Schiphol Airport was quiet that morning. A thin layer of winter fog lingered over the runways, and the sound of rolling suitcases echoed against sleek marble floors and glass walls. Among the early travelers, two men stood out like they had walked straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
Nick dressed in a gray hoodie under an open coat, pushed his suitcase with one hand and sipped coffee with the other. He looked effortlessly relaxed, somehow full of energy despite barely two hours of sleep.
Beside him, Marteen looked exactly as expected polished, calm, precise. His black suitcase looked untouched, his tailored coat perfectly draped over his broad shoulders. His hair was neatly combed, and those green-blue eyes of his were sharp, but distant.
"Thank God for first class," Nick muttered with a yawn. "At least I won't have to share an armrest with a German guy who snores like a bear."
Marteen gave him a sideways glance. "Maybe you should've gone to bed earlier instead of entertaining Saskia."
Nick smirked. "You jealous?"
"I'm not. I'm worried about your liver," Marteen replied flatly.
After check-in and a brief stop at the lounge, the two headed to their gate for the long-haul flight headed straight into the tropics—toward something neither of them fully expected.
"I still can't believe you said yes to this," Nick said once they were on the plane, buckled in, warm towels passed around by flight attendants. "You hate hot weather."
"I'm not moving there," Marteen corrected. "I'm supervising. You're the one relocating. I'll fly in and out. Meetings. Audits. That's it."
Nick laughed. "Sure, boss. Let's see if Bali doesn't work its magic on you first."
Marteen didn't answer. He closed his eyes as the plane began taxiing down the runway.
So much was left unsaid about being the son of a powerful father who never stopped pulling strings, about a fiancée who felt more like a deal than a partner, about the quiet craving for freedom he couldn't explain.
As the plane lifted off the ground, he opened his eyes just long enough to watch the last patch of Rotterdam snow disappear behind the clouds.
Goodbye, winter.
Nick leaned back in his seat with a grin. "Goodbye, Europe. Hello, paradise."
17 Hours Later
The moment the airplane door opened at Ngurah Rai International Airport, the warm, sticky air of Bali hit them like a wave. Bright sunlight flooded the cabin, and the smell of salt, sweat, and something sweet drifted in on the breeze.
Nick immediately took off his hoodie, revealing a plain white T-shirt clinging to his well-built frame. His tousled blonde hair and confident stride made him look like he belonged on a surfboard, not in a boardroom.
Marteen followed behind at a calmer pace, taking it all in. Everything felt different the light, the noise, even the air itself. Foreign, yes, but not unpleasant.
Outside, the sky was a blinding blue. A hotel car was already waiting at the curb.
Nick clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to Bali, my friend."
***
The hotels were nothing short of paradise designed for royalty, or in this case, two men carrying the weight of legacy on their shoulders. De Haven Bali had given Marteen and Nick their best: two private, super VIP suites side by side, each with their own glimmering infinity pool, shaded lounge deck, and an open-concept bathroom that blurred the line between jungle and luxury.
And yet, even in paradise, peace was never guaranteed.
"Tok-ke... tok-ke..."
Marteen's eyes snapped open.
He had just laid down, exhausted after the long-haul flight and endless small talk. The sheets were cool. The lights dimmed. He'd been two seconds away from sleep when that sharp, strange noise pierced the silence.
"Tok-ke... tok-ke!"
What in God's name…?
He sat up, squinting into the shadows of the villa's ceiling-high glass wall. The pool shimmered beyond it, and somewhere near the foliage, that sound echoed again.
Not a machine. Not human. Something alive.
With a groan, Marteen grabbed the bedside phone and pressed Service Operator. He didn't want to make a fuss but he had no energy to Google "Bali night creature".
The line clicked. A clear, warm female voice answered with gentle enthusiasm.
"De Haven call service, good evening! This is Leea speaking. How can I assist you tonight?"
Marteen paused. The voice didn't match what he expected from a resort staffer at midnight. It was light, bright, and carried the effortless rhythm of someone who could talk you off a ledge or into a smile.
"Hi. This is Marteen van Rooyen, Suite 902. Sorry to call this late. There's… something making a sound outside."
"Can you describe the sound?" she asked, cheerful but professional.
Marteen hesitated. "It sounds like… 'tok-ke tok-ke'? On repeat. Loud. Too loud."
There was a beat of silence then a soft laugh. "That would be our local celebrity. A tokek. He lives here."
"A what?" Marteen leaned back slowly. "Is that... an animal or a machine?"
"It's a gecko, sir," she said, clearly trying not to laugh. "A big one. Completely harmless. Unless you're a cockroach."
Marteen exhaled. "I wasn't expecting wildlife in a five-star villa."
"Technically, the wildlife was here before the villas," she replied smoothly. "But we like to think of the tokek as part of our night-time ambiance. Very exclusive."
This time, he actually smiled.
"Is there a way to get rid of it?" he asked.
She lowered her voice like she was letting him in on a secret. "Only if we offer it a promotion. But so far, he's very loyal to his branch."
Marteen huffed out a low chuckle. "You're very… helpful."
"I try," she said brightly. "And if it makes you feel better, locals believe if the tokek calls seven times, it's good luck."
"Is that true?"
"I mean, I work nights and talk to guests who are afraid of geckos," she teased. "Something must be working."
Marteen let the silence sit for a moment. It wasn't awkward. Just... warm.
"Thank you, Leea," he said. "That'll be all for now."
"You're welcome, Mr. Marteen. Let me know if your luck needs assistance."
The call ended.
In the room next door, Nick shouted through the wall, his voice muffled but unmistakable.
"Bro, what is that sound?! Is that a bird or a demon?!"
Marteen grinned to himself and called back, "It's a lizard. It comes with the resort."
Nick groaned. "Tell it I'm from Europe. I don't do reptiles after midnight!"
But Marteen wasn't listening anymore.
He was staring at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth still curved upward, the sound of her voice playing over in his head.
He didn't know what she looked like. He hadn't opened the HR profiles yet. He didn't even know her full name.
The call had ended five minutes ago, but Leea was still sitting there, headset in hand, replaying his voice in her mind.
There was something… unusual about it. Calm. Gentle. Yet undeniably authoritative.
She hadn't thought much of it at first just another late night guest with a weird complaint. But something about his tone, his name, the room number... It all started to click as she leaned closer to her screen.
Suite 902.She opened the internal system again.
Marteen van Rooyen.
Her heart paused.
Van Rooyen.
As in... De Haven's founding family. The name that was printed on official letters, on the gold plaques in the hallway. The name she'd typed a hundred times on schedules, policies, and back-end documents. She'd always assumed Mr. Eduard van Rooyen was the sole force behind the empire.
But this?
She clicked on the guest file again, scanning the notes.Marteen van Rooyen, private check-in, direct access.No fanfare. No media. No internal memo.
It was quiet. Intentional.
Leea frowned, remembering whispers she'd heard long ago something about the van Rooyens having two sons, not one. The eldest, married with kids, handling things in Europe. The youngest... a mystery.
And tonight, that mystery had called her because of a tokek.And she'd made jokes. About marrying one.
"Oh no," she whispered to herself, sinking a little lower in her chair.
She winced, covering her face briefly. "What was I thinking?"
She'd never normally joke with a VIP guest. But he hadn't introduced himself as the owner. He'd sounded... normal. Tired, even. Kind.
Still, she should've known.She should have recognized the name.
During her break, Leea took a moment to get up and stretch. She walked down the empty hallway toward the front office, where the only light came from a soft desk lamp and the faint glow of the guest arrival screen.
Behind the counter sat Nia, the overnight receptionist, sipping tea and scrolling on her phone.
"Nia," Leea whispered, approaching. "Can I ask you something?"
Nia looked up. "Yeah?"
"That guest in 902… Marteen van Rooyen. Is he really... that van Rooyen?"
Nia blinked, then sat up straighter. "Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell you. Yeah, he is. Youngest son of Mr. Eduard. He checked in today, super private. No escort, no PR. Mr. Eduard handled it himself before flying back to the Netherlands."
Leea stared. "And you didn't tell me?!"
Nia grimaced. "I meant to. I swear. I just... forgot."
Leea groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. "I joked about promoting a gecko to the new owner of the resort."
Nia burst out laughing. "You what?!"
Leea glared. "Don't. Say. Anything."
Nia grinned behind her cup. "Hey, if anything, you made an impression."
Leea sighed, turning back toward the hallway.
Yeah. An impression she wished she could rewind.
But deep down… she wasn't just embarrassed.