Ayla Rahmani stared at her reflection in the courthouse bathroom mirror, the cold white light casting a harsh glare across her face.
She didn't wear a wedding dress.
Just a plain cream blouse and long skirt. Her hair tied back. No veil. No bouquet. No family waiting outside the door with teary smiles or warm hugs.
This wasn't the wedding she had dreamed of as a child.
But she wasn't a child anymore.
And dreams were expensive.
"Do you, Ayla Rahmani, take Leonard Darmawan as your lawfully wedded husband, under the conditions outlined in this agreement?"
Her throat tightened.
Leonard stood beside her—impeccable in a black suit, tie sharp, posture colder than ice. His expression unreadable, as if he were merely signing a merger deal. Not marrying the woman carrying his child.
A lawyer stood on each side, papers already stamped.
Ayla's hand trembled as she reached for the pen. She hesitated. Just one word, one nod, and everything changes.
She glanced sideways at him.
Leo didn't look at her. Not once.
She bit the inside of her cheek. And signed.
"I do."
✧
The drive to his penthouse was quiet, the silence thick and uncomfortable.
When they arrived, Ayla stepped into a world of cold luxury—floor-to-ceiling glass, stone countertops, minimalist furniture that looked like it belonged in a design catalog, not a home.
"This is... huge," she muttered, placing her worn canvas bag on the polished floor like it didn't belong.
Leo shrugged. "It's practical."
Practical. The word made her heart sink a little more.
He led her down the hallway.
"You'll stay in the guest room," he said, opening a door. Inside was a beautiful space—soft blue walls, a view of the city, a queen-size bed that looked untouched.
Ayla nodded silently, stepping inside. He didn't follow.
"Oh," he added before walking away, "Dinner is delivered every evening. But you can cook if you prefer. There's a stocked pantry. Password to the security system is 1847."
And just like that, he disappeared.
✧
That night, Ayla sat alone at the kitchen table.
A gleaming silver tray of catered food sat untouched. She had made herself instant noodles instead—something warm, familiar, something that didn't feel like it came with a price tag.
She missed the smell of fried shallots in her old apartment. She missed the neighbor's baby crying through the walls. She missed herself.
Across the room, Leo stood near the window with a glass of whiskey in hand, saying nothing. He hadn't eaten.
"Don't you get lonely?" she asked suddenly, her voice low.
He didn't look at her. "I prefer silence."
She stared at him. "That's not the same thing."
✧
Over the next week, they danced around each other like strangers stuck in a glass house.
Leo left early. Came home late. Worked in his office with the door shut. Ate alone—if he ate at all.
But Ayla began to carve out a quiet rhythm of her own.
She made breakfast every morning, even if it was just for herself. She rearranged the dishes in the kitchen. Watered the houseplants no one else noticed. Left the window open to let real air in.
And sometimes, at night, she'd catch Leo pausing by the kitchen doorway, watching her move like a ghost he wasn't sure he believed in.
✧
Then came the storm.
One late evening, the skies cracked open above Jakarta. Thunder rolled like distant drums as rain smashed against the windows in sheets.
Ayla stood in the living room, arms wrapped around herself, watching the city blur beyond the glass. She had always loved storms.
"You should stay away from the windows," Leo's voice called softly behind her.
She turned to find him standing there without his usual armor—no suit jacket, no cold formality. Just Leo in a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the weather, eyes tired.
"I like storms," she said. "They make the world quieter."
He said nothing for a moment.
Then walked toward her.
"Why did you say yes?" he asked suddenly.
Ayla blinked. "To the marriage?"
He nodded.
She looked away. "Because I wanted to protect my baby. And I figured you'd protect your name. We both needed something."
"That's all?" His voice was unreadable.
She hesitated. Then: "And maybe… I wanted to believe I could be someone different, even for a little while."
Leo looked at her then—really looked at her.
Not as a problem. Not as a contract. But as a woman who had given up everything for something she didn't fully understand.
And for the first time, something shifted in his expression. A softening. A flicker of guilt.
"I'm not good at this," he admitted, quietly.
She smiled, tired and honest. "I noticed."
He let out a quiet breath, and for a brief second—one breathless, silent second—he looked like someone lost.
Then the moment passed.
"I'll be traveling tomorrow. Three days. Singapore. There's a driver if you need anything."
She nodded. "Alright."
He turned to leave.
But paused.
"Thank you… for staying."
And then he was gone.
✧
Ayla sat back down on the sofa, hands resting lightly on her stomach.
For the first time since this all began, she felt it—a flutter. A tiny motion deep within.
She pressed her hand to her belly, eyes wide.
"Hi, little one," she whispered.
Outside, the storm roared.
But inside, something new had begun.
Something quiet.
Something warm.
To be continued...