Ozan's Mansion – A Rare, Unwanted Visit

Leyla was exhausted.

The engagement ceremony had finally ended, and guests were slowly trickling out of the grand hall. Soft laughter and farewells echoed as Emir and his fiancée accepted the last of their congratulations.

Leyla, still fuming from her encounter with Ozan, had spent the rest of the night avoiding him.

Now, as she sat in the back of the car, her heels tossed aside, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window.

Emir, seated beside her, glanced at her. "You okay?"

Leyla let out a small sigh. "Just tired."

Her mother, Aylin, who was seated in the front, turned slightly. "You overexert yourself too much, Leyla."

Her father, Iskender, chuckled as he started the car. "She's your daughter, Aylin. What do you expect?"

Leyla closed her eyes, tuning out their conversation.

She didn't even bother thinking about Ozan.

Ozan entered his mansion, expecting silence.

But the moment he stepped inside, he noticed the warm glow of the chandelier, the faint sound of voices from the sitting area—voices he never wanted to hear in his house.

His jaw clenched. They were here.

Stepping forward, he found them. His parents.

His father, Yılmaz Ahmet sat with his usual stiff posture, his sharp eyes scanning the room like he was looking for something to disapprove of. His mother, Esma Ahmet was seated beside him, her expression softer but filled with quiet disappointment.

Ozan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back. "I didn't know you were coming."

His father's response was cold. "We didn't come to ask for your permission."

Ozan smirked, but there was no humor in it. Same old.

His mother's voice was softer, almost pleading. "Ozan… you never visit. Do you expect us to never check on you?"

He scoffed, throwing his keys onto the table. "You mean check if your disgrace of a son is still alive?"

His father's sharp gaze met his. "You know exactly why you're a disgrace."

Ozan's fists clenched, but he didn't react. He wouldn't give the old man the satisfaction.

Esma reached for his hand, but he stepped back. Distance was safer.

"We just want you to come home," she whispered.

Ozan let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "That place stopped being home a long time ago."

Silence.

His father sighed in irritation. "You think living in isolation makes you powerful? It makes you pathetic."

Ozan's eyes darkened, his smirk vanishing. "Then why are you here, father?"

Yilmaz stood up, adjusting his suit. "To remind you that no matter what empire you think you're building, you will always be my son. And my son doesn't get to be weak."

With that, he turned and walked out.

His mother hesitated, looking at Ozan like she wanted to say something—but in the end, she just followed her husband.

Ozan stood there, staring at the door even after it had closed.

Then, with a frustrated breath, he ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a bottle of whiskey.

He needed something to drown out the bitterness in his chest.

He was still just a boy no one wanted.

He took another sip. Then another.

Ozan wasn't the type to lose control, but tonight—tonight was different. Tonight, he felt it creeping in. The exhaustion, the weight of his past, the unbearable ache in his chest.

His family would never accept him. He had known that since he was a kid.

Yet somehow, it still hurt.

He poured himself another glass.

And another.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth drink, his thoughts began to slip.

A flash of dark eyes.

A challenge in her gaze.

Leyla.

Ozan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No. Not now.

She was the last thing he needed to think about.

Yet, her voice played in his head.

Leyla had been a distraction. A damn distraction.

But in this moment—with his chest hollow and his mind fogged with alcohol—she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

The drink was supposed to numb him.

So why the hell was he still feeling everything?

THE NEXT DAY

The police office was buzzing with activity as Leyla walked beside her father, Iskender Pasha. She had insisted on accompanying him today despite his initial reluctance.

"Leyla, what exactly is your purpose here? This isn't an entertaining place," Iskender said as he adjusted the cuff of his uniform, stepping out of the car.

"Baba, I just want to see how you work. After all, one day, I might need to learn too," she shrugged, tucking her hands into the pockets of her tailored blazer.

Iskender exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He knew his daughter well—once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her.

They arrived at a towering glass skyscraper—one of the many buildings under the control of the Karahan Empire. Leyla, however, was completely unaware that she was walking straight into Ozan's headquarters.

The moment they stepped inside the grand lobby, all eyes turned toward them. Iskender's presence commanded instant respect. The receptionist immediately straightened and greeted him.

"Sir, Mr. Ahmet is currently in a meeting. Shall I inform him of your arrival?" the woman asked politely.

"Yes," Iskender nodded, his tone firm.

Leyla, meanwhile, let her gaze wander around the luxurious interior, unimpressed. Business meetings never interested her. If she had known whose office this was, she would have walked out instantly.

Inside the boardroom, Ozan sat at the head of a long black marble table, his posture relaxed but his aura intimidating. His top men were discussing high-profile arms deals and underground security matters. A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air.

Suddenly, a knock interrupted the tense discussion. His assistant stepped inside, looking nervous.

"Sir, Iskender Pasha is here… and he has brought his daughter, Leyla Iskender, with him."

Ozan's fingers stilled.

For a brief second, his sharp blue-gray eyes darkened. Then, the corner of his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"Cancel the meeting."

His men exchanged confused glances—Ozan never walked out of an important deal. But without another word, he stood, buttoning his sleek black suit jacket.

As he stepped into the lobby, his eyes immediately found Leyla.

She stood there, completely unaware of the storm she had just walked into.

"Leyla."

His deep voice cut through the air.

Leyla turned, her hazel eyes widening slightly before she masked her surprise with irritation.

"You? What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, arms crossed as she glared at him.

Ozan chuckled darkly, taking slow, purposeful steps toward her.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" his voice was smooth, teasing, yet carrying a dangerous edge.

Before Leyla could react, Ozan suddenly grabbed her hand.

With deliberate slowness, he turned her wrist over and pressed a lingering kiss against her knuckles.

Leyla's body went rigid.

And then, in an instant, she snatched her hand away. Her jaw clenched as she aggressively wiped it against her blazer.

"You… are disgusting!" she hissed under her breath, her glare sharper than ever.

Ozan smirked.

"Disgusting? I thought you'd be used to me by now," he murmured, eyes glinting with amusement.

Iskender, who had remained silent until now, cleared his throat sharply. His piercing gaze landed on Ozan.

"Ozan let's go to my office. We have business to discuss," he said, his voice clipped.

Ozan tore his eyes away from Leyla and gave a slow, knowing smile.

"Of course, sir," he said smoothly. But as he followed Iskender, he glanced back at Leyla one last time, his eyes filled with unspoken thoughts.

The moment Iskender Pasha stepped into the private meeting room, the atmosphere changed. It was a high-security office, with dark walls, a large mahogany desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city.

Ozan walked in behind him, his movements relaxed but calculated. Leyla hesitated before following, her arms still crossed in irritation.

As soon as they settled, Iskender got straight to the point.

"You already know why I'm here, Karahan," he said, leaning back in his chair, his authoritative gaze locked on Ozan.

Ozan smirked slightly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter on his desk.

"Of course," he said, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. "The upcoming security shipment. Your department wants full control over the deal, but my men handle things differently."

Iskender's eyes narrowed.

"We cannot afford risks. The state has strict protocols. We expect complete transparency."

Ozan chuckled, setting the glass down.

"Transparency?" he repeated, his tone edged with amusement. "You and I both know how this world works, Pasha. There is no such thing as complete transparency in these kinds of deals."

Leyla watched the exchange silently. She had never seen Ozan this… composed in a professional setting. Usually, he was reckless and smug. But here? He was dangerously sharp.

Iskender exhaled sharply.

"I need assurance that there will be no interference in this matter. My team is overseeing everything."

Ozan leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk.

"And what if I say no?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

The tension in the room thickened.

Leyla rolled her eyes, finally breaking her silence.

"Oh, for God's sake. What exactly is the issue? Either you agree, or we find someone else," she snapped, glaring at Ozan.

Ozan turned his gaze toward her. His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes darkened.

"You think I'm that easy to replace, princess?" he murmured.

Leyla scoffed.

"You're not the only one running security, Karahan."

Ozan chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Maybe not. But I am the best," he said, his confidence unwavering.

Iskender sighed, cutting the tension.

"We'll have our final agreement in writing. I need the full report within the next forty-eight hours," he said, standing up.

Ozan stood as well, extending a hand. A silent challenge.

After a moment, Iskender shook it firmly.

As they turned to leave, Ozan's voice stopped them.

"Oh, and Leyla…"

She paused, looking over her shoulder.

Ozan's gaze locked onto hers, his smirk deepening.

"Try not to miss me too much."

Leyla rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt before storming out, Iskender shaking his head behind her.

For the first time, Ozan did something out of character. He actually walked them to the entrance, his usual arrogance subdued. Leyla noticed but didn't comment.

Just as they stepped outside, Iskender's phone buzzed.

He frowned at the caller ID. "I need to take this," he muttered and turned back inside, leaving Leyla and Ozan alone.

Leyla sighed, glancing around.

"You didn't have to walk us out," she said, shifting uncomfortably.

Ozan shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head slightly as he stared at her. "Believe it or not, princess, I can be polite when I want to be."

Leyla rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. That's why you locked me in a room last night."

Ozan smirked. "That was different. You needed a babysitter."

Before Leyla could snap back, a sudden screech of tires echoed through the street.

Everything happened in a blur.

A speeding motorcycle came straight toward her.

Leyla barely had time to react before a strong arm yanked her back. She gasped as her body collided against something firm.

Ozan.

His grip on her waist was tight, protective, unyielding. The bike swerved just inches away from them, barely missing her.

For a moment, Leyla felt frozen.

She could hear the rush of wind, the fading roar of the bike's engine… and Ozan's heartbeat against her back.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Ozan's voice was low, sharp, edged with anger.

Leyla tried to step back, but his grip didn't loosen. His body was too close, his presence overwhelming.

She looked up at him, breathless. "I—I didn't see it," she admitted.

Ozan's jaw clenched. "Exactly."

Then, instead of letting her go, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear.

"Maybe I should keep babysitting you after all, princess."

Leyla's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't happening.

She shoved him away. "I don't need your protection, Karahan."

Ozan chuckled darkly. "Clearly, you do."

Before Leyla could fire back, Iskender returned, ending the moment.

But Ozan?

He was still watching her.