Leaving with Iskender

Leyla took a step back, inhaling sharply, trying to push away the lingering sensation of Ozan's hands on her waist. She hated how fast everything had happened.

"Leyla, let's go," Iskender's voice snapped her out of it.

She turned toward her father, who had just finished his call and was now watching them with a sharp gaze. 

Without another word, she straightened her posture, lifted her chin, and walked past Ozan. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her shaken.

Ozan, however, wasn't done.

"Try not to get hit by anything else, princess," he teased, loud enough for her to hear as she walked away.

Leyla clenched her fists but didn't stop. Not this time.

She slid into the car beside her father, refusing to look back.

But Ozan?

He stood at the entrance of his office, watching her leave, his smirk fading into something unreadable.

A Night of Uncertainty

The dim neon lights of the bar cast a soft glow over Leyla as she adjusted her coat, preparing to leave. Her friends had already gone home, and she was about to step outside when something—or rather, someone—caught her eye.

Ozan.

He was sitting at the far end of the bar, slumped against the counter, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him. His usually sharp gaze was unfocused, his posture heavy. He looked… different. Vulnerable. Alone.

Leyla hesitated. She owed him nothing. But then, an image flashed in her mind—the way he had pulled her out of harm's way earlier that day, the warmth of his hand steadying her.

She sighed, pushing her hair back before walking toward him.

"Ozan?" she called, but he didn't react.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he lazily turned his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

"Princess… didn't expect to see you here," his voice was hoarse, slurred from the alcohol.

Leyla rolled her eyes. Even drunk, he was insufferable.

"You're wasted," she stated. "Where are your men?"

Ozan chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't need them." His eyes flickered to hers, something dark and unreadable behind them. "But maybe I need you?"

"Just give me your address," she said firmly.

Ozan leaned back, watching her with an amused expression before lazily muttering his address.

Leyla sighed. Great. Now she was stuck taking care of him.

She signaled a taxi and, with some effort, helped Ozan—who was heavier than he looked—outside. The cold air hit them as she practically dragged him to the car.

"This is ridiculous," she mumbled under her breath, settling him into the seat.

As the taxi drove toward his mansion, Ozan's head lolled slightly, resting against her shoulder.

Leyla stiffened. This was going to be a long night.

The ride to Ozan's mansion was silent, except for the occasional hum of the engine and the distant sound of the city nightlife. Leyla sat stiffly, her eyes focused on the road ahead, ignoring the weight of Ozan's head resting against her shoulder.

He was completely out of it. His usually sharp, calculating demeanor was gone—replaced by someone exhausted, broken, and lost.

When the taxi finally stopped in front of the grand but eerily quiet mansion, Leyla exhaled.

"Alright, come on," she muttered, shifting to help him out of the car.

Ozan groaned as she wrapped an arm around his waist, half-dragging him toward the entrance.

"You need to cut down on drinking," she grumbled, struggling with his weight.

Ozan let out a breathy chuckle. "You don't get to tell me what to do, princess."

Leyla rolled her eyes but said nothing. He was drunk. It wasn't worth arguing.

Once inside, the dim golden lights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the extravagant interior. The place was huge, but it felt… empty.

She led him to his room, pushing the door open and guiding him toward the bed. As soon as she let go, Ozan collapsed onto the mattress, his arm flung over his face.

Leyla was about to leave when she heard him mumble something.

"I'm not a disgrace..."

She froze.

Ozan's voice was barely above a whisper, but the raw pain in it sent a strange pang through her chest.

Leyla turned back, watching him. The infamous Ozan—ruthless, heartless, feared—looked like nothing more than a wounded boy, drowning in the weight of expectations he could never meet.

For a moment, she considered saying something. But what?

Instead, she simply sighed, reached for a blanket, and draped it over him.

"Sleep it off, Ozan," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Leyla sighed, rubbing her temple. She should leave. Ozan was drunk and barely aware of what was happening. But something about the way he lay there, his face twisted in an expression of pain, made her hesitate.

"I'm not a disgrace…" he murmured again, this time softer. A broken confession.

Her heart clenched. This wasn't the Ozan she knew—the arrogant, infuriating, always-in-control Ozan. This was someone who had been hurt, abandoned, and left to drown in expectations.

Without thinking, Leyla sat down beside him on the bed.

"You're not," she whispered, surprising even herself.

She didn't know why she did it, but her hand moved on its own, brushing through his hair gently. Ozan inhaled sharply, his body tensing for a second before he relaxed under her touch.

Before she could react, he turned and shifted toward her, his weight pressing against her.

"Ozan—" she gasped, startled.

But his arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her shoulder as he exhaled shakily. The warmth of his body, the scent of whiskey mixed with something distinctly him, sent an odd shiver down her spine.

Leyla tried to push him back, but it was pointless. He was stronger. He was heavier. And now… he was completely on top of her.

Her back hit the mattress. Ozan's body caged her beneath him.

Her breath hitched.

For the first time ever, Ozan looked vulnerable. Completely unguarded.

His grip on her tightened slightly as if he feared she would leave. "You're warm…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Leyla stiffened. What was she supposed to do? Push him off? Yell at him?

But… he looked so lost. So broken.

With a resigned sigh, she gave in—just for a moment. Just until he fell asleep.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath.