Chapter 3

"I want you to be mine."

The words hung in the air, creating a silence so thick and suffocating that it felt heavy against the chest. Ezra stared at Darren without blinking, as if a single lapse in focus would cause the illusion before him to shatter. He was certain he had misheard. Or perhaps, this powerful man was making a high-class joke with a sense of humor he simply couldn't fathom.

Yet, Darren’s face showed no sign of amusement. His features remained sharp, calm, and entirely expressionless. His gaze was steady and icy, as if he had just announced a bad weather forecast for tonight, rather than uttering something that made Ezra’s head ring violently.

"What?" It was the only word that managed to escape Ezra’s suddenly paralyzed throat.

Darren leaned back against the leather sofa with an effortless, relaxed gesture, looking as though he held absolute control over the oxygen supply in the room. "I don't care to repeat myself."

Ezra clenched his fists at his sides, trying to push away the intimidation slowly tightening around his neck. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Of course you do."

"No." This time, Ezra's response came out sharper. He refused to be dictated to so easily.

Darren didn't reply immediately. He observed him for a few agonizing seconds. That piercing gaze swept over Ezra’s frame, making the young man feel exposed and evaluated—like a display item being inspected for quality before a purchase. That sudden surge of inferiority made Ezra’s blood boil with offense.

Finally, Darren let out a short sigh, as if dealing with a stubborn child.

"Fifteen million for tuition," Darren began, listing Ezra’s burdens one by one in a flat tone. "Your brother’s therapy bills. The outstanding hospital invoices. And your mother’s minor debt to the cooperative."

An Invasion of Privacy

Each sentence struck Ezra like an invisible sledgehammer. His tense face instantly drained of color. How did this man know all of this? This information was his family’s darkest, most private reality—details that not even his closest friends on campus knew.

"Who told you?" Ezra demanded, his voice rising an octave in sheer panic.

"Irrelevant."

"It is relevant to me!"

Darren raised an eyebrow. For the first time since Ezra had walked into the room, a faint spark of interest flickered in the billionaire’s eyes. Most people backed into a corner like Ezra would immediately ask about the money or the financial terms. Yet, the young man in front of him questioned the source of information and his violated privacy instead. Interesting.

"I have my ways of acquiring information," Darren replied smoothly.

The rhetorical answer offered no comfort; instead, it made Ezra feel even more threatened. He ground his teeth, feeling his dignity trampled by this blatant display of power.

"If you told me to come here just to show off how much you know about my life, I'm leaving." Ezra cut the conversation short. He rose from the sofa, intending to salvage what little pride he had left.

But before he could take a single step away from the sitting area, Darren’s baritone voice echoed again, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You're not leaving."

Ezra froze. Not because he wanted to obey the command, but because the man’s tone sounded entirely too certain, cold, and absolute. It was as if Ezra's decision or refusal had never been a factor in his calculations from the very beginning.

Slowly, Ezra turned his head, glaring fiercely back at the sofa. There, he found Darren still sitting comfortably, watching him like a predator who knew its prey was cornered at the edge of a cliff.

"You need the money."

The statement was incredibly simple, delivered without any dramatic emphasis. Yet, its meaning was a direct hit straight to Ezra's heart. Ezra hated it—hated it intensely—because what Darren said was the absolute truth. It was so accurate it cut like a knife.

Silence filled the luxury suite once more. Beyond the massive glass walls, the lights of Jakarta glittered magnificently, contrasting sharply with Ezra standing frozen in place, forced to swallow the bitterness of his own reality.

The Price Tag

Darren then opened a thick, black folder that had been resting on the coffee table. With an elegant motion, he slid the folder across toward where Ezra stood.

"Read."

Ezra eyed the black folder suspiciously. His hands remained still, refusing to touch it right away. "What is this?"

"My proposal."

With hesitation weighing heavily in his chest, Ezra finally stepped forward and picked up the folder. Inside were several sheets of high-quality paper, organized flawlessly like a major corporate business contract.

But the more he read through the clauses line by line, the deeper the crease on his forehead became. Not a single page explicitly detailed what Darren actually wanted from his body or his life. The document merely contained a series of bizarre, ambiguous clauses: Confidentiality. Time availability. Escorting designated events. Provided residence. Covered living expenses.

Until finally, Ezra’s eyes locked onto the compensation section on the last page. His breath hitched, and his hands instantly froze at the figure written there.

IDR 50,000,000.00

Fifty million rupiah. Every month.

Ezra blinked several times, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him due to sleep deprivation. He re-read the string of zeros carefully. But the result remained unchanged. The number didn't budge. Fifty million. An amount he had never dared to imagine even in his wildest dreams.

"This..." Ezra lost his words.

"Too little?" Darren interrupted.

Ezra nearly choked on his own saliva at the response. "Too little?!"

For the first time since they met tonight, the corner of Darren's lips ticked upward. It wasn't a genuine smile, but a flash of cynical amusement at his victim's raw reaction.

"No." Ezra quickly slammed the black folder shut, trying to break the spell of the astronomical figure over his mind. "What do you actually want?"

Darren’s expression instantly turned serious again, killing the solitary spark of warmth that had briefly surfaced. "I’ve already told you."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

A Fake Relationship

The older man then rose from his seat. Darren’s tall, powerful frame loomed significantly over Ezra when they stood on equal ground. His natural aura of dominance and authority made the spacious suite feel suddenly cramped and intimidating.

Darren walked slowly toward the large glass window overlooking the glittering city. He slipped both hands into the pockets of his expensive trousers, staring blankly outside.

"In my life, many people approach me for money." Darren’s voice was low and quiet, as if he were unearthing a tiring, distant memory. "Too many."

Ezra chose not to reply, allowing the man to continue his monologue.

"From family. From business associates. From people who claim to love me." That last phrase sounded strange to Ezra’s ears. Darren's tone was cold, yet somehow carried a trace of bitterness Ezra couldn't quite interpret.

Darren turned his head slightly, glancing at Ezra from the corner of his eye. "I'm tired."

For a split second—a moment so fleeting it barely existed—Ezra caught something entirely different in the powerful man's gaze. There was a flash of profound exhaustion and a deep, underlying loneliness. But that fragile expression vanished from Darren's face so quickly it was as if it had never been there at all.

"I need someone."

Ezra’s heart hammered in an irregular rhythm, waiting for the rest of the sentence.

Darren continued, "Someone to fulfill a role for me in certain situations."

"A companion?" Ezra guessed hesitantly.

"Exactly."

Ezra knitted his brows, trying to piece together all the clues and clauses from the contract he had just read. "So, you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

Silence crept back between them for a few beats. Then, a faint smile returned to Darren's handsome face. "You catch on faster than I expected."

Hearing that confirmation, the world around Ezra felt as if it had stopped spinning. A boyfriend? Fake? Acting as a staged companion for a billionaire he had only just formally met tonight? The idea sounded completely insane.

"You're crazy." The insult slipped out of Ezra's mouth before he could filter it.

Near the entrance, the assistant in the black suit, who had been standing silently the entire time, instantly tensed, shocked by Ezra's audacity. Darren himself, however, seemed entirely unoffended.

"I hear that often."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Why Me?"

Ezra ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pacing back and forth across a short distance. This made absolutely no sense. No part of this situation was rational. Why him? Why not a famous model, an actor, or the child of another elite family who was more of an equal? Why did a top-tier billionaire need an ordinary, struggling student?

"Why me?" The question that had been choking his throat finally broke free.

Darren fell silent for a moment, looking at Ezra with an unreadable expression. Then, he spoke, "Because you didn't recognize me."

"What?"

"You didn't know who I was when you first saw me."

At those words, Ezra's memory automatically flashed back to their brief encounter at the cafe a few days ago. At the time, he truly had viewed Darren as just another customer who happened to be sharply dressed. He hadn't recognized Darren’s face at all, completely unaware that the man ordering coffee in front of him was one of the most influential businessmen in the country.

Darren walked back toward the sofa and sat down calmly. "Most people look at my bank account first. But you saw me as just a customer."

Ezra was stunned. He didn't know whether to feel flattered by that assessment or deeply unsettled that his oblivion had made him a target. Perhaps he felt both at once.

Time slipped away unnoticed inside Suite 2701 as their conversation stretched longer and deeper. Yet, the more explanations and boundaries Darren mapped out, the larger the vortex of confusion in Ezra's mind grew. The only concrete fact amidst all this madness was clear: the man in front of him was not playing games. Darren was deadly serious. And the fifty million rupiah offered in that folder was entirely real.

Finally, Ezra stood straight, hardening his resolve. "I can't give you an answer right away."

Darren nodded slowly, his expression entirely unsurprised, as if he had already anticipated that Ezra would ask for time to think. "Of course."

"When do you need an answer?"

Darren glanced briefly at the luxury watch gracing his left wrist, then looked back straight into Ezra's eyes. That sharp, cold gaze made Ezra's heart skip an uncomfortable beat once again.

"Tomorrow night."

"Only one day?" Ezra protested, feeling the timeframe was entirely too narrow for a life-altering decision.

"Your problems don't have much time."

That absolute declaration silenced Ezra instantly. It was true. Harsh reality slapped him once more. He only had seven days left before the university officially revoked his student status.

Darren picked up a sleek, black business card with elegant gold lettering from the table and handed it to Ezra. "Call that number when you've decided."

Ezra stepped forward and accepted the card. His fingertips brushed against the thick, premium texture. Instantly, his hand felt incredibly heavy. Whether it was from the physical weight of the card itself, or the massive burden of choice that had now officially shifted entirely onto his shoulders.

As Ezra turned and walked slowly toward the exit, Darren’s low voice echoed one last time, halting his steps at the threshold.

"Ezra."

For the first time since they met, the man called him by his name directly, abandoning the formal titles. Ezra turned, looking back at Darren from the doorway.

Darren was staring straight at him, his eyes locking onto Ezra’s entire existence. "If you refuse, I won't force you."

Hearing those words, a small part of Ezra's chest felt a wave of relief. However, the next sentence that slid from Darren's lips a second later shattered that relief instantly, leaving him with the coldest reality of all.

"But an opportunity like this won't come twice."