Who's in charge?

His free hand moved, trailing the back of his fingers lightly down her jawline, then to her throat.

She shivered.

Ozan smirked. He noticed.

"You pretend to hate me," he murmured, his fingers grazing her pulse point. "But tell me, Leyla…" His thumb pressed just a little under her jaw, forcing her to tilt her chin up.

"Does your heart always beat this fast when I'm near?"

Leyla felt herself losing control, her body betraying her. She should have pushed him away, cursed him, anything—

But she was frozen.

And he knew it.

Ozan leaned in even closer, his lips barely an inch from hers.

"You should be careful," he whispered against her skin. "I'm not the kind of man you should be playing games with."

Leyla finally snapped out of it, pushing against his chest.

Ozan let her go—but not before running his thumb slowly across her bottom lip.

"Stay away from me," she said, her voice uneven.

Leyla exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists as she turned to walk away. Ozan let her go—or so she thought.

She took two steps.

Then—a hand wrapped around her waist. Tight. Unrelenting.

Before she could react, she was yanked back—her spine hitting Ozan's hard chest.

His fingers spread against her stomach, pulling her flush against him. Too close. Too possessive. Too dangerous.

Her breath hitched, not out of fear, but frustration.

"Ozan—" she began, voice sharp.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, right against her back. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, warm, teasing, infuriating.

"Did I say you could leave?" His voice was a slow drawl, each word dripping with authority.

Leyla stiffened. "I don't need your permission."

He hummed, as if amused by her defiance. His fingers splayed wider on her waist, tracing the fabric of her black dress, feeling the slight rise and fall of her breathing.

"You keep trying to run," he murmured, his breath fanning over her neck. "But tell me, prenses… where will you go where I can't find you?"

Leyla's jaw tightened, her hands snapping up to pry his grip off. But Ozan was faster—he caught both of her wrists, twisting them behind her back in one swift movement.

She gasped—not in fear, but sheer frustration.

"Let. Me. Go." Her voice was ice.

Ozan didn't obey. Of course, he didn't.

Instead, he tilted his head, pressing his lips against the curve of her neck—just the barest, teasing touch.

Leyla didn't react. Didn't even flinch.

But that didn't stop him.

His lips barely ghosted over her skin, his voice nothing but a whisper.

"You don't react to me, do you?" he mused. His teeth scraped lightly against her pulse. "I wonder… would you react if I really tried?"

Leyla's fingers curled into fists. Still, she gave him nothing.

Ozan smirked against her skin, his grip on her wrists tightening before he finally—finally—let her go.

She took a sharp step forward, away from him, but didn't turn around. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

Ozan chuckled behind her, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "You'll break eventually, prenses. They all do."

Leyla didn't answer. She just walked away, calm, unaffected.

But Ozan?

He watched her go, his tongue running along his bottom lip. This was going to be fun.

Leyla adjusted the folds of her black dress, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The engagement party was in full swing—laughter, music, and chatter echoing across the grand estate.

She exhaled, determined to ignore what had just happened inside.

But before she could take another step, a voice stopped her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Ozan.

His voice was smooth, edged with something dangerously amused.

Leyla closed her eyes briefly before turning, masking any irritation that threatened to surface. He was leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in all black, looking effortlessly powerful and infuriating.

She folded her arms. "Somewhere you're not."

Ozan chuckled, pushing off the pillar and walking toward her, his presence alone making the air feel heavier. "Tch… That's going to be a little difficult."

Leyla raised a brow. "And why is that?"

Ozan stopped in front of her, tilting his head. Too close. Always too close.

"Because your dear brother," he drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, "assigned me to babysit you tonight."

Leyla stared at him. Then she laughed.

Ozan's smirk twitched.

"You? Babysit me?" she said, shaking her head. "Emir must be out of his mind."

Ozan's gaze darkened, but that smirk remained. Dangerous. Calculating.

"Well, I suppose you can always go inside and ask him yourself," he mused. "Though, between you and me, I don't think he'd appreciate hearing that you snuck off alone."

Leyla's jaw clenched. 

Ozan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just for her. "You're stuck with me tonight, prenses. Might as well make the most of it."

Leyla inhaled sharply, tilting her chin up in defiance. "Fine. But stay out of my way."

Ozan grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets. That smug, knowing look.

"No promises."

Leyla could feel his stare.

The man had been watching her the entire night—eyes lingering too long, lips curling into a smirk whenever their gazes accidentally met.

And now, here he was.

"Merhaba, güzel," the man said smoothly, stepping closer.

Leyla arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

He chuckled. "I was just wondering why the most stunning woman in the room is standing here alone."

Leyla wasn't impressed. She had dealt with men like this before—overconfident, full of themselves.

"I'm not alone," she replied coolly.

The man smirked, glancing around. "I don't see anyone else."

But he was wrong.

Because Ozan saw everything.

And he did not like it.

From the shadows, Ozan's jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists as he watched Leyla entertain another man's attention.

Enough.

He moved.

Silent. Calculated.

And then—

"Excuse us for a moment," Ozan's deep voice cut through the air.

Before the man—or even Leyla—could react, Ozan's strong arms wrapped around her waist.

Lifted her.

Threw her over his shoulder in one swift motion.

Leyla gasped, her hands colliding against his back.

"What the—OZAN! PUT ME DOWN, YOU PSYCHO!"

The man she was speaking to took a staggered step back, eyes widening.

But before he could say anything—before anyone could witness the scene unraveling—

Ozan was gone.

Moving quickly.

Effortlessly carrying her away from the crowd, slipping into the private corridors of the mansion.

No one saw.

No one stopped him.

It was just the two of them now.

And the silence between them was suffocating.

Leyla thrashed. "Ozan, I swear to God, put me down before I—"

But he didn't.

Not until he reached his destination.

A private room.

He kicked the door open, stepped inside, and only then did he set her down.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

Just enough for her feet to find the ground before he slammed the door shut.

Locked it.

And then, finally, he turned to face her.

"You're not going anywhere," Ozan stated, voice calm, but laced with warning.

Leyla glared. "Excuse me?"

Ozan leaned against the door, arms crossed.

"Emir told me to babysit you," he said, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

Leyla's blood boiled.

"Babysit me?" she repeated in disbelief.

Ozan nodded. "And you just made my job harder by talking to some random guy."

Leyla scoffed. "I was having a conversation. You know, something normal people do?"

Ozan tilted his head, his sharp gaze trapping her in place.

"Normal people don't let strange men undress them with their eyes," he mused darkly.

Leyla's breath caught.

Ozan took a slow step forward.

"And normal people," he added, "know when they belong to someone else."

Silence.

Tension thickened between them.

Leyla's heart pounded, but she refused to let him win.

With a sharp glare, she crossed her arms.

"And who, exactly, do you think I belong to?" she challenged.

Ozan smirked.

His voice dropped lower.

"You'll figure it out soon enough, prenses."

This arrogant, controlling, unbearable man thought he could just throw her over his shoulder like a caveman and lock her in a room?

Not happening.

She took a step forward, poking a finger against his chest.

"Listen, you psycho," she hissed, her eyes burning with anger. "I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone. And you—"

She tried to shove him.

Mistake.

Ozan moved fast.

Before she could react, his hand wrapped around her wrist—tight, unyielding.

Leyla sucked in a breath.

"Ozan," she warned.

But he just pulled her closer.

Their bodies nearly collided.

The air between them was dangerously charged.

"You have a bad habit of testing my patience, prenses," he murmured, his voice thick with something dark.

Leyla refused to let him see how her pulse quickened.

"I test your patience?" she scoffed. "Are you insane? You kidnapped me from my own brother's engagement—"

Ozan's grip tightened just slightly.

Her breath hitched.

"Babysitting," he corrected lazily, eyes glinting with amusement. "Your brother told me to keep you in check. I'm just following orders."

Leyla's jaw clenched. "I am not some child you can control."

Ozan smirked. Slow. Confident.

"No," he agreed, his gaze drifting to her lips. "You're not a child."

Silence.

Thick. Stifling. Heavy.

Leyla knew this game.

And she hated that Ozan played it better.

She tried to yank her hand away, but Ozan didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in—so close that his breath brushed against her cheek.

"Let go," she ordered.

Ozan chuckled, low and dark.

"Not yet," he said smoothly.

Leyla gritted her teeth. "I swear, Ozan—"

His next move

His next move stole the words from her lips.

A firm grip. A sudden pull.

And then—she was against the wall.

Trapped.

Ozan's hands rested on either side of her, caging her in.

Leyla's heartbeat slammed against her ribs.

This was too close.

He wasn't even touching her, but he might as well have been.

The heat. The tension. The unbearable electricity in the air.

She hated this.

She hated him.

Ozan tilted his head slightly. Watching her. Studying her.

Leyla forced herself to meet his gaze—to hold her ground.

"You should be careful, prenses," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

Leyla swallowed. "Careful of what?"

Ozan smirked.

"Of what happens when you tempt a man like me."