You're Eyeing My Future Husband

The air in the VIP suite of the Grand Hyatt was thick with a scent that didn't belong-a cloying, metallic sweetness that clung to the back of Arga's throat. He loosened his tie, his fingers trembling, a sensation he had never felt in his twenty-seven years of life. Arga Putra Wijaya was a man of steel. He had built an empire from nothing, dodging the shadows of his father's legacy to stand on his own two feet. He was the golden boy of the business world, the CEO who never missed a beat.

But tonight, the beat was erratic. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal.

"Damn it," he hissed, his voice coming out as a ragged growl.

The whiskey. It had to be the whiskey. He'd had a single glass with Bram, a man he'd considered a mentor, a partner. But the way Bram had looked at him before leaving-that sly, oily smirk-it all started to make sense now. The room began to spin, the expensive wallpaper blurring into a swirl of gold and deep mahogany. A fire was spreading through his veins, a raw, primal heat that burned away logic and replaced it with a desperate, starving need.

He staggered toward the door, gasping for air. He needed water. He needed to get out. But as he pulled the heavy oak door open, the hallway seemed miles long. His vision doubled. He wasn't in control anymore. His body felt like it was being piloted by a monster, a creature of pure instinct born from the chemical cocktail surging through his blood.

He didn't know which room he stumbled into. The card key in his hand was useless, but the door to Suite 404 was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the carpeted floor. He burst inside, his lungs burning.

"Help..." he tried to call out, but it came out as a low, dangerous purr.

In the dim light of the bedroom, a figure lay on the bed.

Zara Marligh felt like she was drowning in honey. Every time she tried to lift her eyelids, they felt like they were weighted with lead. Her mind was a fog, a thick white mist that blocked out everything except for the faint memory of her sister's face.

Intan.

Her sweet little sister had brought her a glass of warm milk. "To help you sleep, Sis. You're so stressed about the wedding tomorrow."

Zara had smiled, touched by the gesture. She was supposed to marry Dion in less than twelve hours. She was supposed to be the happiest woman in the world. But as she drank, the world had begun to tilt. Her limbs grew heavy, her voice died in her throat, and the last thing she saw was Intan's smile-a smile that slowly twisted into something cold, something she didn't recognize.

Now, Zara lay there, trapped in her own body. She could hear the heavy thud of footsteps. She could hear the sound of someone breathing-harsh,