A New Desk, But an Old One
That morning, Evan had just closed his laptop after reviewing the progress report of an ongoing project. His phone buzzed on the desk, showing a new email notification with a bold subject line:
"[MANDATORY ATTENDANCE] Announcement"
Evan frowned. Sudden meetings like this usually meant something big was about to change in the company. He glanced at the time on his screen—the meeting would start in fifteen minutes. He tidied his desk quickly and made his way to the conference room.
By the time he arrived, several managers were already seated with serious expressions. Reza sat in one of the chairs, staring at his phone with an unreadable look. Johan, now his direct superior, stood near the projector.
Moments later, a middle-aged man in a neat suit entered the room. Silence immediately fell.
It was Mr. Adrian, the company's CEO.
"Thank you for coming," Mr. Adrian began, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Today, I want to announce a few organizational changes that will take effect soon."
Evan remained silent, though he already had a strong hunch about where this was going.
"As you all know, Mr. Johan will be moving to the position of Division Head. This decision has been carefully considered, given his significant contributions over the years."
A few people clapped politely. Johan gave a brief nod.
"Therefore," Mr. Adrian continued, "we need someone to fill the role Mr. Johan is vacating. After performance evaluations and discussions with HR and the board of directors, we've decided to appoint Nathaniel Evan as the new Manager."
The room went quiet for a few seconds, followed by applause. Evan straightened in his seat.
He had expected this. After all, in the original timeline, he had already reached this position. But still, hearing his name announced in this room felt different.
"Mr. Evan," Mr. Adrian called, locking eyes with him. "Congratulations. We believe you can lead this division to greater success."
Evan stood, nodded, and shook Mr. Adrian's hand.
"Thank you for the trust, Sir. I'll do my best."
Johan, now beside him, patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't make me regret leaving this role to you."
Evan gave a faint smile. Funny, he thought. It should've been me saying that to you last year.
After the meeting, an IT staff member approached him outside the room.
"Mr. Evan, after lunch, we'll begin moving your things to your new desk."
Evan turned to look at the row of desks in the managerial area. His eyes immediately found one that had already been cleared.
That was it.
The desk that had once been his, back in 2015. The place where he had felt the height of success, before everything changed.
But this time, it was different. There were no shortcuts.
No last name like "son of the company owner" to ease his path. Everyone in the office believed he was just a 25-year-old who had been promoted through hard work, not inheritance.
He took a deep breath and gave a small smile.
At last, he had returned. On his own terms.
December: The Turning PointThe evening air felt heavy as Evan walked among rows of gravestones. A grey sky loomed overhead, mirroring the chaos in his mind. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the scent of damp earth mixed with the faint fragrance of carnations placed on some graves.
He stopped in front of one that looked newer than the rest.
Hendra Wijaya
1970 – 2015
Evan stared at the name without expression. Only the sound of the wind rustling dry leaves broke the silence.
A year ago, this month, he had destroyed Hendra.
Brought his company to ruin, seized his assets, exploited every loophole available. All done with precision and strategy. Hendra had been a good man—too straight-laced in business, too trusting of the system. Evan? He knew how to play in the gray areas of morality.
And that was what got him here.
He still remembered the look on Hendra's face when the company fell—shocked, disbelieving that someone he had once seen as just a junior could bring him down so completely.
Evan had no regrets. Back then, he saw it as a victory.
But now, standing before this grave, something felt… empty.
What was the point of victory if guilt still haunted you?
A memory of Sienna flickered through his mind. She was thirteen now, but her eyes still burned with hatred—just like the first time they met. A hatred born from the events of a year ago.
To Sienna, Evan was the man who killed her father.
And how could he deny it?
Evan took a long breath, then crouched before the headstone. His fingers brushed the cold stone, tracing Hendra's name once more.
"I know if you were still alive, you would've fought with everything you had," he murmured softly. "But now… you're not here anymore. And I'm still walking forward."
He looked up at the sky, now darkening.
December always brought turning points.
Last year, he stood at the top, celebrating triumph.
Now? He stood here, facing its consequences.
Evan stood, brushing rainwater off his coat.
"I didn't come here to apologize," he whispered. "Just to make sure you're still in your place."
The rain began falling again. Harder this time.
Without looking back, Evan turned and walked away.
Shadows of an Old WoundThe rain fell harder as Evan walked away from Hendra's grave. The muddy path sucked at his shoes, but he didn't care. His steps pressed forward, though his mind was still behind—dragged back to that night: December 20th, 2015.
A victory party.
He remembered clearly—the glittering chandeliers, the clink of glasses, the echo of triumphant laughter among the guests. It was the night he had crowned himself the victor.
And in the middle of it all, Hendra arrived.
The man stood at the doorway, his suit disheveled, his face pale, eyes hollow. Beside him, Sienna—only twelve then—gripped his arm tightly, afraid.
Evan had met their gaze with cold indifference.
"Are you satisfied now?" Hendra's voice was raspy, strained.
Evan said nothing.
"You destroyed everything… my company, my home, my life."
And then, in mere seconds, it all happened too fast.
A knife flashed from Hendra's coat pocket, glinting beneath the chandelier light.
Sienna screamed.
But everyone was too slow.
In a heartbeat, the blade was slick with blood.
Evan would never forget the final expression on Hendra's face—defeat, pain, and regret.
He fell.
The thud of his body against the floor echoed over the fading party music.
Blood spread across the white marble.
Sienna sobbed hysterically, clutching her father's motionless form.
And from that moment on, to the little girl, Evan became the man who took her father away.
Evan snapped back to the present as he reached the parking lot. But then he stopped.
His eyes locked onto something inside his car.
An object he thought had been lost for years.
The knife.
Wrapped in an evidence bag, sitting plainly on the passenger seat.
His heartbeat raced.
How did it get here?
His hand hovered at the door handle before he finally opened it and picked up the knife. The clear plastic was fogged slightly by the cold air.
His fingers clenched around it tightly.
Who put it here?
His eyes scanned the darkening lot. No one.
Just him—and the shadows of a past that refused to stay buried.