The grand hall of the İskender mansion was alive with the soft hum of conversations, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the distant melody of a violin playing in the background. Emir's engagement had brought together the most powerful and influential people in the city—business tycoons, politicians, and celebrities, all gathered under the dazzling chandeliers that bathed the room in a golden glow.
Leyla, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged her figure perfectly, moved through the crowd with effortless grace. The deep neckline of her dress and the slit that revealed just a hint of her leg made her the center of attention, though she barely noticed the admiring gazes that followed her every step. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a loose updo, soft strands framing her face, and her black heels clicked against the marble floor as she made her way toward the main lounge.
Just as she turned a corner, distracted by the sound of laughter from her family's direction, she collided into someone—hard. A firm, muscular chest. Strong hands immediately gripped her waist, steadying her before she could lose balance.
"Sorry," she muttered automatically, looking up—only to feel her breath hitch in her throat.
Ozan.
His dark, stormy eyes locked onto hers, an intensity simmering beneath them that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, the top buttons of his shirt undone just enough to hint at the chiseled body beneath. But it wasn't his appearance that made her stomach twist—it was the way he was looking at her. Like a predator who had just found his prey.
"You?" she hissed, stepping back as her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ozan didn't respond immediately. He was still staring at her, his gaze dark, lingering—almost devouring. He had seen her before, of course. But not like this.
Not wrapped in silk and mystery. Not looking like a goddess sent to torment him.
His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the unfamiliar urge to reach for her. It took Leyla snapping her fingers in front of his face for him to finally break out of his trance.
"Hello? Earth to Ozan?" she taunted, rolling her eyes.
He blinked once, his lips curling into that signature smirk of his. "What, I'm not allowed to be here?" His voice was smooth, amused. "Maybe you should ask your dear brother why I'm on the guest list."
Leyla's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Ozan leaned in slightly, his scent—smoky, rich, intoxicating—wrapping around her like a vice. "Didn't know, huh?" He chuckled, a low, mocking sound that made her blood boil. "Emir and I? We're best friends."
Leyla felt her stomach drop. No. Absolutely not.
Her brother? Her own brother? Best friends with him?
Before she could even process what that meant, Ozan's smirk deepened, his voice dropping to a whisper just for her.
"Looks like you won't be able to get rid of me anytime soon, güzelim."
Leyla felt her entire body heat up—not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.** Ozan? Best friends with Emir?** This had to be some sick joke.
"You're lying," she said, narrowing her eyes.
Ozan simply smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"
Before Leyla could retort, she heard her brother's familiar voice calling her name.
"Leyla! There you are," Emir said, making his way toward them with an easygoing smile. But as soon as he noticed Ozan standing beside her, his smile widened knowingly.
"Oh, so you two finally met properly?" he said, clapping Ozan's shoulder in a brotherly manner.
"You… you really are best friends?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and mild horror.
Ozan chuckled, crossing his arms as he looked at her with a lazy confidence. "Didn't I just say that?"
Emir raised an eyebrow at his sister's tone. "Yeah, Ozan and I have known each other for years. We do business together, too. Why do you look so—" He paused, then smirked slightly. "Wait… don't tell me you two already know each other?"
Leyla scoffed. "Unfortunately."
Ozan placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "That hurts, prenses."
Leyla clenched her jaw at the nickname. Emir, completely unaware of the silent battle happening between them, laughed.
"Well, I guess that makes things easier, then," Emir said, slipping an arm around Leyla's shoulders. "Ozan's basically family now."
Leyla felt the world tilt for a moment.
Family?
This is a nightmare.
She quickly forced a smile, swallowing her irritation. "Right. Great. Just what I needed."
Ozan chuckled under his breath, watching her with pure amusement.
"Anyway," Emir continued, "the engagement party is about to start. I have to go check on my fiancée, but, Ozan, why don't you keep Leyla company?"
Leyla's smile instantly dropped. "I'd rather—"
"Of course," Ozan cut her off smoothly.
She snapped her head toward him, glaring. Smug bastard.
"Perfect," Emir grinned. "Behave, you two." And with that, he walked off, leaving Leyla alone with Ozan.
She turned to him slowly, crossing her arms. "If you think I'm spending the night babysitting you—"
Ozan smirked, stepping closer.
Too close.
"You're the one who should be careful, prenses." His voice was a low murmur, laced with something dangerous. "You might not like what happens when I get too close."
Leyla's breath hitched for a second.
She quickly recovered, rolling her eyes and turning away. "Stay out of my way, Ozan."
Ozan watched her leave, his smirk never fading.
Oh, but where's the fun in that?
The party was in full swing—glasses clinking, laughter echoing, and soft classical music playing in the background. Leyla tried to lose herself in the crowd, but Ozan was never too far.
Every time she turned, she caught his gaze—dark, piercing, and unreadable. It wasn't the kind of look that men gave her when they were enchanted by her beauty. No, this was something far more dangerous.
This was possession.
She decided she'd had enough. Turning on her heel, she slipped through the ballroom and toward the quieter part of the mansion. The long hallways were dimly lit, lined with antique portraits and expensive decor. She let out a breath, trying to steady her racing pulse.
Then she felt it.
A presence.
Before she could react, a strong hand gripped her wrist and yanked her into the shadows.
Her back hit the cold wall, and in an instant, she was trapped.
Ozan towered over her, one hand braced against the wall beside her head, the other still holding her wrist. His scent surrounded her—smoky, expensive, intoxicating.
"What the hell—"
"Running away?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.
She glared up at him, but he didn't move. Didn't even blink. His eyes flickered down to her lips, just for a second, before returning to her furious gaze.
"Let me go," she demanded.
His grip on her wrist tightened slightly, but not painfully. Just enough to remind her who was in control.
"I don't think so, prenses," he whispered, leaning in so close that his breath brushed her cheek. "You've been ignoring me all night."
Leyla scoffed, trying to pull her wrist free. "Maybe because I don't want to talk to you?"
Ozan chuckled, dark and deep. "Liar."