veiled reference to their night together, when he, for a moment, had lost all control.