Episode 1

"Where's my gray tie?"

The shout echoed from the walk-in closet, breaking the morning silence in the penthouse on the thirtieth floor of Skyline Residence.

Kalandra emerged with his white shirt only half-buttoned, his face disheveled, and an aura around him as if ready to explode anyone who dared to pass by.

He snatched a pile of suits from the sofa in the living room, throwing them again because that wasn't what he was looking for. "Zoya! Are you even listening to me?"

At the dining table made of imported black marble, Zoya Ravendra sat calmly. No panic, no hurried movements.

The woman only sipped her black coffee slowly, her eyes fixed on the screen of the latest TabTech series that displayed rows of dense text. Her hair was casually bunched up with a cheap plastic clip, a stark contrast to the luxury of the apartment they lived in.

"It's on the hanger near the door, Kalandra. Auntie Sumi prepared it last night," Zoya replied without turning her head, her voice flat, almost emotionless. Her finger swiped across the tablet screen, her eyes moving quickly reading line after line of articles—which, in Kalandra's eyes, were probably just celebrity gossip or online shopping catalogs.

Kalandra turned towards the door. Sure enough. The tie hung sweetly there. He snorted roughly, feeling stupid but too proud to admit it.

With a rough movement, he grabbed the tie and wrapped it around his neck.

"What kind of wife are you?" Kalandra walked closer to the dining table, pulling the chair across from Zoya roughly until the chair leg screeched against the floor.

He put on his black watch while staring at his wife with a sharp gaze. "Husband's about to leave for work, instead of helping, you're busy playing with gadgets. No breakfast, no small talk."

Zoya finally lifted her face. Her gaze was empty, like a calm pool of water untouched by the wind. "There's bread in the jar. Coffee in the machine. Auntie Sumi is shopping at the market."

"Auntie Sumi, Auntie Sumi all the time!" Kalandra slammed the table gently, enough to make the spoon on the small plate clink. "I married you, not the maid. At least pretend to care a little. People out there think I'm lucky to get the only daughter of the Ravendra family. They don't know that at home, I'm like living with an ice statue."

Zoya put down her coffee cup slowly. The sound of ceramics against marble sounded so clear amidst their tension. "What do you want me to do, Kalandra? Put on your tie? You have hands, don't you? Cook fried rice? You said my cooking is bland. So I keep quiet so I don't keep making mistakes."

The answer was so logical, so calm, and that's exactly what made Kalandra's blood boil. He hated Zoya's calmness. He hated how his wife seemed to have no passion for life, no ambition.

Kalandra stood up, straightening his suit roughly. He looked at Zoya with an undisguised, condescending look.

"It must be nice to be you, Zoya," Kalandra sneered, his voice low but sharp. "Wake up late, laze around, just spend your parents' inheritance. You have no burdens. No need to think hard. Just be a pretty decoration in this luxurious house."

He brought his face a little closer. "Sometimes I wonder, what's in your brain besides shopping and sleeping? It's such a waste that a medical graduate ends up just being an elite unemployed."

Silence for a moment. That sentence should have been painful. Any wife would cry or throw a glass if she were said that way. But Zoya? She only blinked once.

"Be careful on the road, Kalandra," Zoya said.

Brief. Concise. Without the slightest hint of offense.

She returned to staring at her tablet screen, as if Kalandra was no longer there.

Kalandra growled under his breath. It felt like punching cotton. No resistance, no satisfaction.

"Tch. Such a burden," Kalandra muttered as he turned around and strode towards the main door. He slammed the penthouse door shut, leaving Zoya still calmly sipping the rest of her coffee.

Inside the elevator that took him down to the basement, Kalandra massaged his throbbing temples.

This marriage is crazy. For two years he had been trapped in a ridiculous arranged marriage to smooth out his family's business and his father's political connections.

He, the feared Head of Criminal Investigation Unit who was feared by bandits in the city, had to go home to a house that felt like a morgue because of his wife who was no more alive than a corpse herself.

His black SUV sped through the morning traffic of the city. A small siren was turned on occasionally to break through the traffic density.

Kalandra's mind was still stuck at the dining table earlier. Zoya's blank face really disturbed his concentration.

As soon as his car turned sharply into the courtyard of Metro City District Police Headquarters, Kalandra's mood immediately changed mode.

He was no longer an annoyed husband, he was Commander Kalandra Dirgantara. The bloodhound.

He slammed the car door shut, walking quickly across the lobby. Several officers saluted, but he only nodded briefly.

His steps were steady towards the special elevator. However, just as the elevator doors opened on the criminal division floor, a young man in a field vest ran breathlessly towards him.

It was Raka, his trusted subordinate who was usually relaxed, but this time his face was pale.

"Commander! It's an emergency, Sir!"

Kalandra didn't stop walking, he continued towards his room while taking off his suit jacket. "Catch your breath first, Ka. Don't be like someone chased by a demon first thing in the morning. What is it? Another robbery case at Grand Mall?"

"No, Sir. This is much worse." Raka matched his pace, offering a work tablet with trembling hands.

Kalandra stopped suddenly in front of his room door. He looked at Raka, his eyebrows sharply furrowed. "Don't tell me..."

"The Puppeteer, Sir," Raka interrupted quickly, his voice choked. "A woman's body was just found in an old warehouse at the district seven port. The condition... is exactly the same. Her body position is arranged like a dancing doll, and there is a red thread tied to her wrist."

Kalandra's blood rushed. That case.

The nightmare that had kept his team from sleeping soundly for six months. A genius serial killer who was always one step ahead, who played with the police like children.

"Prepare the team. We're leaving now!" Kalandra ordered, the annoyance at his wife earlier this morning immediately disappeared, replaced by the adrenaline of a hunter who smelled blood. "Don't let the forensic team touch anything before I get there. This time, that bastard can't get away."

Kalandra grabbed his car keys again, turning back to run back to the elevator, unaware that this case would force him to drag along the "burden" he had left at the dining table that morning.

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