[The Legacy Series] REDAMANCY - Love's Timeless Path

17th Note

I took a deep breath. After the drama of the flower bouquet sent by Jendra yesterday, today I have to face another drama. Another board meeting, another thinly veiled threat from Oom Yudhis about "hostile takeovers" (seriously, the man needs a new hobby). My head pounded like a conga drum solo gone wrong, and all I could think about was the nonsense that spat out of my big family.

Being a heiress at Darmana Hotels wasn't all Michelin-starred breakfasts and private jet upgrades. Don't get me wrong, those perks were nice, but mostly, it was a pressure cooker. Mr. Danu Darmana himself threw me into the fire, investor meetings, and family drama so thick you could cut it with a monogrammed butter knife.

Speaking of knives, let's talk about how lovely my extended family is. My appointment as heiress didn't exactly sit well with everyone. You must already know how my father's younger brother, Oom Yudhis, was known for his questionable business ventures and believed women's place was in the kitchen, not the boardroom. And then there was Tante Rumi, queen of passive-aggressive side-eye, the master manipulator, who saw me as a pawn in her power play.

Their "support" ranged from "helpful" suggestions that would bankrupt the company to conveniently "leaked" confidential information to the press. My days were filled with damage control, navigating boardroom politics, and dodging well-meaning (but ultimately unhelpful) advice from relatives who thought running a hotel chain was like managing their vegetable patch.

I still remember how Papa suddenly decided to shift the burden from his shoulders to mine. My old man wasn't exactly known for his warm and fuzzy approach to business. He built his empire, the Darmana Conglomerate, brick by brick, starting with a single, dusty quarry and expanding into a behemoth with its fingers in everything.

"Me? Being a heiress? Leading all of those hotels?" I scoffed, sprawled on the plush couch in his mahogany-lined office. "Pa, you wouldn't know a five-star experience if it bit you on the—,"

"I've told you that five stars are for tourists, Haira," he cut in, his voice as sharp as the Italian suit he always wore. "We're aiming for bespoke luxury, experiences crafted for the discerning traveler. Think personalized art collections, Michelin-starred chefs in every kitchen, and spas that rival ancient Roman baths."

I sat up straighter. "And you want me to run it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You have a double degree in hospitality and management, internal experience at the Ritz, and a knack for sniffing out trends faster. Who else?"

Our hotels weren't your average chain. We didn't have prefabricated structures; instead, each building was a singular architectural marvel created by up-and-coming architects. We didn't have room service menus; we had Michelin-approved chefs who catered to individual palates. And we didn't have generic activities; we curated bespoke experiences, from private tours with local artisans to truffle hunting in Tuscany.

It wasn't easy. He had to fight our big family tooth and nail to explain that true luxury was in the little things — the sense of anticipation, the feeling of being understood. But slowly, they saw it. They observed our hotels' stellar ratings, devoted customers, and transformation into destinations rather than just places to stay.

The first Darmana Hotel, aptly named "Ephemeral," rose from the ashes of a neglected Art Deco gem in New York City. I remembered how he poured over blueprints, haggled with antique furniture dealers, and even persuaded a reclusive artist to produce a site-specific installation in the foyer that evoked a sense of transient exclusivity and luxury. As word got out, it quickly developed into a sanctuary for people looking for more than simply a place to stay.