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

Chapter 5: The Rival Reappears

"That’s not Ginting," Elvina whispered, her body stiffening as the man walked toward them.

The stranger didn't look like a parent. He wore a sharp, charcoal-gray windbreaker and moved with the clinical, silent efficiency of a man who spent his life checking exits.

Rian pulled his hand back, wiping the blue tempera paint onto his hoodie, his eyes tracking the newcomer’s every step. "You’re right. He’s not a parent. That’s a fixer."

"A fixer for who?" Elvina asked, her voice barely audible.

"Take a guess," Rian spat, the mask of the humble volunteer slipping into a jagged, dangerous sneer.

The man reached the sandbox, his gaze sweeping over the mess of art supplies before settling on Rian with a look of pure, professional pity.

"Mr. Sitepu," the man said, his voice flat. "Your firm is looking for you. The board meeting ended half an hour ago. You’re currently in the middle of a hostile takeover from within."

"Go away, Marcus," Rian growled. "I’m in the middle of something."

"You’re in the middle of a playground, sir. The market doesn't wait for finger-painting."

"Who is this?" Elvina stepped between them, her chin tilted up.

"Just a ghost from my past," Rian muttered, his eyes darting to the gate.

Ginting walked through the entrance then, holding a bouquet of lilies that looked entirely too expensive for a kindergarten playground. He stopped cold, seeing the tension, the paint, and the presence of Marcus.

"Elvina?" Ginting asked, his eyes scanning the scene. "What’s going on? Who’s this guy?"

"Ginting," Elvina said, exhaling a breath she seemed to have been holding since Rian arrived. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about the board meeting," Ginting said, ignoring Marcus and stepping toward Elvina. He offered the flowers, his smile tight. "I thought you might need a distraction. I didn't expect to find... him."

Rian leaned against the shed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Surprise, Ginting. I’m a man of many talents. You should try the finger-painting. It’s surprisingly therapeutic for the desperate."

Ginting’s eyes narrowed, shifting from Rian’s paint-stained face to his own man, Marcus. "You’re stalking her? Even here?"

"I’I’m volunteering," Rian retorted, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Elvina was just giving me a lesson on the importance of 'being here.' Are you here, Ginting? Or are you just looking for a photo-op?"

"I’m here to make sure she’s safe from people like you," Ginting snapped, his hand brushing Elvina’s arm—a gesture that made Rian’s muscles coil with sudden, sharp possessiveness.

"Safe?" Rian let out a cold laugh. "You’re about as protective as a glass wall. If I wanted to hurt her, you’d have been bankrupt before you parked your car."

"Enough," Elvina said, stepping back from both of them. "Both of you. This is a school."

Ginting looked at the smear of blue on Rian’s cheek, his face flushing with a mix of confusion and mounting rage. "Why is your face painted, Rian? Why are you dressed like a homeless intern?"

"It’s a costume, Ginting. You wouldn't understand. It’s called 'humility.' It’s that thing people have before they get addicted to quarterly earnings reports."

Ginting didn't look at him anymore. He turned to Elvina, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "We need to talk about the Danau Toba deal, Elvina. My firm has a revised offer. One that doesn't involve... whatever games are being played here."

"I told you, I’m done with the deal for the day," Elvina said, her eyes flickering toward Rian, then back to Ginting.

"I’m not leaving until we talk," Ginting insisted. "I’m not going to let him ruin this for us."

"Ruin what, exactly?" Rian pushed off the shed, walking until he stood inches from Ginting. "The romance? The business? Or your ego?"

"Back off, Rian," Ginting hissed.

"Or what? You’ll report me to the principal?" Rian grinned, though his eyes remained dead-cold. "She’s not yours, Ginting. She’s not anyone's. That’s the part you can’t seem to process."

"I’m the only one here who actually cares about her," Ginting said, his voice trembling with sincerity. "Look at you. You’re a caricature. A bored billionaire playing with toys because you’ve run out of people to step on."

Rian stiffened. The accusation hit, but he didn't blink. "Maybe I’I’m tired of stepping on people. Ever think about that?"

Ginting looked at Elvina, his expression pleading. "Tell him to leave, Elvina. He’s ruining this."

Elvina looked at the flowers, then at the man in the designer suit who had brought them, then at the man covered in dirt who was currently fighting a war for her attention.

"I think you should both go," she said, her voice steady.

"Elvina, don't—" Ginting started.

"Go," she repeated, her gaze hardening. "Unless you want me to call the police for trespassing. This is a private facility, and I am the board chair here, too."

Rian looked at her, searching for a sign, a glimmer of the connection they’d shared just moments before. But her face was a mask of icy, professional detachment.

"Fine," Rian muttered, turning toward the gate. "But this isn't over."

"It’s not starting," Elvina corrected.

Ginting hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, but the look in Elvina’s eyes stopped him cold. He set the flowers down on the nearest plastic table. "I’ll call you later. Think about the proposal."

Rian and Ginting walked toward the gate together, a bizarre tableau of rivals. Just as they reached the exit, Ginting stopped and turned back. His gaze settled on the smear of blue paint on Rian’s cheek, then moved to the paint-stained table where they had been standing.

His eyes widened as he realized the pattern.

"You weren't painting a picture, were you?" Ginting whispered, his voice laced with sudden, chilling realization. "You were marking her."

Rian stopped, his hand resting on the gate. He turned his head slowly, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.

"You’re sharper than you look, Ginting," Rian murmured. "Too bad you’re too late."

Ginting paled, his hand going to his phone, but before he could make a move, a loud, jarring siren erupted from the street. Not an ambulance. A police cruiser, tires screeching as it pulled up to the curb of Jalan Diponegoro.

Marcus, the fixer, looked at his watch and sighed. "Your board just filed a criminal complaint against you for 'industrial espionage,' Rian. You’re under arrest."