THE BILLIONAIRE'S HEIR UNCHAINED

CHAPTER 2

The soft golden light of morning filtered through the thin curtains, casting long streaks across the small bedroom. The distant hum of motorbikes and the faint chatter of street vendors signaled the start of another day in Jakarta.

Raka blinked the sleep from his eyes, his body stiff from another restless night on the thin mattress. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and sat at the small wooden desk by the window.

Raka sat in front of his laptop, scrolling through job listings.

The glow of the screen reflected in his tired eyes as he skimmed through endless postings.

For the past year, he had applied to dozens of companies.

All rejections.

Most didn’t even bother replying.

The ones that did?

“We regret to inform you that we have chosen a more suitable candidate.”

He clenched his fists.

It wasn’t like he was lazy. He had skills. He had studied business. He had experience—more than these companies knew.

But no one gave him a chance.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

A new email.

His chest tightened as he clicked on it.

"Dear Mr. Nugroho, thank you for your application. However—"

Another rejection.

His grip on the phone tightened.

How much longer?

How much more could he take?

He shut the laptop and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He had never felt so useless.

So… powerless.

Raka sat on the couch, staring at his laptop, but the words on the screen blurred.

He couldn’t focus.

He had been applying for jobs again—hoping, trying.

Another rejection email had arrived that morning.

“We have chosen a more qualified candidate.”

More qualified?

He had graduated with honors. He had work experience.

So why?

Why was he still here?

Still jobless. Still powerless. Still a joke.

A Harsh Reality Check

That afternoon, he decided to step outside.

He needed air.

As he walked down the streets, he noticed how alive everything was.

People were busy. Moving. Working. They had purpose.

And him?

He had nothing.

Then, his stomach growled.

He checked his wallet. Barely enough for a cheap meal.

He sighed and entered a nearby warung (small street food stall).

Ordering a simple bowl of soto ayam (chicken soup), he sat at a corner table.

Then, voices at the table next to him caught his attention.

Familiar voices.

“I swear, that guy is just dead weight.”

Raka’s grip on his spoon tightened.

It was Nadine’s cousin, Dicky.

And he wasn’t alone. Three other relatives from the Santoso family sat with him, laughing.

“Nadine should just divorce him already,” another relative scoffed.

“He’s embarrassing the family,” Dicky sneered. “Still living in my aunt’s house like a parasite.”

Raka’s blood boiled.

They spoke like he wasn’t even human.

Like he was nothing.

He should have stood up. Said something. Defended himself.

But what could he say?

What could a man without power say?

He lowered his gaze and continued eating, swallowing both his food and his pride.

By evening, Raka returned home.

His mind was a storm.

For years, he had endured.

For years, he had accepted.

Because he thought that maybe, just maybe, if he worked hard enough, things would change.

But nothing changed.

Nothing would change.

Unless… he made it change.

when he was done eating, he walk out of the stall and went straight home.

Raka sat on the couch, phone in hand, staring at an unexpected email.

Subject: Job Application Update

Dear Mr. Nugroho,

We have reviewed your application for the junior administrative position at Surya Logistics. While the original role has been filled, we would like to offer you another position within our company…

His fingers tightened around the phone.

This wasn’t what he applied for. He had aimed for an administrative role.

A position he was qualified for.

Instead, they were offering him…

Warehouse Assistant.

Compensation: DR 1.8 million per month.

His stomach twisted.

1.8 million rupiah.

Barely enough for a single person to survive in Jakarta.

Barely enough to have any dignity.

He clenched his jaw.

Should he accept?

His pride screamed no.

But his reality?

His reality didn’t give him a choice.

With a deep breath, he typed his response.

I accept.

***

The next morning, Raka arrived at the Surya Logistics warehouse.

A massive structure, filled with stacks of boxes, forklifts, and workers moving under the scorching Jakarta sun.

It was loud. Chaotic. A world far from the air-conditioned offices he had imagined.

A supervisor stood by the entrance, checking his clipboard. A bald, middle-aged man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

His name tag read: Bambang – Shift Supervisor.

Raka stepped forward.

"Excuse me, sir, I’m Raka Nugroho. I—"

Bambang glanced up, looking him up and down.

His lips curled.

"You're the guy from the office application?"

"Yes, sir."

Bambang snorted.

Bambang smirked and tossed him a safety vest.

“Welcome to the warehouse, Mr. College Graduate.”

Laughter erupted from the workers nearby.

Raka swallowed the burning humiliation in his throat.

Hours passed.

He was sweating. His arms ached. His shirt stuck to his back.

The work was back-breaking.

Stacking heavy boxes, carrying shipments, running errands like an unpaid intern.

It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion.

It was the constant mocking.

"Hey, College Boy, you need a break?"

"Don’t drop the boxes, rich kid! You might cry!"

Every insult sliced through him.

But he stayed silent.

Because what else could he do? Complain? Quit?

He needed this job.

For now.

As he struggled to lift a heavy crate, another pair of hands suddenly grabbed the other side.

"Here, let me help."

Raka looked up.

A lean, sharp-eyed young man with a messy uniform grinned at him.

"Andi Saputra," the guy said, setting the crate down with ease. "You must be the new guy."

Raka nodded, catching his breath. "Raka."

Andi smirked.

"Ignore these guys. They think bullying makes them important."

Raka let out a bitter chuckle. "Does it ever stop?"

Andi shrugged. "Not really. But you get used to it."

Raka studied him.

Unlike the others, Andi wasn't looking down on him.

He didn’t mock. He didn’t sneer.

Instead, he grinned.

"Come on. Let’s survive together."

By the end of the day, Raka was exhausted.

Every muscle screamed.

His clothes were dirty. His palms were red with blisters.

And yet…

This was better than sitting at home, being nothing.

As he was about to leave, Bambang stopped him.

"Oi, College Boy."

Raka turned.

Bambang smirked.

“You actually lasted a day. Thought you’d quit by lunch.”

More laughter from the workers.

Raka said nothing.