Leea Lestari wasn't what most people imagined when they heard her over the phone clear, confident, and calm. Her voice carried an elegance that suggested someone taller, older, maybe a little intimidating. The kind of woman who wore heels and red lipstick, gliding across polished marble.
In person, she was... different. Not in a lesser way just in a quieter one. Leea's beauty was soft and understated. The kind you noticed not at first glance, but second. Her skin was golden with a warm glow, her eyes almond-shaped and quietly expressive. She wasn't particularly tall, and she didn't try to be. Her long, dark hair was usually tied up in a messy bun she forgot to fix. Still, there was something magnetic about her the way she moved with quiet purpose, like she was always on the edge of a thought too deep to voice.
That evening, she stood by the front door of a modest two-bedroom house tucked behind frangipani trees in a quiet part of Sanur Bali. The air was thick, still clinging to the heat of the day. Somewhere nearby, the scent of burning incense floated lazily through the neighborhood.
She zipped up her light pink jacket, grabbed her helmet, and looked back inside.
Their black cat, Dogg, was curled on the sofa, watching her with unnervingly intelligent green eyes. He gave a single blink, as if to say: Don't stay out too long.
Dessy, her best friend and housemate, poked her head out from the kitchen, a dish towel still in her hand. "Please don't forget to get gas. And try not to race the tourists again."
Leea grinned as she slipped her phone into her sling bag. "I'm not racing. I'm working."
"Midnight goddess, I know," Dessy teased. "Have fun with the honeymooners and their twelve thousand complaints."
They had been living together for nearly two years. Dessy worked as a housekeeper at De Haven, while Leea worked in call center. Rent in Bali had become laughably high, so Leea who had inherited the old house from her father invited Dessy to move in. It worked. The house wasn't glamorous, but it had stories in its walls and jasmine in its backyard.
Leea's father had remarried and moved to another island years ago. Her mother had died giving birth to her. She never really talked about it. There wasn't much to say. Just a soft absence she had carried her entire life.
Her dusty pink scooter hummed quietly as she rode through narrow backroads, heading toward the glowing lights of De Haven Bali.
11.00 PM - Call Center Services, De Haven Bali
The lobby was nearly silent. Soft light glowed from the chandeliers above, glinting off polished marble floors. A gentle trickle of water echoed from the fountain nearby. Behind the desk, Leea sat at her workstation, typing quietly. Her headset rested loosely around her neck, ready for the next guest inquiry.
She loved the night shift. No crowds. No pressure. Just the soothing rhythm of systems and silence.
Ring.
She slid her headset on with practiced ease and clicked the flashing icon.
"Good evening, De Haven Bali. This is Leea speaking. How may I assist you?"
A pause, then a deep male voice with a thick Russian accent came through.
"Yes, hello. I want to book tour. For family. With children. Must be safe. Not dangerous."
Leea's fingers were already moving. "Absolutely, sir. May I ask how many guests will be joining, and do you have a preferred date?"
The man continued with broken but enthusiastic English, making it very clear that the tour must be air-conditioned, safe, fun, and include lunch. Leea smiled quietly as she took notes. She'd had far more difficult guests this one was almost charming in his directness.
After finalizing the booking, confirming the email, and thanking him for choosing De Haven, she ended the call.
Just as she was about to lean back in her chair, another light blinked on the screen.
Presidential Suite - Line 1.
A new guest, clearly. And it wasn't even midnight yet.
***
The sheets were a tangled mess.Silk and skin, laughter and heat. The kind of chaos that only happened when no one really wanted to say goodbye.
Nick lay on his back, arm draped over the edge of the bed, chest still rising and falling with the last traces of exertion. The soft light of Rotterdam's skyline spilled through the half-open curtains, casting gold and shadow over everything. His blonde hair was tousled, lips curved in that lazy, satisfied smirk he wore so well.
Beside him, Saskia, the scandalously beautiful twenty-something secretary of his father, traced slow, teasing lines across his torso. Her nails were perfectly manicured, her body warm against his, her perfume something citrusy and bold still lingering in the air.
"You're really leaving tomorrow?" she asked, voice a sultry whisper.
Nick grinned. "That's the plan."
"To Bali?" She propped herself on one elbow, her long dark lashes blinking playfully. "How convenient. I hear it's full of women looking for… spiritual healing."
Nick laughed. "And I'm very good at helping people heal."
Saskia rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss him again, soft and lingering. He kissed her back, but this time with less heat. It was always fun with Saskia never messy, never emotional. She liked it that way. So did he.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Nick reached over, not bothering to check who it was, and answered with a casual, "Yo."
"Still awake?"Marteen's voice was as steady and low as ever, even through the phone.
Nick sat up slightly, glancing at the time. "Barely. Why? Having second thoughts already?"
"You're packed?"
Nick stretched. "Suitcase is open. Half full. I'll throw in a few more shirts in the morning."
Marteen sighed on the other end. "We leave at seven, Nick. Not noon."
"Relax," Nick said, swinging his legs off the bed. "It's Bali, not a war zone. I don't need armor. Just swim trunks and a decent cologne."
Saskia had slipped out of bed and was now pulling her blouse over her head, watching him with amused eyes.
Marteen ignored the remark. "I just wanted to check. Tomorrow's the start of somethin big."
There was a pause. Nick looked out the window, watching the city lights blink against the night sky.
"I know," he said, more seriously this time. "I'm ready."
Marteen didn't reply right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. "Let's build something that matters."
Nick smiled, almost to himself. "Don't worry. I'll make it unforgettable."
They hung up.
Behind him, Saskia adjusted her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair in the mirror. "Should I wish you luck?"
Nick turned to her, buttoning his shirt. "No need. I don't believe in luck. I believe in timing."
She gave him a wink, grabbed her purse, and walked to the door without looking back.
And just like that, the night in Rotterdam faded behind him.
Tomorrow, the island was waiting.
***
If there was one thing Marteen had perfected over the years, it was the art of looking composed while feeling nothing at all.
He stood by the window of his study, a glass of water untouched in his hand, staring at the quiet Rotterdam night. Snow was falling again slow, graceful, distant. Everything outside was soft and still.
Inside, he was anything but.
Behind him, Carlijn de Vries sat on the edge of his leather sofa, blonde waves falling neatly over her shoulders, a pale cashmere coat still clinging to her figure. She looked like she belonged in a magazine spread glamorous, tasteful, effortless. Her face was delicate, her voice always gentle, and yet, somehow... everything about her felt like a trap.
"I printed a few of our photos from the gala last month," she said sweetly. "They turned out beautiful. You looked so handsome."
Without waiting for a response, she reached into her purse and pulled out a neat stack of glossy photo prints. Marteen turned just in time to see her sliding one into the back pocket of his wallet firmly, intentionally.
"So you don't forget what's waiting for you here," she added with a small smile.
Marteen said nothing.
Carlijn had always known how to play her part the perfect fiancée. Polite, smart, stunning. Their engagement had made headlines in a few elite circles: the van Rooyens and the de Vrieses two old-money families securing their alliance. A merger dressed as a marriage.
He hadn't proposed. She hadn't waited to be asked. The whole thing had been written before either of them had a say.
Carlijn stood and stepped toward him. "I know you're leaving tomorrow," she said quietly. "I know your job is important. But if you don't come home often enough, I might just have to fly down there myself."
Marteen looked at her, expression unreadable. "That's not necessary."
Her tone turned lighter, teasing. "Unless there's a reason you don't want me there?"
Marteen didn't answer. Silence was safer.
Carlijn stepped even closer, now standing in front of him. She reached up, gently brushing a strand of his hair back, her fingers cool against his skin.
"I love you, Marteen," she whispered. "Even when you try to act like you don't care."
Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
He didn't flinch. He didn't move. He kissed her back with the practiced ease of a man who had long since stopped fighting. His body responded because it was easier than resisting. But his mind was elsewhere already crossing seas, already free.
When she finally pulled away, her lips were still curved in satisfaction. She adjusted her coat and turned toward the door.
"Safe flight tomorrow," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be thinking of you."
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Marteen exhaled slowly and reached into his wallet, pulling out the photo she had stuffed there. Her smile beamed beside his blank expression in the glossy print.
He stared at it for a moment, then slid it into the drawer without a word.
Strangely, for the first time in months, he felt something like relief.
Because tomorrow, he would finally be far away from Carlijn.