Chapter Eight: Echoes from the Past
It was midnight when Ayla finally called Nina.
She waited until Leo was in the shower. She didn't want him hearing her voice tremble.
"Pick up," she whispered, pacing the kitchen floor.
After three rings, Nina answered.
"You finally called. Took you long enough."
Ayla exhaled. "Hi, too."
"Don't pull the cold-wife act with me, Ayla Mariani–or is it Ayla Darmawan now?"
A beat of silence.
"Yeah. Thought so."
✧
They met at a quiet rooftop café the next morning — no bodyguards, no drivers, no cameras. Just sun, wind, and a childhood friend who looked like she hadn't slept since Bali.
Nina wore black sunglasses and a half-scowl. "So. You marry a billionaire, disappear, and now you're pregnant."
Ayla took a slow sip of water. "You missed a few steps, but yes."
"God. And here I was worried you died in a ditch somewhere. Turns out you just upgraded to the penthouse."
"Nina—"
"You blocked my number, Ayla."
Ayla looked down at the table. "I wasn't thinking straight."
"Were you thinking at all?"
The words stung more than she expected.
They sat in silence for a while, the city humming below.
Then Nina slid a folded envelope across the table.
"I didn't come here just to scold you," she said. "I came to warn you."
Ayla's chest tightened. "About what?"
Nina hesitated. Then leaned in, her voice low.
"He's back. Ilham."
The name dropped like a stone in Ayla's stomach.
"I ran into him at a media event in Seminyak," Nina said. "He's changed, Ayla. Slicker. Smoother. Acting like a big-shot real estate investor. But get this — he asked about you. Twice."
Ayla's throat went dry.
"What did he say?"
"He said you owed him something."
Ayla's hands curled into fists under the table.
"He doesn't get to say that," she whispered. "Not after what he did."
✧
Back at the penthouse, Ayla was quiet during lunch. Too quiet.
Leo watched her from across the table, fingers tapping softly against his glass.
"You met your friend today," he said.
She nodded. "Yes."
"She looked… intense."
"She's always intense."
Leo leaned forward slightly. "You're not fine. What happened?"
Ayla looked up, surprised. He rarely asked how she felt. Only if she needed something.
"I saw someone I used to know," she said carefully. "Someone from before… this."
Leo's eyes darkened. "The man from before the pregnancy?"
A pause.
"Yes."
A longer pause.
"Did he hurt you?" he asked, voice quiet but heavy.
Ayla looked away. "Not the way people expect. But yes."
Leo didn't move. But she could see it — the way his shoulders stiffened, the storm in his eyes.
"If he comes near you," Leo said, every syllable a blade, "he won't get the chance to regret it."
Ayla didn't flinch. She just whispered:
"You can't fix this with power, Leo. This isn't a press release. This is history."
Leo stared at her.
Then, softly:
"Then let me rewrite it."
✧
That night, Ayla opened the envelope Nina gave her.
Inside was a photo — Ilham, smiling, glass in hand, arm wrapped around a woman who looked disturbingly young. There was a business card too. "Ilham Fadli, Property Solutions Consultant."
A note on the back:
He's circling back, Ay. Be careful.He doesn't know you're pregnant. Yet.
Ayla placed the card down slowly.
Then walked into the living room, where Leo was half-asleep on the couch, still wearing his dress shirt, collar undone.
"Leo?"
He stirred. "Hmm?"
She sat beside him, took his hand, and placed it gently on her belly.
He blinked, then looked at her — confused, half-awake.
"I need you to protect us," she whispered.
"Not with lawyers. Not with money.But by staying."
To be continued...