The heavy door closed, cutting off his view of Elara's retreating figure. Kael remained rooted to the spot, his breath still ragged, his lips feeling hot and foreign—still imprinted with the warmth and taste of Elara. The tremor in his hands was no longer from anger, but from a crashing realization: he had just crossed a line that should have remained inviolable.
He looked at his own hands, the hands that had roughly pulled Elara close, held her, forced upon her a memory that should have stayed in the past. A wave of nausea rose in his throat. What have I done?
He was no longer that hot-headed young man, led by rage and pain. He was a father. He was Kael with his Bimo Foundation. But in front of Elara, all those layers of maturity had evaporated, leaving behind an old wound that was still raw.
He turned and punched the stone wall beside him. A sharp pain exploded from his knuckles, a physical punishment he felt he deserved. The pain cleared his mind for a moment.
Then, from a distance, he heard David's voice. That voice, full of authority and ownership, pierced his ears. Kael hid himself behind a thick curtain, witnessing a scene that shattered his heart while satisfying a small, bitter part of his anger.
He saw David approach Elara. He saw how Elara's body immediately stiffened, like a child caught misbehaving. He saw David extend his hand, offering the earring—a small piece of evidence from their stormy encounter.
And he heard Elara lie.
With him, Elara had been crying, honest, and shattered. With David, she crafted a story about dizziness, about feeling unwell, about a kind stranger. A stranger. The words felt like a slap.
But beneath that pain, there was a deeper bitterness. He understood. He understood why Elara had to lie. He comprehended the cage she had chosen and the price she had to pay to remain in it.
He watched David lead Elara away. A stiff embrace, not a comforting one. Kael knew that a seed of doubt had been planted in David's mind. But that small victory felt hollow.
He remained in his spot long after they had left, staring at the place where Elara had stood. The space now felt empty and silent, filled only by the ghost of their kiss and the echo of the lie that followed.
Finally, he turned. He walked down the quiet corridor, leaving the glittering ballroom behind, heading to his car. In that solitude, his anger extinguished, replaced by a deep, weary sadness.
He did not regret kissing her. He regretted how he had done it. He regretted letting his pain speak louder than his love. Because beneath it all, what he wanted wasn't to hurt Elara or tear apart the life she had chosen. He just wanted... he just wanted her to know. That no matter what happened, whatever her choices, what they felt was still real. Still burning.
As he drove home, through Jakarta's still-bright streets, his thoughts turned to Bimo. To his son's innocent smile, to the laughter that always managed to melt his heart. Bimo was his world now. A responsibility greater than the pain of a past romance.
He arrived at his silent apartment. He stood before the window, looking out at the city that never slept. Somewhere out there, Elara was facing the consequences of this night. And he, here, had to decide.
Would he continue to be the ghost haunting Elara's life? Or would he truly let her go, not because he didn't love her, but because he loved her enough to let her live with the choice she had made—even if that choice was a cage?
The question hung in the air, unanswered. But one thing he knew: that kiss was a closure. A goodbye that should have happened years ago. And now, he had to learn to truly walk away.