As I stared bitterly at my reflection in the mirror, the door suddenly opened and Fırat Koroğlu stepped inside. Our eyes met through the glass. With that cruel expression of his, he looked me over in a way that felt more dismissive than admiring. Of course every girl would want the man she was about to marry to look at her with warmth, with appreciation… but the man who would soon become my husband looked at me as if he resented my very existence.
Slowly, I turned around. As he approached, I watched him from behind the red veil. Of course he knew I was looking at him, but I took advantage of the fact that he couldn't see me clearly and studied him in return. He was wearing a black suit over a black shirt, the top button undone. He looked less like a groom and more like someone dressed for mourning. In a way, that was exactly what this was. Because for me, this marriage would be worse than death.
For a moment, I found myself wondering why he hated me so much. I searched for an answer and found none. After all, everything was my brother's fault. Why was I the one paying the price? Why was the blame always shifted onto the woman? Why did the woman always have to suffer while the men made their choices and walked away from the ruin they left behind? I had stayed silent only to protect Berra. If I hadn't known they would take her instead, if Berra had not existed, I would have fought this with everything I had. But I had chosen to sacrifice myself for her. She was still so young. She still had dreams. I had dreams for her too, and I could never have handed her over to the man now standing before me.
I took the opportunity to study him more carefully. His face matched his stare—hard, severe, unforgiving. His nose was straight and sharp at the tip, his cheekbones high, his jaw strong and angular. His dark brows only deepened the severity of his expression. Beneath them, his gray eyes looked like a winter morning: clear as the sky and yet full of cold mist and hidden distance.
I stood there not knowing what to do, waiting for him to make the first move because I truly had no idea what was expected of me. The thought of marrying at an age when I still understood so little of life felt like being buried alive.
He came closer and caught hold of my arm. "Move," he said curtly.
His roughness startled me. "Let go," I said, trying to pull free. It was useless. His grip was too firm, my thin arm swallowed in his large hand. Then he caught my other arm too and drew me closer until I was nearly forced against him. When he bent down toward my face, I could see the anger burning in his eyes.
"Look at me," he said. "Don't even think about defying me today or after this. Very soon, I'll be your husband. Don't talk back to me. Don't challenge me. Do you understand?"
As if I ever truly would. I would always resist him in some way, no matter how small. But for that moment, until the marriage ceremony was over, I swallowed my pride and said, "Fine. Just let go of my arm. You're hurting me."
He released me with a shove-like motion, then caught my left arm again. Pulling me after him, he led me out of the room and toward the stairs. I had no choice but to follow him—or rather, to let myself be dragged along by him.
Dragged was the right word, because every step I took was reluctant. He knew I didn't want this. And I knew he didn't want me either. But I also knew he intended to make me bear the weight of his anger over my brother.
Halfway down the stairs, he stopped and pressed me lightly back toward the wall, leaning in close. "Walk properly," he warned. "Don't make me pull you along."
My heart felt as if it might stop altogether as I looked up at him. He leaned closer, ignoring the veil over my face, and caught my chin between his fingers, lifting my face.
"In a few minutes, you'll be my wife," he said. "There's no turning back now. So don't make this harder than it already is."
My breath caught.
"You are already dragging me," I said quietly. "If you walked like a normal person, I could keep up with you and we could go downstairs without this."
His hand tightened briefly at my chin. "Watch how you speak to me," he said through clenched teeth.
I said nothing after that. If I opened my mouth again, I knew I would say something far harsher, and it would only make things worse. A moment later he let go of my face, stepped back, and took my arm once more, leading me downstairs again.
As we passed the second floor, I noticed something. The door to Cihan's mother's room was slightly open, and she was watching us through the narrow gap. My heart ached for her. In a matter of minutes, her husband would take a second wife while she was still alive, still suffering, still fighting illness. She had cancer, and perhaps not much time left. I did not know why he had rushed to bring another woman into the house before fate had even made its decision. But one thing I did know: the man beside me felt like the cruelest man in the world.
When we reached the first floor, everyone was waiting. The imam was already there. We sat down, and the marriage ceremony began.
When it was time to speak of the mahr, the imam turned to me and asked, "What do you ask as your mahr?"
From behind my red veil, I turned to look at Fırat Koroğlu sitting beside me and said, "A truck full of gold, my weight in silver, and diamonds as long as my hair."
Fırat turned to me sharply, anger flashing in his eyes, then looked back at the imam. "Whatever she asks, I accept," he said.
The imam nodded, recorded my words, and before finalizing the marriage, asked both of us three times to say, "I accept."
Truthfully, I was surprised. I knew none of the things I had named would ever be given to me. Of course they would not. The purpose of this marriage was obvious. But I had said it to unsettle him, to force some small measure of discomfort into his proud composure. One day, I thought, I would remind him of it.
The ceremony ended. Sweet sherbet was distributed. Fırat handed a bag of money to his younger brother and said, "Distribute this to the children at once."
After his brother left, Fırat came a little closer to me and said in a low voice, "Go to the room and wait for me. You have no place in this celebration."
"This isn't a celebration for me," I replied. "It's a sentence."
This time I did not wait for his response. I turned away, gathered my skirt in my hands, and hurried out of the room toward the stairs.
As I climbed quickly, I saw his first wife standing on the second floor. I lifted the veil from my face and stepped toward her. There was anger in her eyes. Then again, in this house everyone looked at me with anger, though I had done nothing to deserve it.
"I'm sorry," I said. "None of this is my fault. I never wanted this marriage."
"Of course," she said with a brittle smile, as though she did not believe a single word. "Who wouldn't want to be Fırat Koroğlu's wife? But as long as I am alive in this house, you will never know peace here."
I shook my head faintly in sorrow. No one believed me. Everyone carried a ready-made resentment toward me, and I no longer knew what to say to defend myself.
"Believe what you want," I said. "But what I told you is the truth."
Then I turned and walked away. I heard her shouting after me, but I did not stop.
"May my sorrow follow you, bride! May you never find happiness! May you never know peace, never know love!"
I went upstairs, entered Fırat's room, and closed the door behind me, leaning against it. Her words seemed to wrap around me and tighten like a noose. I could hardly breathe. It felt as though she had cursed me—and now I would have to live under the weight of that curse in this house. Worse than that, I would be here with a husband who did not love me, in the room above hers, and she would know it. How was she supposed to bear that?
I didn't know.
I didn't know anything anymore.
As I stood by the window, watching the restless movement outside, my eyes suddenly caught a familiar figure in the garden. Berra.
She was standing near the garden gate, glancing around anxiously. At the sight of her, a spark of hope flared inside me. I pulled back the curtain at once and moved closer to the glass.
"Berra…" I whispered.
She had come so I would not be alone. Even the thought of it eased something inside me.
Without wasting another second, I left the room and slipped into the corridor. I made my way toward the stairs as quietly as I could, trying not to be seen. When I reached the garden, I headed toward the gate. In my red dress and veil, it was almost impossible not to draw attention, but I still hurried toward her.
It took her a moment to notice me, but when our eyes met, I felt a breath of relief.
The moment I reached her, I threw my arms around her. "Abla!" she cried, hugging me tightly. Even in so short a time, I realized how much we had already missed each other. Tears were silently sliding down her cheeks.
"Don't cry, my love," I said, wiping them away. "Please don't cry."
Looking at me with trembling lips, she asked, "Abla, are you really getting married? How could they make you do this?"
Her words deepened the pain already lodged inside me. Her helplessness doubled my own guilt.
"I didn't want this either, Berra," I said. "But I had no choice. Now please go. If they see you here, it will cause even more trouble."
"I won't go," she said. "I won't leave you here. Let's run away together. Please."
The determination in her eyes made me want to cry all over again—and frightened me even more. I stroked her back gently. "Berra, please listen to me. If you care about me, you have to leave. I won't be able to protect you here."
I already knew she wouldn't want to go. But I had to convince her.
Just then, someone seized my arm so sharply that I nearly lost my balance. I turned and found myself face to face with Fırat. He looked more furious than ever. Then his eyes shifted to Berra.
"Your sister is now the bride of this house," he said harshly. "You are not to come here again. Leave."
Fear flashed across Berra's face.
I turned to him at once. "Speak to my sister properly," I said, trying to pull my arm free, though I was trembling under the force of his stare.
Ignoring me, he looked at Berra again. "Go," he said in a colder tone. "Now."
The moment I heard it, my whole body went cold. Berra, shaking with fear, nodded and whispered, "Okay… I'm going."
Then she turned and hurried away.
I tried to free myself from Fırat's grip, but he held on tightly. As he pulled me back toward the house, people all around us were watching. By then, I no longer cared about their eyes. Fear had already swallowed everything else.
When we crossed the threshold, he pushed the door shut behind us.
And in that sudden darkness and silence, my heart began to pound as if it would burst from my chest.