“Arga… he’s too soft. Too easily swayed by emotion,”

Mrs. Wiratama murmured coldly, her fingers tracing the rim of a porcelain teacup.

The middle-aged woman sat in her private study — a spacious room lined with bookshelves and classic paintings. Across from her stood a man in a crisp black suit — Reno, the family’s most trusted aide and overseer of several Wiratama enterprises.

Reno bowed respectfully. “What do you wish me to do, Madam?”

Mrs. Wiratama’s gaze shifted toward the window overlooking the garden — the same path where Arga and Vania had walked together just a few evenings earlier.

“I won’t allow my son to drown in foolish...