filzebub

Ayla Rahmani never believed in fairy tales—especially not the kind where a broke nurse like her ends up in the bed of Indonesia’s most untouchable billionaire after a single night of escape from reality.

But one drunken mistake at a high-society masquerade ball leaves her with two surprises: a positive pregnancy test... and a cold, unwanted proposal from Leonard Darmawan—the very CEO she can’t stand.

To Leo, marriage is just another business contract. To Ayla, it's a lifeline for her unborn child. Neither expects the sterile, awkward marriage to become something warmer, deeper—something real.

But behind closed doors, love begins to grow in the quietest ways: in late-night meals, shared silences, and a husband's gentle hand on a swelling belly. Until the past catches up—with secrets that threaten everything they’ve built.

Will their fragile bond survive the truth? Or will love after marriage prove too delicate to endure?

In the Shadow of His Name

The screws didn't match the manual.

Leo stared at the instruction booklet, frowning. "This doesn't make sense. Why are there five washers and only four bolts?"

Ayla sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, surrounded by pieces of white wood, trying not to laugh.

"Because the people who design baby cribs want new parents to fail and bond over shared suffering."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "So… this is a trap?"

He tossed the instructions aside and held up a tiny wrench like it might explain the meaning of life.

"I own ten companies, Ayla. But this crib might be the death of me."

She grinned. "At least you'll die in soft lighting."

The nursery was warm, pale yellow and cloud-white. The late afternoon sun streamed through gauzy curtains, painting the room in gold.

Ayla reached for one of the wooden slats, their fingers brushing briefly.

"I want to be the kind of man you don't need to run from."

Ayla's smile faded into something softer. Sadder.

"No."He shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm getting closer. Because of you."

They worked in silence for a while, hands moving, minds drifting.

Ayla kept glancing at him — the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way he leaned in to line up the corners with gentle precision. She'd never seen him like this. Not on magazine covers. Not at the gala. Not even in the penthouse kitchen at 2 a.m.

This was Leo, stripped of power, sitting on the floor, building something small — not for business, but for family.

The thought hit her like breath after drowning.

It was dark by the time the crib was finished.

Leo stood and stretched, shirt wrinkled, hair slightly mussed. Ayla sat on the floor, arms around her knees, gazing at the tiny space they'd made real.

"You know," she said, "you didn't have to do this. You could've called someone."

He dropped to one knee beside her.

"I wanted to build something with you. With my hands."

Then, as if it cost him something:

"I've never done that before. Not for anyone."

She reached up, fingers brushing the side of his face.

And when he leaned in — slowly, like he was asking without asking — she didn't stop him.

Soft. Slow. Nothing like desperation.

This wasn't a kiss born from pain, or fear, or loneliness.

It was earned.Built brick by brick.Just like the crib behind them.

Later, Ayla curled into his side on the couch, her head on his chest, her hand resting over the slow rise and fall of his breath.

"I want to put your name on everything. The penthouse. The company shares. The trust for the baby."

"You're not temporary. And neither is what we're building."

The next morning, the world shattered again.

Leo answered with one eye open, Ayla still sleeping beside him.

"Don't panic," Rayhan said. "But it's trending."

"Ilham went public. Interview. Article. He's saying you stole Ayla from him. Says she faked the pregnancy. Says she's a gold-digger who seduced you to escape a lawsuit."

"Schedule a press conference. And call legal."

To be continued...

Chapter Thirteen: Building a Crib, and a Home