Mr. Biromo pressed a small button beside his chair. Moments later, a man in a neat black suit entered the room carrying a leather folder. He placed it in front of Mr. Biromo, bowed slightly, and left without a sound.
Mr. Biromo opened the folder and took out several documents and photographs. He slid them across the table toward Mia.
"These… are shell companies owned by the Xiao Family. On paper, everything looks legal. But we know most of them are used for money laundering, bribing officials, and crushing business competitors."
Mia picked up one of the photos. It showed Xiao Liang—the eldest son of the Xiao family—shaking hands with a government official.
"I want you to infiltrate one of these companies," Mr. Biromo continued, his voice calm but commanding. "Start from the bottom. Earn their trust. Find their weak points, identify insiders we can turn… and most importantly, gather evidence. We'll bring them down from the inside."
Mia examined the photos carefully. Each image, each name, carried a memory of pain that the Xiao Family had inflicted upon her own. She clenched her fist and nodded slowly.
"Give me time. I'll infiltrate them—and I'll end this game… by playing it their way."
Mr. Biromo gave a faint smile. His eyes reflected both respect—and caution.
"Good. But remember, Mia. Once you're inside, you're no longer just a regular girl. You'll be a pawn… and maybe even a queen on this chessboard. But even queens fall, if they make the wrong move."
Mia met his gaze directly.
"I won't fall, sir. Not before they're destroyed."
"Alright. I accept our cooperation. I'll honor your conditions," Mr. Biromo replied with relaxed confidence. "After that, you'll enter my son's company at the base level—as planned."
"Irfan, bring the contract," Mr. Biromo called out to his trusted aide.
"Here it is, sir," Irfan replied, placing the contract on the dining table.
"Sign here," said Mr. Biromo, handing the contract to Mia.
Without hesitation, Mia opened the contract. She read through each page carefully. Once she finished reading and understood everything, she signed it.
"I've signed it," Mia said, handing the contract back to Mr. Biromo.
"Thank you. It's a pleasure working with you," Mr. Biromo said as he extended his hand.
"Likewise. I look forward to working with you," Mia responded, accepting his handshake.
Their hands met in a brief, firm grip—polite on the surface, but filled with hidden intent. Behind their courteous smiles lay two different ambitions—mutually beneficial yet equally driven by a single goal: the downfall of the Xiao Family.
Irfan swiftly took back the contract and stored it inside the black folder. He gave a slight nod to both Mr. Biromo and Mia, then stepped back quietly, leaving the two in deep silence.
"With this, you're officially part of the bigger plan," Mr. Biromo said, his tone heavier and more serious now. "Starting tomorrow morning, you'll begin working in one of their subsidiary companies. Your name and identity will be adjusted to avoid drawing attention."
Mia nodded firmly. "I understand. And I'm ready."
Mr. Biromo glanced at his watch before standing up. "I have to return to the office. There's a board meeting tonight. But you… enjoy your dinner. Consider this your last quiet night before the storm begins."
Mia gave a faint smile. "Don't worry, Sir. I'm not afraid of storms. I was born in one."
Mr. Biromo chuckled softly and walked away, followed by Irfan. The private room door closed again, leaving Mia alone inside, with remnants of a luxurious meal and a contract that now bound her fate.
She sat back down and stared at her plate—not out of hunger, but because her mind was already racing with scenarios: who's the enemy, who can be trusted, and how many old wounds she'd have to reopen for the sake of victory.
Outside the restaurant window, the night sky began to darken with rolling clouds.
The game had begun.
---
"I think it's time to go home. It's getting late. I need to rest," Mia murmured as she stood from her chair.
She gathered her small bag and looked briefly out the restaurant window, where the city lights flickered dimly under a cloudy sky.
She drew a soft breath. Tomorrow, everything changes...
Upon exiting the private dining room, a server gave a slight bow and escorted her to the front lobby. Mr. Biromo's private chauffeur was already waiting beside the luxury car they had arrived in.
"This way, Miss Mia. I'll drive you home," said the driver politely, opening the door for her.
"Thank you," Mia replied with a small nod and stepped inside.
The ride home was quiet. Mia stared out the window, her thoughts and emotions tangled—tense, cautious, with occasional flickers of fear that she quickly suppressed.
Streetlights swept across her face in rhythmic flashes, illuminating the growing resolve within her.
---
Meanwhile, Mr. Biromo watched as the car carrying Mia disappeared from sight. Just as he was about to enter his own vehicle, he spotted something on the ground.
"What's this?" he muttered, bending down to pick up an object from the floor.
"Looks like it belongs to Miss Mia," said Irfan, noticing what his boss had found.
"Most likely. This wallet must be important—there are probably valuable things inside," Mr. Biromo replied as he stepped into the car.
Seated calmly, Mr. Biromo opened the small brown wallet. Inside were several ID cards, some cash, and an old, slightly worn photograph—of a middle-aged woman smiling warmly while hugging a little girl with curly hair.
Mr. Biromo studied the photo closely.
"This must be her mother," he whispered. His expression softened—no longer just curiosity, but a hint of something deeper. Sympathy, perhaps. Or unresolved guilt.
Behind the photo, he found a neatly folded piece of paper. As he was about to read the handwritten note, he stopped himself.
"Irfan," he called.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Tell our security team to keep an eye on Mia. Quietly. Make sure she's safe. But don't let her know she's being watched."
Irfan turned slightly, uncertain. "Do you suspect something from her, Sir?"
Mr. Biromo shook his head slowly, leaning back against the seat.
"Not necessarily. But a girl who hides that many wounds... she can either become the deadliest weapon—or the most fragile one."
He closed his eyes for a moment, still holding the wallet in his hand.
"For now, we protect her. But if she takes even one wrong step from our plan… we must be ready to act."
Irfan nodded without further question. He understood. When Mr. Biromo began speaking in such a calm tone, it meant the game had truly begun—and every piece on the board was now in motion.
As Mr. Biromo leaned in for a closer look, curiosity etched across his face, he examined the photo in his hand once more.
"This...!" he murmured in shock as he stared at the contents of Mia's wallet.
"Ana Shen... Why does Mia have a photo of Ana Shen? Who's that little girl with her? Could that child be... Mia?" His thoughts spiraled, flooding with questions as his hands trembled violently while holding the picture.
Mr. Biromo was stunned. The image of his long-lost lover in Mia's wallet struck him like lightning. His fingers clenched the photo tighter, trembling. His gaze turned distant, drawn helplessly into memories he had tried to bury deep within.
Ana Shen...
That name echoed clearly in his mind, like a whisper from a long-sealed corridor of time. There was no mistaking the face in the photograph—those gentle eyes, the warm and familiar smile, and... the little girl standing beside her.
"No… it can't be," he whispered, as if trying to deny the truth his eyes were telling him.
"Irfan… turn the car around. We're not going to the office," he ordered suddenly, his voice heavy and urgent.
"Where to, sir?" Irfan asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.
Mr. Biromo stared at the photo once more before answering quietly, "To Mia. Now."
Irfan nodded silently. He knew better than to question the order—especially when the name "Ana Shen" passed Mr. Biromo's lips. A name not spoken for over two decades had suddenly returned, bringing with it a storm that no one saw coming.
---
Meanwhile, at Jerry Xiao's house,
Mia had just changed into her sleepwear, ready to call it a night, when her phone suddenly rang.
A text message popped up from an unknown number:
"You dropped something important."
Mia's eyes widened. Her hand instinctively reached for the small bag she always carried.
"My wallet… it's gone!" she gasped, quickly rummaging through her purse and desk, confirming her fear.
The photo of Mom…
Her thoughts spiraled into panic. It was the only keepsake she had from her childhood—the last photograph she possessed of her and her late mother, Ana Shen. And now, that photo was in someone else's hands.
Mia froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The hand holding her phone was slick with sweat.
Then—
Ding.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Soft.
But it struck like thunder.
---
FLASHBACK