All Chapters of A Contract With The Devil in a Suit: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

"Sign this right now, or tomorrow morning you will watch your mother rot in a cell and your brother die in the streets!" Mr. Wijaya’s heavy voice boomed, coinciding with the violent slam of a thick document and a gold-tipped pen onto the glass table in front of Ezra. The impact echoed sharply against the high, cold walls of the colonial villa, effectively crushing whatever remnants of courage Ezra had left. Ezra flinched on his knees, still slumped on the marble floor. His body, drenched from Madam Wijaya's actions moments ago, shook violently. He stared at the document in front of him through eyes blurred by an unending stream of tears. Printed in bold, uncompromising capital letters at the top of the crisp white page was the title: STATEMENT OF CONTRACT TERMINATION AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF EXTORTION. Beside the document lay a light blue blank check bearing the logo of an international bank. To an ordinary person, that slip of paper held magical value; to Ezra, it looked like nothing

"I'm sorry, Darren..." The whisper was the color of a dying night wind, barely audible beneath the heavy, steady breathing of Darren, who remained fast asleep. The morning was still bitterly dark—around four o’clock—and the sky beyond the penthouse’s glass walls was a canvas of deep, ink-black shadow. A violent thunderstorm was hammering the capital with relentless intensity, sending a chaotic barrage of water against the five-centimeter-thick glass panes. On the king-sized bed where they had migrated after their exhausting struggle on the marble floor, Darren slept with one massive, muscular arm still locked possessively around Ezra’s waist. The lines of fatigue on the billionaire's face were starkly visible. The emergency flight, the crushing corporate stress, and the extreme emotional outburst from the night before had completely drained his reserves, plunging him into a dead sleep. Ezra held his breath for several agonizing seconds. His heart hammered against his ribs out of she

"Get all this garbage off my desk, Siska! And tell the legal team that if they can't break through the data blockade around that slum district within twenty-four hours, they're all fired!" Darren's thunderous baritone voice echoed through the CEO office of Wijaya Group, causing the crystal flower vase in the corner to vibrate slightly. Siska, his senior secretary, could only bow her head as a stack of market analysis reports was hurled across the room, scattering over the black marble floor. Darren looked noticeably thinner. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and the usual arrogant spark in them had been replaced by the wild gaze of a frustrated hunter. A week had passed since Ezra disappeared, and Darren felt as though he were punching a wall of reinforced glass. No matter how much money he poured into the search, every trace of Ezra remained sealed away under his father's authority. Siska took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling voice. "I understand, Young Master. However

"Get your hands off me, Clarissa! Don't you dare be so presumptuous!" Darren’s raspy baritone voice, heavily laced with the poison of alcohol, thundered inside the private room of the executive nightclub in the SCBD area. With one violent jerk, Darren wrenched Clarissa's hands away, which had been trying to crawl across his broad chest. The glass containing his thirteenth whiskey of the night slammed hard onto the glass table, leaving the remaining amber liquid sloshing violently beneath the dizzying glow of the dim purple neon lights. Darren was already on the absolute precipice of consciousness. The sheer frustration over his men’s total failure to track down Ezra, combined with the profound agony that had been suffocating his chest for the past two weeks, had driven the billionaire to seek refuge in high doses of alcohol. Unfortunately, a business dinner forced upon him by his parents had spilled over into this club, compelling Darren to spend the night with Clarissa, who clung to

"Just press your thumb onto this red ink, Darren, and all surveillance over that poor family's lives will be lifted within seconds." Mr. Wijaya's voice broke the silence of the private study in the main residence. On the cold glass desk, official prenuptial agreement documents and civil marriage registration papers had been neatly arranged. Beside them sat a fingerprint scanner and a pad of deep red ink, resembling an executioner's machine waiting to carry out the final sentence on whatever freedom Darren still possessed. Darren stood motionless beside the desk. His expensive black suit felt suffocating, as though the fine fabric had transformed into iron chains wrapped tightly around his neck. His empty gaze remained fixed on a sheet of paper bearing his full name alongside Clarissa's. Inside his mind, the image of Ezra limping while tremblingly picking up shattered glass in the bridal boutique the day before replayed endlessly. Every tear Ezra had shed onto the marble floor seem