The gala buzzed with the clink of crystal and the murmur of power brokers, its opulent ballroom bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers. Lia stood near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Jakarta’s skyline, her emerald silk gown blending with the jungle-themed floral arrangements. The air smelled of frangipani and ambition.
“Ibu Lia!”
She turned, forcing a smile as Surya Adiwinata, her oldest political ally, approached. His silver hair gleamed under the lights, his smile as polished as his Rolex. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, gesturing to the room. “Even the Vice President’s impressed.”
“We need his vote,” Lia replied her tone light but edged. “The trade bill can’t stall another month.”
Surya clinked his champagne flute against hers. “It won’t. Trust me.”
A server appeared, bowing as he offered a lacquered tray. “For you, Ibu.”