Three days later
Balat at dusk was alive in its own way. The cobblestones glistened faintly under the golden street lamps, the paint-chipped houses leaning over the narrow alleys like quiet storytellers of centuries past. Children darted past with a ball, their laughter echoing between the walls. The faint call to prayer rose in the background, threading itself into the air with the smell of roasted chestnuts and warm simit.
Sarah slowed at every corner, taking in the colors and cats as if the whole city were a painting she refused to leave unfinished. A tabby brushed against her legs, and she bent down, her caramel eyes soft as she stroked its fur.
"I'll get one for my home," she murmured, almost like a secret.
Mehmet, standing just behind her, arched a brow. "And then who will you give your attention to—the cat, or me?"
She looked up, grinning. "Depends. The cat won't be so bossy."
A laugh broke from him, unguarded and rare. Sarah's heart caught at the sound—it was softer than she imagined, warmer. For a fleeting second, he wasn't the impenetrable man, but just Mehmet—her Mehmet.
As they walked further, Sarah's steps pulled them toward a chestnut vendor. The man behind the stall lifted the hot tray, the scent rich and earthy. Sarah's eyes lit up.
"Do you want some?" she asked, already reaching for her wallet.
Mehmet frowned. "Street food isn't—" He stopped at her look, the mischief in her smile and her hands already paying the vendor. With a resigned sigh, he smirked. "Fine."
The old man laughed as he poured steaming chestnuts into a paper cone. Mehmet peeled one carefully, his large hands precise, then held it out for her. She took it, their fingers brushing—the heat of the chestnut nothing compared to the warmth between them.
"You should try," she teased him.
He smirked faintly. "Fine."
They kept walking, nibbling chestnuts, until Sarah's gaze caught on a little bookstore tucked between two antique shops. The warm glow of its lamps spilled into the street. She wandered inside, instantly drawn to a worn copy of a novel. Her fingers lingered on the cover like it was treasure.
Mehmet watched her quietly, then slipped to the counter. By the time Sarah turned, he was already walking out with a bag—a small stack of books inside.
"Mehmet, no. I only wanted one," she protested, catching up to him.
"Books suit you more than arguing," he said simply, not looking at her, his voice softer than usual.
Sarah smirked. "You're impossible."
"You're welcome," he said, and a small smile tugged at his eyes.
They found a small café on a quiet street. Over steaming Turkish tea and slices of baklava, Mehmet's gaze kept drifting around the room, scanning the corners, the alleys outside.
"Everything fine?" Sarah asked, noticing his eyes moving.
"Yes. I…" he hesitated, lowering his gaze. "I wanted to tell you something, Sarah."
Her brows arched gently. "Hm?"
"I don't want you to step into my life without knowing everything." His tone was steady but low. "I have some business rivals… and they're not just rivals. They want my empire—everything I've built since my father's death. They want to destroy whatever I have, whatever I want to have. "
He stopped as the waiter set their tea down. His jaw tightened.
"You mean me?" Sarah asked softly.
Mehmet nodded.
"But I won't let them do anything. I swear, Sarah… if they even look at you, I'd tear their skin apart. I can protect you at any cost, even if it costs me my life. But—" He paused, staring at the steam rising from his cup.
"But?" she pressed.
"But I want you to think about it—about me, about what you're choosing. You have a choice. I can protect you, love you, care for you… but I won't force you."
Sarah leaned closer, her voice calm but unwavering. "Mehmet… I already knew about your disputes with Edem, about the shadows circling you." Her hand reached across the table, covering his. "But I chose you because you respect me—my values, my family, my faith. And I'll keep choosing you, no matter the circumstances. If you're standing with me, protecting me, then I don't fear anything."
He exhaled slowly, a burden slipping from his shoulders.
"I swear I'll protect you at any cost," he whispered. A genuine smile curved his lips, rare and soft. "You won't regret choosing me, Sarah."
Her own smile deepened. "Don't tell me you don't like baklava," she teased, noticing his untouched plate.
"Um… it's too sweet. I don't like sugary things," he admitted.
Sarah shot him a look. He sighed, taking a piece.
"You're not that bad when you obey my orders, Mehmet Bey."
He tilted his head, lowering his neck as a quiet smile tugged at his lips.
"You're smiling too much today. Look—no aura points lost," she teased again as they stepped outside.
"Balat has something to change Mehmet Ibrahim," she said, walking beside him.
"Yes," he murmured, brushing a strand from her cheek, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "It has you today."
Her breath caught, her pulse stumbling.
Later, as they strolled back down a quiet alley, the city seemed to fold around them—old walls, the echo of laughter, the glow of lamps. Sarah walked slowly, her shoulder brushing his arm.
"This feels like home," she whispered.
Mehmet stopped walking. His gaze found hers, his rare smile lingering just for her. He reached to tuck that same strand of hair behind her ear, his touch grounding, gentle.
"You are my home," he said, voice steady, almost a vow.
Sarah's breath caught, her lips curving in a smile she couldn't hold back. In that moment, Balat wasn't just a place they walked—it was theirs, holding their laughter, their silences, their first taste of something that felt like forever.