The CEO's Dirty Secret: Why the Billionaire Is Hiding?

Chapter 3: Dressed Down

The playground air hung heavy with the scent of pine chips and unanswered questions. Elvina stared at the spot where Rian’s car had peeled away, her knuckles white around the plastic spade. Ginting stood paralyzed, the weight of the realization sinking in: Rian Sitepu didn't play by the rules of business. He played by the rules of surveillance.

Two days later. The Taman Beringin Kindergarten gates creaked open. A man stepped through, wearing a faded navy hoodie and cargo pants that looked like they had been purchased five minutes prior at a discount outlet.

"I’嚟 here for the volunteer orientation," the man said.

Elvina looked up from a clipboard, squinting against the morning glare. She blinked twice. "Rian?"

"It’s just 'Rian' today," he said, offering a tight, rehearsed smile. "No last names. No boardroom talk. Just a guy looking to contribute."

"You’re wearing knock-off sneakers," Elvina said, her voice dropping into a register of pure disbelief.

"They were on sale. Comfort is the priority, right?"

"You look like you’re trying to rob a bank, not build a sandcastle."

"I’m blending in. Isn't that what you wanted? Someone who doesn't smell like a dry-cleaned tuxedo?"

"I wanted a volunteer, not a stalker in a hoodie. Why are you really here?"

"Maybe I realized you were right. Maybe I wanted to see if I could handle the dirt."

Elvina stepped closer, her eyes narrowed. "You hate dirt. You spent ten minutes yesterday trying to wipe mud off your loafers with a silk handkerchief."

"I’ve evolved. Look, give me a rake. What’s the worst that could happen?"

"Fine. Grab the rake behind the shed. And keep away from the kids until I say so. I don't need you scaring them with your 'takeover' energy."

Rian marched toward the shed. Ten minutes later, he returned, his face flushed and his hair disheveled.

"This is remarkably inefficient," Rian panted, leaning on the rake. "Why are we using wooden teeth instead of a mechanical sweeper? I could have this entire lot clear in twenty minutes with a leaf blower."

"It’s not about efficiency, Rian. It’s about the kids. They like the sound of the leaves. They like the physical rhythm."

"They like the noise? They’re children, not philosophers."

"They’re happy, Rian. Something you seem to have forgotten the definition of."

"I’m happy. I’m currently winning an argument, aren't I?"

"You’re losing a rake fight against a pile of wet leaves."

Rian wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of dirt across his brow. "Fine. How do you do it? How do you keep from checking your watch every thirty seconds?"

"You focus on what’s in front of you," Elvina said, pointing to a toddler struggling with a shoe. "Help him with his velcro. If you’re going to be here, actually be here."

Rian stared at the toddler’s shoe as if it were a complex financial instrument. "It’s a fastener. It’s a simple loop-and-hook system."

"It’s a shoe, Rian. Just pull the tab."

He knelt down, his movements rigid and awkward. "There. It’s tight. Probably too tight."

"He likes it snug," Elvina said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "See? You didn't break him."

"I’m not a monster, Elvina."

"No, you’re just a guy who thinks everything can be bought. Even a volunteer spot."

"Is it working? The 'being here' part?"

"You haven't pulled out your phone in twenty minutes," she conceded. "That’s a record."

"I’m busy. I’m doing the manual labor thing."

"You’re actually smiling."

Rian stood up, dusting off his pants. The sun hit his face, and for a moment, the predatory edge in his eyes softened. "It’s quiet. No shouting over a ticker tape. No secretaries buzzing in with bad news."

"Maybe this is the reality check you needed."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just like the competition. You’re good at this, Elvina. It’s almost infuriating."

"You don't have to win everything, Rian."

"But that’s the game, isn't it? If I can win the boardroom, why can't I win the sandbox?"

"Because the sandbox doesn't care about your net worth."

"I’m starting to notice that."

He looked around the playground, his expression turning thoughtful. The tension that usually defined his posture was gone, replaced by a strange, quiet wonder. "You know, I haven't been in a place this quiet in a decade. It’s... it’s actually not the worst thing in the world."

"Careful. You might end up becoming a human being."

"Don't push your luck. I’m still the guy who wants to buy the company."

"And I’m still the person who’s going to stop you."

"We’ll see," he chuckled, picking up the rake again. "I’m staying until the afternoon snack. That’s the deal, right?"

"That’s the deal."

He worked for another hour, moving between the slide and the sandbox with a newfound, albeit clumsy, dedication. Elvina watched him from the shade, her own guard slowly dropping. The city felt miles away. The threats of the previous day seemed to dissolve in the simple, dusty air of the playground.

As the sun began to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the plastic toys, Rian stopped. He reached into his pocket to check the time, his fingers brushing against empty denim. He stopped, his face going pale.

He dug deeper, his hands flying to his other pockets. Panic, sharp and sudden, flared in his eyes.

"Rian?" Elvina asked, noticing his sudden stillness. "What’s wrong?"

He looked at her, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The mask of the casual volunteer shattered.

"The meeting," he whispered, his voice trembling. "The board of directors. The merger vote."

"What about it?"

"It started twenty minutes ago," he gasped, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray. "I left my phone in the car. I didn't call the secretary. I didn't authorize the proxy."

"So? You’re here."

"I’m not here, Elvina," he said, staring at the gate as if he could see through the walls of the city. "I just committed financial suicide."