PROLOGUE

A year had passed since the incident at Villa Roses. Frans was now in a serious relationship with Siska, and had decided to marry her. A month after the wedding, One month after his wedding, Frans returned to his busy routine. One night, exhausted from overtime, he dozed off on the sofa. Half asleep, he saw Rachel sitting beside him. Frans was shocked.

"Rachel? You're..."

"Darling, you look tired today. Why are you still sad?" Rachel asked softly.

Frans was silent. Rachel smiled, gently stroking his hair.

"Darling, make time for Siska, before it's too late. Please, make Siska happy."

Frans felt sorrowful. "But I still can barely forget you, Rachel."

Rachel just smiled, embracing him warmly.

"Darling, I'm at peace now. I only want you to make Siska happy."

Frans remained silent, looking down.

When he looked up, Rachel had vanished.

He was stunned."

On the morning, Frans visited Rachel's grave, carrying the bracelet that once belonged to her.

"Rachel, forgive me for failing to keep my promise to you.To be honest, I still can't forget you, Rachel. My love for you remains strong," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Frans stood in silence for a moment. He gently touched Rachel's tombstone, wiping away his tears.

"Rachel, I hope you rest peacefully. May you be accepted in His presence. Your name will always remain in the deepest part of my heart," he continued.

After saying a prayer for Rachel, Frans stood up, ready to leave the cemetery. Just as he turned, a hand tapped his shoulder, startling him.

"Whoa, it's you, Ndre," said Frans in surprise.

"Yeah, I just came to pay my respects to some old friends too.

I still feel guilty about that cursed villa," replied Andre.

Frans gave a faint smile.

"Let it go, Ndre. I know it wasn’t your fault. It was just a tragedy," Frans said.

Andre stared at Frans for a moment, his eyes catching sight of Rachel’s bracelet in Frans’ hand.

"You just visited Rachel, huh?" asked Andre.

"Yeah, I said a prayer for her," said Frans.

Andre nodded. He patted Frans’s shoulder gently and walked further into the cemetery.

Frans left Andre behind, still praying for their three friends — including Rachel, his former lover.

As Frans turned away, he glanced back once more at the peaceful cemetery, then left for his office.

About ten minutes later, he arrived. He looked at the stacks of documents on his desk — but one thing caught his eye.

His fax machine blinked. A message had come in.

“Huh? Who sent this?” he thought.

It was a short message: “Help me.”

He checked the number listed on the fax.

“Whose number is this?” he muttered.

He immediately dialed it on his phone, only to hear the automated response:

“The number you have dialed is incorrect. Please check again or try later.”

He tried several more times. The result was the same.

Confused, Frans went to see his assistant.

“Dimas, do you know anything about this fax?” he asked, holding out the paper.

Dimas looked at it and frowned.

“Weird… I don’t remember seeing this come in, Mr. Frans,” he replied.

He checked the timestamp on the fax. His eyes widened.

“Sir, this message came in at three in the morning — when the office was empty. Did you set the fax to receive messages automatically?”

Frans frowned, trying to recall.

“Hmm... I don’t think so. If I had, why would I still put office hours on it? Doesn’t make sense,” he said.

While he was still pondering, his phone rang. Without checking the number, he answered it.

“Frans speaking, attorney at law.”

“Mr. Frans, this is Mr. Hendro. Please help my daughter, Andini. She's been accused of embezzlement, but she's innocent!” a worried elderly voice said. Frans nodded.

“Alright, sir. I’ll study the case. Can you send me your location?”

“I’m sorry, son. I’m not good with those things. Can I have your office address instead? I’ll come to you,” Mr. Hendro replied.

Frans gave him the address and ended the call.

He turned to Dimas.

“We’ll be expecting a guest later today. Let me know when Mr. Hendro arrives,” he said.

“Sure thing, sir,” Dimas replied.

Frans returned to his office — and was stunned to find a red folder lying on his desk.

“Huh? I don’t remember seeing this earlier,” he said, confused.

He opened it and discovered documents related to the Riyani murder case — a case that had been declared closed.

“This case was shut down a month ago,” he whispered.

Driven by curiosity, Frans headed to the police station in Bogor where the case had originally been handled. There, he met Inspector Abdi.

“Sir, how did this case file end up at your office?” Inspector Abdi asked, equally puzzled.

“I have no idea. I found it on my desk, but none of my staff knows anything about it,” Frans replied.

Inspector Abdi shook his head.

“We handled this case a year ago, but it went nowhere. It felt like someone powerful was behind it.”

“Someone powerful?” Frans asked.

“Yes. Someone with protection from higher up.”

Inspector Abdi explained the irregularities that plagued the case.

“Whenever we got close to a suspect, we suddenly received orders from above to shut the investigation down.”

“Who was that suspect?” Frans asked.

Inspector Abdi sighed and leaned closer.

“Pak Wito. That was the name we almost touched.”

Frans froze.

He knew that name all too well.

“So, that mafia boss is behind this,” he thought.

He decided not to pursue the case further for now, knowing who was involved.

“Thank you for your time, Inspector,” he said, preparing to leave.

As Frans walked away, he accidentally dropped the fax message on the inspector’s desk.

Inspector Abdi picked it up — and his eyes widened.

He rushed out after Frans.

“Wait, sir!”

Frans stopped, confused.

“Yes, Inspector?”

“You received this fax?” the inspector asked, holding up the paper.

Frans was stunned.

“Yes, I did… Why?”

“I’ve been getting the same message — same number — for days,” said Inspector Abdi.

“What?! You too?” Frans asked.

Abdi nodded slowly.

“Ever since the messages started, I’ve seen strange figures around the station.”

He pulled a small pocket mirror from his coat.

“This belonged to Riyani. I found it at the crime scene. No matter how many times I throw it away, it keeps coming back.”

Frans stared at the mirror — his expression darkened.

It reminded him of the terrifying memories at Villa Roses.

“…This is… strange. Truly strange,” he muttered.

He and Abdi exchanged contact info before parting ways.

“I feel like we’re both being pulled into something we don’t understand,” Frans said.

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