The car slowed as the black iron gates slid open. Behind them stood a villa—tall, pale stone walls with ivy creeping up the sides, red-tiled roof glistening under the night's thin snowfall. Warm light spilled from a few high windows, but most of the house was cloaked in shadow.
"This… isn't my home," Sarah murmured, her voice still weak.
"You won't live in your place until Aniya comes back," Mehmet said flatly.
She turned to him. "Whose—?"
"It's mine," he cut her off. His tone was back to the cold one from the library, the softness from the rescue already hidden away.
His tone is so cold again… like the library. That rescue… like it never happened. Why does he scare me so much and make me feel safe at the same time?
He walked ahead without looking back, boots crunching over the stone path lined with dormant flowerbeds. She followed, the faint sound of running water somewhere in the garden mixing with distant city noise that felt far, far away here.
Inside, the air was warm, scented faintly of wood polish and coffee. The front hall was wide, with polished floors and a staircase curling upward.
He led her into the living room and gestured for her to sit on the couch. "Stay here," he said, disappearing briefly into the kitchen.
She glanced around—dark wood furniture, heavy curtains, the quiet hum of a heater.
When he returned, he handed her a mug. "Coffee."
She took it but didn't sip. "I want to go home."
"I know you don't trust me, as you said earlier," his eyes flickered to hers, "but it's not safe for you there right now."
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Something in his tone told her there was no arguing.
"My anne is here too," he added, as if that might reassure her. "She'll meet you in the morning. She's sleeping now."
Sarah hesitated. "Your mother?"
He didn't answer the question, just took a slow drink from his own mug, gaze drifting to the window.
After a quiet moment, he stood. "Finish your coffee. I'll show you the guest room."
She shook her head. "I'm fine on the couch—"
He silenced her with a single look.
The guest room was not a regular guest room, simple but warm—white sheets, a grey throw blanket, a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand.
He set a jug of water by the bed. "Sleep well."
He was close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne. Without thinking, her eyes flicked to the scar on his forehead. Her hand almost lifted to touch it.
Why am I staring? Why do I care about a scar on his forehead when I should be thinking about everything that happened today?
"I'm sorry for this…" she whispered.
His hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist, lowering it. "Don't, Miss Sarah."
Then he left, shutting the door behind him. For a moment, she thought she heard him pause outside, as if deciding whether to stay there. But the footsteps eventually moved away.
She didn't even think about changing or washing her face, her legs felt heavy, her head light. All she wanted was to stop feeling the weight of the day. Her mind replayed that look in his eyes until sleep finally claimed her.
At midnight, Mehmet received a call from his men. He frowned, his eyes filling with anger as he heard the voice briefing him about the man behind Sarah's kidnapping. He left in his car like a hungry leopard and stopped at Tayyep's home.
Without knocking, he entered the room and punched Tayyep, who was either sleeping or pretending to sleep. Tayyep woke up, confused, and raised his hands to block Mehmet's punches.
"What?" Tayyep yelled, scrambling out of bed.
"You planned to hurt Sarah," Mehmet growled.
"You set her up!"
Tayyep's eyes widened, hands raised. "Mehmet—listen—"
"You dared to risk her life!"
"I didn't mean—"
"You planned it!" Mehmet's fist connected with his jaw.
Blood. A groan.
"Five minutes, Tayyep. Explain before I end this."
Tayyep panted, holding his ribs. "It wasn't supposed to be real. It was me and Aniya. Just a harmless scare—to force you to show your feelings. To bring you two closer. We hired men just to move her, keep her safe, until you 'rescued' her. That's all. But someone hijacked it. Rivals— Kaan Edem. That's how it went wrong."
Mehmet's fist stopped mid-air. His eyes burned. "Aniya too?"
Tayyep nodded weakly. "She said Sarah deserves you, not Eric. She thought this was the only way. I swear, we didn't mean harm."
Mehmet let go, breathing hard. For a long second, silence hung between them.
"You endangered her," he whispered, voice trembling with fury. "If anyone had touched her—if I had been a minute late—"
He shoved Tayyep back into the wall once more, but this time didn't punch. Just leaned close, voice ice. "Never again. Or I forget you're my brother."
Tayyep swallowed, eyes wide. "Understood."
Mehmet looked with a sarcastic smile. "Use warm water on your face." He placed a hand on Tayyep's shoulder.
Tayyep winced, holding his jaw where Mehmet had punched him.
"You don't get it," he spat bitterly. "You've wanted her for years, Mehmet. You arranged her scholarship, you protected her from the shadows, you even protected her without knowing her name. And yet—when she stood in front of you—you treated her like she was nothing. Why?"
Mehmet froze.
"Why the hell were you so rude to her if you've loved her all this time?" Tayyep pressed, voice sharp but not mocking. "Why warn her, why protect her for years, if in the end all you'd give her is silence and coldness?"
For a moment, the room was quiet except for Mehmet's harsh breathing. Then Mehmet stepped back, shoulders tense, eyes shadowed.
"You think it was easy?" Mehmet's voice was low, raw. "To want her, but believe she deserved someone better? I told myself distance was protection. That if I pushed her away, she'd be safe from the storm I carry with me."
"I arranged that scholarship for her—wanted her close, in my city. But then Kaan Edem… his threats made proximity dangerous. I tried to stay away, to protect her.
And then she appeared in my office. With Eric. That sight… it cut sharper than any warning. I wanted to reach out, to pull her back—but I didn't. I could only watch, knowing even her smallest step could spark consequences I wasn't ready to face."
He dragged a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
"I've built walls my whole life, Tayyep. Armor so thick no one could touch me. But she… she breaks through without even trying. Every time she smiles, every time she speaks my name—something inside me shatters. And I hate it. I hate how weak she makes me feel."
Tayyep stared, stunned.
Mehmet's voice hardened, though it trembled underneath. " I saw her with Eric. I saw the way he looked at her, the way she laughed with him. And I—" His fists clenched. "I lost control. All that armor, all those years of telling myself she wasn't mine to want—it collapsed. Because the truth is, I can fight the whole world, Tayyep, but I can't fight the thought of her belonging to someone else."
He exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, eyes dark with a mix of rage and pain.
"That's why I was harsh at Airport, at the office. That's why I distanced myself. Because I was terrified. Terrified of failing her. Terrified she'd see the man beneath this armor and realize he's not good enough. But tonight…" His voice broke just slightly. "Tonight, when I almost lost her, I understood—I'd rather burn every rival to ash than spend a single breath without her."
Silence stretched heavy between them. Tayyep, bruised but softened now, finally nodded.
"Then stop hiding behind armor," he said quietly
Mehmet's eyes dropped to his bloodied knuckles. He gave the faintest, almost broken smile.
"She already broke me. She broke my armor 4 years ago, Tayyep. And I think… I don't want to heal."
With that, he turned and walked out, his shadow long in the dim hallway, leaving Tayyep speechless.
Back at home, Mehmet quietly opened the guesthouse door to check on Sarah. She was asleep. He studied her face for a moment before shutting the door, his expression unreadable.
________________________________________
Past
Scholarship and other things settled. Mehmet handled everything without letting her know. It had been months before Sarah even stepped foot in Istanbul again. Mehmet still remembered the night he signed the papers, the scholarship that bore no name but was his doing alone. He had watched her dreams unfold from afar, keeping distance like his father taught: protect, but do not touch.
But protection had its price.
The letter arrived two days later. Anonymous. Sharp words scrawled in ink. " Touch what's pure, and we'll stain it."
He had stared at it for hours, alone in his office, cigar burning down to ash. Fear was something Mehmet Bey never admitted to men, never even to himself. But that night, fear curled in his chest—not for his empire, not for his life. For her. Sarah.
If he drew her into his world, the fire aimed at him would scorch her too.
So at the airport, when her bright eyes met his,he built his wall like he had for others. His voice was clipped, his tone cut sharp. He told himself it was for her own good. Distance is protection. Coldness is safe.
Every word he said felt like a blade he drove into himself.
But fate did not bend to his walls.
A week later, she appeared in his office with her friends for an internship. Mehmet froze, every muscle in his body tightening. He didn't want her there, not in the lion's den he called an office. So he reached for his coldest tone again, forcing her to think he didn't care.
And yet… his eyes betrayed him every time she shifted in the room.
Then Eric leaned closer to her desk, his smile too bright, his eyes lingering too long. Sarah laughed—soft, unknowing—and something inside Mehmet cracked. His fist clenched around the pen in his hand, jaw tight, blood roaring in his ears.
In that moment he knew one thing with brutal clarity:
He could bear rivals. He could bear betrayal. He could bear the weight of enemies circling like vultures.
But Sarah in another man's gaze? Sarah's light warming someone else?
No. That he would never bear.
Even if he had to burn his own walls to the ground.