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

Chapter 9: A Crack in the Facade

The concrete pillars of the Grand Meridian parking structure stretched into the gloom like the ribs of a dead whale. Rian’s tires screeched as he pulled his car into a vacant spot, the engine ticking as it cooled. Before he could kill the lights, a silver sedan slammed into the path ahead, blocking his exit.

Ginting stepped out. He looked unhinged—his tie was gone, his shirt stained with rain and grime, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Out of the car, Rian," Ginting shouted, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.

Rian killed the engine and stepped out, hands in his pockets, his face a mask of bored indifference. "You’re really doubling down on the stalker vibe tonight, Ginting? It’s not a good look for a guy who used to care about his reputation."

"Reputation? You destroyed that the moment you walked into that school." Ginting marched closer, his chest heaving. "I have the photos. I have the sequence of you and Elvina Tarigan. It’s all going to the press tomorrow morning."

"Are you talking about the photo you just took? The one with the flash?" Rian stepped into Ginting’s space, his voice dropping to a low, mocking hum. "You think a blurry shot of us talking is going to bury me? You’re smarter than that, even if you’re failing to show it."

"It’s not just a shot of you talking. It’s the context. The ‘thief’ in the sandbox. The board’s criminal complaint. I’I’m going to make sure the world sees you for the parasitic fraud you are."

"Fraud? Coming from the guy who’s been living in my shadow for three years, that’s rich."

"I’m done living in your shadow." Ginting lunged, his hand bunching into Rian’s lapels. "She belongs with someone who actually understands the stakes. Someone who doesn't treat her life like a side project."

Rian caught Ginting’s wrist, his grip iron-tight. "Take your hands off the suit, Ginting. It cost more than your car."

"Screw the suit!" Ginting shoved him hard against the car door. "She’s vulnerable because you’ve messed with her head. You’ve got her questioning her own reality. I’m going to snap her out of it, and then I’m going to watch you rot in a holding cell."

Rian didn't flinch. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "You think you’re the hero? You’re just a spectator who’s angry he didn't get a front-row seat to the show."

"I’m the guy who’s going to win," Ginting snarled, throwing a wild punch that Rian ducked with casual, practiced ease.

Rian sidestepped, tripped Ginting, and pinned him against the concrete pillar. "You’re the guy who’s going to bleed, Ginting. And for what? A woman who looks through you like you’re made of glass?"

"She likes me!" Ginting spat, struggling to get back on his feet. "She trusts me!"

"Trust? You wouldn't know trust if it was signed in a notarized contract." Rian shoved him again, harder this time. "You’re obsessed with my 'secret' because you’re terrified that without me to chase, your life has absolutely no purpose."

"My purpose is to take everything from you." Ginting scrambled up, his face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated venom. "The firm, the assets, the girl—I’m going to strip it all away until you’re just a guy in a hoodie again."

"You want the hoodie? You want the dirt?" Rian leaned in, his voice a blade. "I gave it up. I walked away from the board, the money, the control. I’m not playing your game anymore, so stop trying to keep score."

"You expect me to believe you’re a changed man? You’re a sociopath."

"I’m a man who’s tired of buying things he doesn't want."

"Liar!" Ginting threw himself at Rian, and this time, there was no grace in the fight. They slammed into the side of the car, metal groaning under the impact.

They tumbled to the floor, rolling in the grit and oil of the parking garage. Ginting landed a solid punch to Rian’s ribs, and Rian countered with a heavy blow to Ginting’s jaw, the sound sickeningly wet in the silence of the structure.

"Is this it?" Rian panted, wiping blood from his lip. "Is this the grand finale of your pathetic crusade?"

Ginting scrambled up, clutching his side. "This is just the warm-up."

"You’re pathetic, Ginting. You really are."

"And you’re a dead man walking." Ginting reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a burner phone. "I’I’m uploading the files right now. The press, the board, the authorities—everyone gets the truth."

Rian froze. His eyes locked onto the screen, the blue light reflecting in his pupils. If that data went out, it wouldn't just ruin his career—it would implicate the foundation, the school, and Elvina.

"Don't," Rian warned, his voice losing its playful edge for the first time. "If you push that button, there’s no coming back from it. For either of us."

"That’s the point!" Ginting’s thumb hovered over the screen. "You want to play the martyr? Go ahead. See if she likes you when you’re facing twenty years for industrial espionage."

"Ginting, put the phone down," Rian said, stepping forward, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Make me!"

Suddenly, the screech of tires echoed at the garage entrance. A pair of headlights swerved into view, blinding both men. A sedan pulled to a halt, the door slamming open before the engine even cut out.

Elvina Tarigan stepped out. She looked at the blood on the floor, the two men locked in a stalemate, and the glowing phone in Ginting’s hand.

Her eyes moved to Rian—his torn suit, the blood on his jaw—and then to Ginting, who looked like a broken man.

"What," she whispered, her voice trembling in the vast, cold space, "is happening here?"