A Dangerous Guest in the Mansion
The grand chandelier of the Pasha's mansion bathed the marble floors in golden light, casting long shadows as Leyla stepped onto the staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs, standing with effortless dominance in her father's office lobby, was Ozan Ali Ahmet.
He was dressed in an expensive suit, hands casually tucked into his pockets, looking as if he owned the place. Like he belonged there.
Her father, Iskender , stood beside him, his face calm yet serious.
A business deal. That much was obvious.
Leyla's fingers curled around the railing.
She wasn't scared, fear was never her thing. But shock? That was an entirely different matter.
What the hell was he doing here?
The sunlight from the tall windows cast a golden hue over the lobby, reflecting off the polished marble floors. Ozan stood right there, beside her father, looking too comfortable for her liking.
He was smirking. Because of course he was.
"Princess." His voice was rich with amusement, and it was clear from his expression—he was enjoying this way too much.
Leyla's jaw tightened, but she masked her surprise with indifference. She wouldn't let him think he could get a reaction out of her.
Her father glanced at her. "Leyla, come down. Meet Mr. Ozan Ali Ahmet."
Ozan leaned slightly against the armrest of the couch, watching her every move.
"Yes, Leyla," he echoed. His voice was smooth, calculated. "Come join us. I was just finalizing something important with your father."
Leyla finally stepped down, her heels clicking against the marble.
"Finalizing what?" she asked, her tone sharp but composed.
Her father smiled. "A partnership, my dear. Ozan is proposing a collaboration—one that will strengthen both of our interests."
Leyla's eyes flickered back to Ozan, her instincts buzzing. This wasn't just a business deal. He was here for something more.
And from the way his smirk widened, he knew that she knew.
Leyla held her ground as she reached out to shake Ozan's hand.
Her fingers met his—firm, confident, completely in control.
The moment Ozan's hand wrapped around hers, something shifted. He didn't let go.
A slow smirk crept onto his lips as he tightened his grip, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that felt far too intimate for a business greeting.
Leyla's father was still speaking, something about the importance of alliances, but neither of them were listening anymore.
Then, in one smooth motion—Ozan lifted her hand to his lips.
And before she could pull away, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss against her knuckles.
His lips barely left her skin as he murmured, just for her ears, "It's a pleasure doing business with you, princess."
His voice was pure arrogance, pure provocation.
"Pleasure, I'm sure," she said flatly, yanking her hand back like it was a transaction—nothing more.
Ozan's eyes narrowed just a fraction. He had expected something—a flustered look, irritation, anything.
Instead, he got nothing.
Leyla turned to her father. "I assume this meeting is business-related? I'd rather not waste my time otherwise."
A flicker of amusement crossed Ozan's face. He leaned back, hands in his pockets, watching her like she was the most interesting challenge he'd faced in a while.
"Oh, Bela " he murmured, just low enough for her to hear. "I think you and I will be seeing a lot of each other."
Leyla gave him a blank stare. Then, with a dismissive glance, she turned away.
Unbothered. Unmoved. Unshaken.
And for the first time in a long time, Ozan Ali Ahmet felt just a little bit... irritated.
And the deal was... Ozan is offering a partnership in an exclusive security and protection business—high-end security contracts, VIP protection, and law enforcement collaborations. Since Iskender is well-respected in the police force, Ozan needs him as an ally to make this deal work.
Ozan's presence in Leyla's mansion had become a routine now. No longer a guest, no longer a stranger—he was a familiar shadow that drifted through the grand halls of her home as if he belonged there.
At times, it was for business. Discussions with Iskender, sealed with firm handshakes and cold calculations. Powerful men making powerful deals.
Other times, it was something else.
A silent game between him and Leyla.
Their paths would cross in the corridors, in the lavish living room, or even on the grand staircase where Leyla would descend like a queen, her sharp eyes locking onto his with that same fearless defiance.
Ozan, always leaning against something, always watching. That smirk never leaving his lips.
Even in Iskender's police office, where their business often took them, Ozan's presence was undeniable. He walked into the station like he owned the place, like the law was nothing but another piece on his chessboard.
Late at night, Leyla was on her way back home in her sleek black M4, the cool night air brushing against her skin as the city lights flickered past. Her friends sat beside her, laughing at some joke they had shared moments ago. The night had been good—music, laughter, and the fleeting illusion of normalcy.
But that illusion shattered within seconds.
Out of nowhere, two—no, three—black vans swerved into their path, cutting them off. Tires screeched, headlights blazed, and a sickening sense of danger settled in. Before they could react, figures in dark clothing jumped out, their faces masked, their movements sharp and predatory.
A robbery?