My hands gripped the camera, steadying the frame as the lens captured every movement. To my right, Zioh sat beside Zaeem among the high executives, and Uncle Bakti smiled broadly on the other side. Behind them, Tsabinu sat with a few people—likely the legal division—calm and composed as ever.
But something was off.
Zioh’s aura was completely different from when I’d seen him earlier in the lift. He released a few long breaths, shifting in his chair, clenching his fists.
What was going on with him?
The shift in his presence was so stark it sent a chill through me. Even Zaeem sneaked glances at his younger brother, though Zioh ignored him. He only kept shaking his head, muttering into his AirPods, glancing left, right, upward.
Then our CEO took the stage.
I forced a refocus, steadying the tripod to capture our CEO’s voice as it filled the hall. But unease gnawed inside me, and my eyes still flicked back to Zioh whenever I could.
After a few words of greeting, our CEO’s following announcement shocked the room and sent it into chaos.
“With great honor and enthusiasm, we announce that the nature of our collaboration has shifted. The establishment of our new subsidiary, PT AeroRail, in partnership with INDTV Group, will no longer be limited to investor and partner roles. From this day forward, we proudly declare it a joint venture.”
Gasps rippled through the room, followed by an uproar of applause. Camera flashes erupted everywhere.
“And with this, Mr. Bakti Danudara will serve as a key investor and fully support this partnership.”
All eyes turned toward Uncle Bakti, who rose with a broad smile, basking in the spotlight, greeting the applause with fire in his eyes. Executives and guests throughout the room stood and clapped enthusiastically in his honor.
But not me.
My gaze locked on Zioh.
He sat rigid beside his father, his expression unreadable. While others moved, he remained still—no standing, no clapping—just an empty, sharp stare that offered nothing.
Our CEO continued, and the applause grew louder with each phrase, but none of it mattered to me. I released a shaky breath, and my eyes fixed on Zioh.
When it was finally his turn to speak, as the appointed project manager for the new company, he stood and walked to the stage.
The air changed.
His presence was heavy. He stood tall and stone-faced on stage. I watched as his jaw hardened, and his knuckles blanched white at his sides.
Scanning the room, his eyes swept over every guest as his lips stayed tight. Not a single smile escaped him, and the hall grew silent under his weight.
I swallowed hard, my knuckles whitening as I tightened my grip on the tripod. The intensity radiating from him was suffocating. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
Then he spoke. Calm. Heavy. His voice carried authority, controlled. He filled the space with force, ensuring every pair of eyes locked onto him. “Good afternoon, everyone—”
No applause greeted him. Only silence.
Beneath his words, I could see it. The flicker of unease in the way he kept adjusting his AirPods.
Then, his eyes found mine.
Not my camera. Not the lenses in front of him.
Me.
The next phase of this project planning involves—” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. Each time he looked down at the document on the podium, he would look up and find me again, ignoring the sea of cameras surrounding him.
And something shifted.
Zioh’s jaw unclenched, and his eyes softened, trembling as they warmed with a different emotion. The faintest of smiles began to curve his lips.
