Chapter 20

Chapter 20
The distant wail of an ambulance siren speeding below, faintly audible through the soundproof glass of Elara's room, seemed to echo the chaos that had just erupted in the digital world. Elara's fingers trembled, fixated on the tablet screen that glowed with a cruel light. An online news article, adorned with screenshots of their charity project's initial design concept—a silhouette of a modern ethnic dress, still in a rough sketch, with imperfect embroidery details. Below it, a scathing comment read: "Kencana Mode: Innovation? This is plagiarism of traditional art!"

“How can this be?” Elara's voice was hoarse, more like a whisper choked with anger. She stared at Rina, who sat opposite her, her face pale, her eyes reflecting the same panic.

Rina let out a long, heavy sigh. “I… I don’t know, Elara. Our PR team was preparing an internal presentation, and somehow, one of those early drafts got out. Maybe someone clicked the wrong thing, or—I really don’t know!” The girl rubbed her face in frustration. “But, this isn’t just an internal leak issue. Mahesa Group. They… they responded.”

Elara’s heart sank. “Do they feel the need to defend themselves?” Her tone sharpened, full of sarcasm. She knew Mahesa wouldn't stay silent. Adrian would never let his company's image be tarnished, especially if it involved a project bearing his grandfather's name.

“It’s not just defending themselves,” Rina enlarged another article on her tablet. An official press release from Mahesa Group, featuring its proud lion logo. The headline was sharp: ‘Mahesa Group Clarifies Vision for Humanitarian Project: Precision and Aesthetics Beyond Initial Speculation.’ The content of the release subtly but deadly "corrected" Elara's concept, highlighting the "lack of structure and authentic detail" in the leaked design, while claiming that Mahesa had prepared a "more solid foundation" for the project.

Elara suddenly stood up, the chair behind her scraping loudly. “They… they are shaming Kencana. They are shaming me!” Her breath hitched, memories of that night flashing, the lingering feeling of betrayal. Adrian always managed to make her feel inadequate, unequal.

“Not only that, Elara,” Rina added, her voice barely audible. “There’s a hashtag war. #KencanaModePlagiarism and #MahesaPrecision. Fans of both brands are attacking each other on every social media platform. Some even called you inexperienced, too ambitious without a strong foundation.”

Elara closed her eyes, letting a wave of anger flood over her. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the corner of the room tasted bitter to her senses. She felt a sharp pang of wounded ego, not just as a CEO, but as an artist whose work was openly questioned. “Adrian did this on purpose. I know it. He’s always been like that, cold and calculating.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know anything about your initial leak, Elara,” Rina tried to soothe, though she herself was doubtful. “Maybe his team just moved defensively.”

“Defensive?” Elara laughed sardonically, her voice devoid of any humor. “This isn’t defensive, this is a planned counterattack. They are attacking the foundation of Kencana Mode, questioning my credibility in the public’s eyes. And everyone knows Adrian Mahesa is the mastermind behind every Mahesa Group strategy.” She walked to the large window, gazing at the Jakarta skyline enveloped in a thin haze. This magnificent city now felt like a personal battlefield for her. “He wants me to fail. He wants to prove that Eyang was wrong.”



In the towering Mahesa Group office, a chilling silence contrasted with the bustling digital world outside. Adrian Mahesa sat upright in his chair, his gaze sharp, piercing through the dual monitors displaying social media timelines and sentiment analysis reports. #KencanaModePlagiarism. #MahesaPrecision. #AdrianVsElara.

“I expected them to overreact,” Adrian said coldly, without taking his eyes off the flickering numbers. There was a faint satisfaction at the corner of his lips, but also an unseen unease. “That leak was Kencana Mode’s mistake. Our team is merely correcting a false narrative, Baskara. We are reasserting Mahesa’s position.”

Baskara, standing beside Adrian’s large desk, slowly shook his head. “Adrian, this is more than just correcting a narrative. Kencana’s PR team called it an ‘unfair attack.’ Elara Kencana personally tweeted, ‘True innovation isn't afraid of transparency, but Mahesa chose to twist facts.’ This is escalating, and the public sees it as a personal war between the two of you.”

Adrian sighed, his finger tapping the steel surface of the table. The sound of the tapping felt like the ticking of a clock counting down to disaster. He knew Elara wouldn't stay silent. Her personality was too fiery to back down. “I didn’t intend to make it a personal war. I’m just ensuring Mahesa’s reputation remains intact, and Eyang’s vision isn’t misrepresented by an immature design.”

“That ‘immature’ design was an initial concept, Adrian,” Baskara reminded him, his tone slightly reproving. “Every designer starts with a sketch. That doesn’t mean they lack potential.”

“Potential isn’t enough for a large-scale charity project bearing Eyang Subroto’s name,” Adrian retorted, his voice rising slightly. “We cannot risk unproven artistic speculation. Mahesa always prioritizes precision and undeniable quality.” Yet, in his mind, he saw Elara’s face, her expression when they last met—the same challenge and passion. A part of him, for some reason, felt uneasy with the public commotion. He hated chaos, especially when it involved his name and Elara’s name in one controversial sentence.

“But this action makes you look like a bully, Adrian,” Baskara continued. “Elara is the CEO of Kencana Mode, not a fresh graduate whose work you can ‘correct’ as you please. Eyang’s will called for collaboration, not this kind of open competition.”

Adrian let out a heavy sigh. The scent of luxurious leather in his office felt stifling. “Eyang’s will also implied that this project must succeed, Baskara. And with all due respect, I doubt Elara’s ability to handle this scale without emotional control.” A sentence full of irony, considering the only time he lost control was with that woman.

A new notification appeared on the screen. Pak Tirtayasa had uploaded a short statement on the official social media account of the Eyang Subroto Foundation. It contained only two sentences, yet its impact was far greater than a thousand press releases: “The will of the late Eyang Subroto is for unity, not division. The parties are expected to clarify the situation immediately for the sake of charity.”

Adrian clenched his fist. Even from his grave, Eyang Subroto could still pull their strings. “Pak Tirtayasa…” Adrian mumbled. “That man always finds a way to complicate things.”



Back in Kencana Mode’s office, Elara stared at the news about Pak Tirtayasa’s statement. Her lips thinned. “Urging us to ‘clarify the situation’? After Mahesa deliberately ruined my reputation?” Her tone was sharp, laden with frustration and a hint of despair.

“Elara, this could be an opportunity,” Rina tried to see the positive side. “We could hold a press conference, explain our position, and show that Mahesa went too far in their response.”

“And look even more childish in the public’s eyes?” Elara shook her head. “No. Adrian will use that platform to attack again. He is a master at twisting words and images.” She looked back at the tablet screen, at the #MahesaPrecision hashtag that continued to dominate. One tweet caught her attention, an anonymous account that rarely interacted, suddenly uploaded a screenshot of a private conversation. In the conversation, someone named "Damar S." appeared to send a Kencana Mode design concept file to an unknown person, accompanied by the message: "This will be the weapon. Note the date and time. It hasn't been officially released yet."

Elara froze. Her heart pounded. The screenshot showed the file being sent several hours before Kencana Mode’s PR team’s official leak occurred. A cold sensation ran down her spine. This was no accident. This was sabotage.

“Rina,” Elara whispered, her voice now filled with cold dread. “Look at this. This leak… it’s not a coincidence.” She handed the tablet to Rina, whose eyes widened as she read the conversation on the screen.

“Damar S.?” Rina mumbled, frowning. “Who is that?”

Elara felt a cold breath on the back of her neck. “That’s… Damar. Adrian’s distant cousin. He’s the one who insists he’s entitled to Eyang’s inheritance. He’s threatened to do anything to get his share.” Her eyes narrowed. “He wants both of us to fail. And he just played us like puppets.”

At the same time, Adrian’s phone rang. A call from an unknown number. With a furrowed brow, he answered it. The voice on the other end was low, hoarse, yet clear. “I’ve seen the mess you and Elara created, Adrian. Truly shameful for Eyang’s name. Or perhaps that’s what you wanted? For all the assets to fall into the rightful hands, cleaner hands?” It was Damar’s voice. In the background, a cynical laugh was heard. “Don’t think you can control everything, cousin. The show has just begun.”

Adrian gripped his phone tightly, a vein throbbing in his temple. A threat not only directed at him but also at the legacy he desperately guarded. Amidst the social media noise, amidst the escalating conflict with Elara, a new shadow emerged, far more dangerous and menacing than just a hashtag war. Their personal conflict had now become a pawn in a larger game, with unimaginable stakes.