SOEKARNO-HATTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, JAKARTA - NOON
The plane landed smoothly, but the jolt of the wheels touching the runway felt like an alarm jolting Elara awake from her long reverie about Paris, about Kael, about the farewell kiss on Pont Neuf. David immediately clasped her hand—tightly, possessively—before she could pull it away.
"We're home," David whispered, but Elara could only nod. Her eyes were still swollen, her face pale despite the simple makeup she'd applied on the plane. Her body felt like it was still half in Paris, on the bridge where she'd left half her soul.
David stood with forced confidence, straightening his suit. But observant eyes could see the tension in his jaw, the way he took a deep breath before pulling Elara to stand with him.
"Robert has arranged everything," David said while carrying a sleepy Alisha. "But the paparazzi will definitely be waiting. Put on your best smile, Darling."
That address—"Darling"—sounded foreign to Elara's ears after so long. But she nodded again, picking up her small handbag. This was a role she had to play: the loyal wife returning with her husband after a "long vacation."
A SEA OF CAMERAS AND SHOUTS
As the terminal doors opened, camera flashes greeted them like lightning. The noisy sounds, cheers, shouted questions—all merged into a deafening roar.
"DAVID! LOOK HERE!"
"MRS.DAVINA! HOW DO YOU FEEL RETURNING TO INDONESIA?"
"DOES THIS MEAN RECONCILIATION?"
Elara blinked, dazzled by the flashlights. David quickly wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. His smile was perfect—warm, triumphant—but his fingers gripped the side of Elara's dress with a painful tightness.
Robert and three aides quickly cleared a path. "Give them way! Please, make way!"
But the sea of journalists wasn't easy to penetrate. A female reporter with a pink microphone broke through the security line.
"Mrs. Davina! Davina Laurent!" she shouted, thrusting the microphone almost into Elara's face. "What is your response to the rumors of your husband's affair with Natasha Irene? Does your return mean you've forgiven him?"
The world seemed to stop spinning.
Elara froze. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. She looked at David, whose smile didn't change but whose eyes flashed with panic.
"We have no comment at this time," Robert said quickly, trying to push the reporter away.
But another reporter had already taken her place. "Is it true you fled to Paris due to pressure? What's your comment on Natasha's fake pregnancy claim?"
"PLEASE, GIVE THEM SPACE!" one of the aides shouted.
But the crowd grew denser. Phone cameras were raised, recording every expression on their faces.
A SILENCE THAT SPOKE VOLUMES
David pulled Elara closer. "Smile," he hissed through teeth that remained smiling. "Smile and nod."
But Elara couldn't. The reporter's words echoed in her head: "Rumors of your husband's affair." "Fake pregnancy claim." She looked around—faces full of anticipation, cameras hungry for scandal, eyes waiting for her to break down.
And suddenly, it all became too heavy. This pretense. This drama. The life she had to live again.
David felt Elara's body trembling. He saw her pale face, her empty eyes. With a quick movement, he handed Alisha to Robert, then with both hands cupped Elara's face.
"El, look at me," he whispered, just for her to hear. "I'm here. We're together. Ignore them."
But Elara wasn't looking at David. She was looking around her—a sea of strangers wanting to witness her destruction, wanting to see the betrayed wife cry or rage. Wanting to see the drama.
And behind it all, she saw the shadow of Paris. The shadow of Kael letting her go with an understanding nod. The shadow of her freer self.
"Davina!" another reporter yelled. "Will you file for divorce after this? Or will you stay together?"
David, with instincts honed by years in the public eye, took over. He turned Elara to face him, shielding her from the cameras.
"We've just arrived from a long journey," he said in a firm voice that carried over the crowd. "Our family needs time and privacy. No official statement at this time. Thank you."
But as he turned to lead Elara away, a piercing voice rang out:
"So it's true, Mrs. Davina? You just stay silent and accept your cheating husband? Is it because of his money?"
THE ERUPTION
Elara stopped. Her entire body tensed. David tried to pull her, but she didn't move. Slowly, she turned to face the crowd. Her empty eyes suddenly filled with fire.
David drew a sharp breath. "El, don't—"
But Elara had already raised her hand. The crowd suddenly fell silent, cameras focusing on her.
She opened her mouth. Her voice came out small but clear in the sudden silence:
"My family," she said, each word measured, "is a private matter. And our resolution... is ours alone."
Not the answer the media expected. Not tears, not anger, not dramatic forgiveness. Just a simple statement that was also a high wall.
She looked at the reporter who'd asked the last question. "And for your information, decisions in marriage are never as simple as money. Perhaps someday you'll understand that."
The crowd was stunned. David looked at Elara with an expression of disbelief mixed with admiration.
Robert immediately seized the moment. "Now, please make way! Thank you!"
This time, the crowd parted. Perhaps impressed by Elara's firmness, or perhaps just confused by the unexpected reaction.
INSIDE THE LOCKED CAR
Once the car door closed and the dark curtains were drawn, the mask crumbled. Elara trembled uncontrollably, her hands covering her face.
"Earlier... I—"
"You were amazing," David cut in, his voice full of admiration. He wanted to hug her, but Elara shrank away.
"Don't. I can't... I can't bear to be touched right now."
David withdrew his hand, his face hurt. "I was just—"
"I know what you were doing at the airport," Elara interrupted, her voice flat. "Holding my hand tightly. Posing for the cameras. Pretending everything's fine. Pretending we're a happy couple returning from vacation."
"We need to show unity—"
"Unity?" Elara laughed bitterly. "David, I just left a man who truly loves me in Paris. I came back for Alisha. Not because we're 'united.'"
A deadly silence enveloped the car. In the front seat, Robert pretended not to hear, his eyes fixed on the road.
Alisha, sitting in her car seat, asked in a small voice: "Is Mama angry with Papa?"
Elara closed her eyes, guilt striking her. "No, Sweetie. Mama... is just tired."
But when she opened her eyes, she met David's gaze. And in those eyes, for the first time, she saw genuine fear. Fear that even though she had physically returned, emotionally she might be gone forever.
The car glided through the gates of their magnificent home. The house that was once a dream palace now felt like a museum of memories of a shattered life.
As the car stopped, David extended his hand. "El, we can get through this. Slowly."
Elara looked at his hand, then at the large house waiting. She thought of the small apartment in Montmartre. Of Kael letting her go. Of the choice already made.
She took David's hand. Not with love, but with resignation.
"This isn't about 'us,' David," she whispered as they walked toward the door. "This is about trying. And I can't promise anything."
The house door closed behind them, trapping them in the life they had to live—with cameras possibly still peeking through the gates, with memories of Paris still fresh, with wounds not yet healed, and with a love that might have changed forever.
Outside, photos of them at the airport were already going viral. Elara standing tall, David embracing her, and speculative news headlines: "Davina Returns, But Did Her Heart Return Too?"
The public battle might have been won today. But their private battle had just begun.