Episode 8

POV: Dinda

At midnight, I woke with a start—not for my customary night prayers, as tonight I was on a break from them. Instead, a parched throat, an itch quite likely caused by the sweltering heat that had blanketed our days recently, propelled me out of bed. Even the night air sat heavy and warm.

Upon stirring, I noticed Sir Satria wasn't beside me. He must be within the house, as we have nowhere else dedicated to prayer. We always prayed in our bedroom.

Descending the stairs in search of Sir Satria, I found him in the living room, slowly approaching his figure. To my surprise, he was engrossed in a laptop, its screen aglow, his fingers deftly navigating the keyboard. When had Sir Satria come into possession of such pricey technology? Edging closer to greet him, his phone suddenly rang.

"Hello, Indra! Have you gathered all the data I requested?"

The assertiveness in Sir Satria's voice was a revelation, far removed from the man I thought I knew. Indra—only because he called him by that name did I even know it.

"Alright, we'll meet at our usual spot tomorrow. I won't be at the office since grandmother is still punishing me. But rest assured, I've been overseeing the company from afar. Don't forget to report back on any developments there."

Company? Sir Satria spoke of company affairs? Doubts crept in, whispering that my husband might be keeping secrets from me. Two years into our marriage, could it be true?

"Sir Satria?" I called from behind, breaking the silence.

He turned, nervously locking eyes with me. His expression alone confirmed it—he was hiding something. I needed to know what.

"Dinda? How long have you been standing there?" he asked, a tremble in his words.

"Long enough to have overheard your call, before which I was right behind you, Sir. Forgive my prying, but as your wife, I have the right to know what you're concealing from me," I pressed, crossing my arms.

Whatever Sir Satria hid from me, as his wife, I was entitled to know. If he refused to tell me, it would mean I did not matter to him.

"Why so silent, Sir?" I asked, furrowing my brows in concern.

Finally breaking the silence, he spoke, "I want to share something, but please, do not interrupt until I finish, and try not to get angry."

"I promise I won't, as long as you're honest with me," I replied sternly.

He let out a deep sigh, hinting at the gravity of his concealed truth.

"For as long as you've known me, I've gone by Satria Perkasa W. Do you know what the 'W' stands for?" Sir Satria queried.

Shaking my head, I admitted ignorance of the meaning behind the initial 'W'.

"The 'W' represents my family name, Wardoyo. My full name is Satria Perkasa Wardoyo, and I own the STR GROUP, the export-import company where both your brothers and their spouse are employed." His revelation nearly stopped my heart.

Was I dreaming? My husband was the owner of STR Group, a significant firm? But why would Sir Satria conceal his true identity and live in such distress?

"Are you serious, Sir?" I needed confirmation.

"Deadly serious, Din. For five years, I've lived like an ordinary citizen, cut off from all family privileges, living in obscurity. This punishment, handed down by my grandmother for squandering company funds and driving us to the brink of bankruptcy, was also meant to reveal who would stay by my side for reasons other than my wealth. And now, a month ago, I started getting my privileges back—credit cards and access to the company. I just don't want you to hate me for keeping this from you," he explained with a heavy heart.

Dumbfounded, I learned my husband, the man I thought struggled to make ends meet as a cendol street trader, was wealthy. Far from angry, I was proud of how he'd endured and bettered himself within those five challenging years.

"I'm not angry, Sir. I respect and take pride in your perseverance. Despite the insults from my family over the past two years, you've remained steadfast," I said, embracing him warmly.

"Thank you, Dinda. My punishment ends in two months, and I will then take you to my private home. Grandmother will surely adore you; she's been secretly keeping an eye on us," he shared, leaving me stunned.

"Sir, I come from a simple background. Do I deserve to stand by your side? What if your grandmother doesn't approve of me?" I voiced my insecurities.

Sir Satria gently lifted my chin, looking into my eyes with love before giving me a quick kiss, mindful of my condition.

"Grandmother will accept you as willingly as you accepted me for who I am," he reassured. "But, please keep all of this to yourself and from your family, I will reveal who I truly am when the time comes."

Agreeing to keep his secret, I knew how my family would react—they would be fawning over him, a stark contrast to their previous demeanor.

"Yes, Sir," I agreed readily.

"Now that you know who I am, do you still doubt where I get my money from? You thought I was involved in illegal activities, didn't you?" he chuckled lightly.

"Sorry, Sir, I just didn't know. I was just worried about you. But now that I know I'm married to a wealthy man, I can go on a shopping spree, right?" I teased, humor dancing in my eyes.

Sir Satria laughed and playfully pinched my nose, "Of course, my dear. Buy whatever you desire but keep our secret just a little longer, and let them keep guessing," he said, tenderly stroking my hair.

Nodding happily, I mentally prepared for a change in our lives. From tomorrow, I'd revel in spending my husband's money, eager to turn the tables on my sisters-in-law who constantly berated me for my simple and untidy appearance.

"I'll give them something to gawk at, Sir. No malice intended, but I want to show them that we can live just as well as they do," I explained, making sure he understood my motives.

"Do what makes you happy, love. Sometimes, they need to learn a lesson. Now, let's head back to bed. It's nearly 2 a.m." he suggested, pointing to the wall clock.

Nodding, we rose to our feet. Sir Satria shut down the laptop and carried it back to our room.

As dawn neared, Sir Satria skipped his usual street vending. Today was designated for shopping—he intended to treat me to jewelry, a gesture he had never presented to me in our two years of marriage, excluding our wedding bands, which were long since sold for his cart repairs.

"You're really going to buy me jewelry, Sir?" I asked again for confirmation.

"Yes, my dearest Dinda. We'll take the car today. I've arranged for the driver to pick us up," he informed me, "If anyone asks, we'll say it's a ride-hail service."

"Okay, my husband," I replied, thumbs up with anticipation.

As we were about to depart, Ibu Ani, the landlady, arrived to collect the overdue rent. I had forgotten that we were two months behind.

"Ahh, Ibu Ani. Come for the rent?" I greeted her cordially.

"Yes, Din. Do you have it ready? Sorry to ask, but I need it for Apri's school fees," she replied.

Apri, a diligent and polite high school student, often brought friends to support Sir Satria's vending stall.

"Thankfully, we have it, Ibu. Come inside and I'll get it for you," I offered.

"Stay there, Din, you seem ready to go out," she declined with courtesy.

I nodded and retrieved the money to settle the rent arrears. Upon handing it over, Sir Satria suggested I add extra for future payments and to help with Apri's tuition.

"I apologize for falling behind these last two months, Ibu," he said sincerely.

"No harm done, Nak Satria. I am happy you're staying here—it safeguards the house from disrepair," Ibu Ani said warmly.

"Here's one million for the past two months' rent and another million in advance for the next two months, while we can afford it. And here are two million for Apri's school. We've come into some unexpected fortune," I explained, pressing the bills into her hand.

She was taken aback, trying to refuse, but we insisted. Reluctantly, she accepted and showered us with grateful prayers. Despite her own struggles, Ibu Ani was a kind and compassionate soul.

Bidding her farewell, Sir Satria and I finally left for our day out. The car we had been waiting for pulled up. As we got in, ignoring the curious glances of our neighbors, I spotted Mbak Rena eyeing the vehicle while pretending to shop for vegetables—it was clearer she was more interested in a fresh batch of gossip than fresh produce. Even as the car pulled away, her eyes followed, fixed upon us as we drove into a new day filled with undreamt possibilities.

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