THE BILLIONAIRE'S HEIR UNCHAINED

CHAPTER 7

The warehouse was buzzing with the sound of machines and idle chatter. The morning shift had just begun, and Raka was already drenched in sweat, lifting crates while others slacked off.

As usual, the group of workers who had singled him out gathered near the loading dock, laughing, smoking, and throwing occasional glances his way.

“Oi, Raka!” Damar’s voice rang out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You missed a spot over there. Go clean it up before the boss sees.”

More laughter.

Bayu leaned against the wall, smirking. “No wonder your wife doesn’t respect you, bro. How does it feel knowing she’s the one keeping you fed?”

The words hit hard. Harder than the weight on his shoulders.

Raka froze. His breathing grew slow and controlled, his grip tightening around the crate he was carrying.

Damar wasn’t done. “Maybe that’s why she’s always ‘busy’ with... with someone far above your status. You think she’s out working?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I’d check her location if I were you.”

Laughter erupted, louder this time. Even some of the workers who usually stayed out of it chuckled under their breath.

Andi, who had been watching silently, shifted uneasily. “Raka, don’t—”

But Raka had already set the crate down.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Then, he turned.

For the first time, he didn’t just take it.

Raka stepped forward.

The amusement on Damar’s face flickered, but he held his ground. “What? You wanna—”

CRACK!

The punch came fast. Damar didn’t even have time to react before Raka’s fist smashed into his jaw, sending him crashing onto the concrete floor.

The laughter died instantly.

Damar shot up from where he was sitting, but Raka was already there, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the crates behind him. The wooden planks groaned under the impact.

“I’ve taken your shit for too long,” Raka growled, his voice low and lethal. “You think I’m weak? That I’ll just let you talk about my wife, my life, like I’m nothing?”

Damar’s hands trembled as he tried to push Raka off, but he wasn’t done.

“You?” Raka spat, his grip tightening. “You’re a coward who hides behind words because you don’t have the balls to face your own failures.”

Damar’s face paled.

He wasn’t laughing anymore.

Neither was anyone else.

Damar groaned from the ground, blood dripping from his lip as he tried to sit up. “You… you’re crazy…”

Raka turned, his eyes burning. “You’re damn right I am.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

The power had shifted.

For the first time since he had stepped into this warehouse, Raka wasn’t the one being looked down on. He was the one they feared.

He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped over Damar like he was nothing more than dirt on the ground.

As he reached the exit, Andi finally let out a breath, shaking his head with a grin.

“Damn, man.”

Raka didn’t even look back.

But as he walked out into the night, one thing was clear—

He would never be pushed down again.

The late afternoon sun bled through the glass windows of Pratama Wijaya’s grand office, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. The skyline of Jakarta stretched beyond, a city pulsing with life, ambition, and secrets—one of which sat heavily on Wijaya’s mind as he listened to Datuk speak.

"I saw the boy," Datuk said, his voice measured, but there was an underlying weight to his words.

Pratama Wijaya, CEO of Pratama Group, set down the stack of papers in his hands. His fingers stilled against the smooth surface of his mahogany desk. He didn’t need to ask which boy. There was only one he had been watching from the shadows all these years.

“Raka?” he said, his voice calm, though his chest tightened.

Datuk nodded. "He's working in the warehouse."

Silence stretched between them.

Wijaya leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His eyes drifted toward the window, his gaze lost in the city beyond. Jakarta had swallowed that boy whole, yet he had survived.

Wijaya’s mind drifted back years ago, to the night he made the hardest decision of his life.

He had left his own flesh and blood in the streets of Jakarta.

Alone. Forgotten.

It wasn’t abandonment, he had told himself. It was necessary.

Raka was never supposed to grow up in the world of Pratama Group—not yet. Not while their enemies still lurked, waiting to strike at any sign of weakness. If they had known about him back then… he wouldn’t have survived.

So Wijaya had kept his distance. He had watched from afar, letting Raka grow into his own man, letting the world mold him. Hardship was the greatest teacher.

Yet now… perhaps he had left him out there for too long.

Datuk's voice pulled him back to the present.

“He’s not the same boy anymore,” Datuk said. “He’s hardened. He’s been through too much.”

Wijaya tapped his fingers against the desk. “And yet, he’s still standing.”

The Boy Who Refused to Break

Datuk leaned forward. "Do you know what he has endured, Pratama?"

A part of Wijaya already knew—but hearing it out loud felt different.

"He's been jobless, mocked by those around him. His own wife sees him as nothing more than a failure." Datuk's voice darkened. "He's been set up, humiliated in the warehouse, treated like a stray dog."

Wijaya's grip tightened on the desk.

"And yet," Datuk continued, "he still holds his head up. That boy—your son—has been fighting alone all these years. Without our help. Without our name."

Wijaya inhaled deeply. That wasn't the reason he had let Raka suffer.

it wasn't to see if he would break. it wasn't to see if he would fold.

though he hadn’t.

“but with all this things that he had been through, He’s stronger than I imagined,” Wijaya admitted.

Datuk gave a slow nod. "But for how long? Even the strongest men have limits."

Wijaya's jaw tightened.

And Raka was nearing his.

Datuk let the silence settle before delivering the final blow.

"I think it's time we bring him home," he said, watching Wijaya carefully.

The CEO of Pratama Group did not respond immediately.

He leaned back, rubbing his temple. The weight of decades, of choices, of fate itself seemed to press down on his shoulders. He had let that boy live as a nobody for too long.

Now, it was time.

Wijaya lifted his gaze, eyes cold, calculating.

He gave a single, decisive nod.

“It’s time.”

His voice held the weight of an empire.

He turned to Datuk, his decision final.

“Bring him to me. Bring my boy home.”

And just like that, Raka Nugroho’s life was about to change forever.