Party or kidnapping?

The grand ballroom was drenched in warm, golden light, shimmering chandeliers casting reflections over the polished marble floors. The air was thick with expensive perfume, clinking glasses, and the murmur of high society.

And then she walked in.

Leyla.

A red bodycon dress hugging her like sin itself, cascading waves of hair tied up in a messy bun, with strands teasing her jawline. Her black heels clicked against the floor, commanding attention without even trying.

Ozan saw her the second she entered.

His jaw clenched.

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand.

Damn her.

She had no right to look this good.

He had spent all day telling himself he didn't care. That she was just Emir's spoiled little sister. That whatever happened the night before was a mistake.

But then she had to go and show up like this.

And now, all he could think about was dragging her away from all these people.

Leyla, on the other hand, was completely unaware of his burning gaze. She was here to enjoy herself, not deal with whatever confusing tension always existed between her and Ozan.

the party is in full swing—glasses clinking, people laughing, and the scent of expensive cologne filling the air. Leyla, as usual, is not drinking, just sitting with her friends, talking and enjoying the atmosphere. Her red dress makes her stand out in the crowd, and of course, that means she's catching everyone's eyes.

Then, a man approaches her, trying to make conversation, clearly interested in her. He leans in slightly, smirking.

"You look stunning tonight," he says smoothly, eyes gleaming.

Leyla just gives a polite smile, not really interested—but before she can respond, she suddenly feels a familiar presence behind her. A shadow looms over them.

"She always does."

A deep, commanding voice cuts in.

Leyla's eyes widen in shock as she turns to see Ozan standing there, looking as arrogant and dangerously handsome as ever. He's wearing an all-black suit, his hair styled effortlessly, and a smirk playing on his lips.

"You?" she breathes out, stunned. "What are you doing here?"

Ozan ignores her question completely and instead turns to the guy standing next to her, his smirk vanishing as his expression darkens. "Do you need something?" he asks, his tone sharp, almost threatening.

The guy clears his throat, sensing the tension, and quickly backs off, muttering a small excuse before disappearing into the crowd.

Leyla crosses her arms, still shocked. "Seriously? What is your problem?"

Ozan just tilts his head, his smirk returning. "Problem? I don't see a problem. But if you want, I can create one."

Leyla walks away from Ozan, clearly annoyed by his unnecessary interference. The party continues, music thumping, people dancing and drinking, but she doesn't care.

As she moves through the crowd, she feels her messy bun loosen—and before she can fix it, her long, silky hair cascades down her back, falling over her waist in soft waves. Some people glance her way, admiring the sight, but she ignores them.

Feeling slightly uneasy, she decides to go to the washroom to fix it.

The hallway is dimly lit, a little too quiet compared to the lively party outside. She steps into the washroom, pushing the door open, and doesn't bother locking it—after all, she just needs a minute to fix her hair.

Just as she raises her hands to touch her hair—

A strong hand suddenly clamps over her mouth, a cloth pressing against her lips and nose.

Her eyes widen in shock, heart racing, as she tries to struggle—but the scent of chemicals invades her senses, making her dizzy. Her vision blurs, her limbs grow weak, and before she can even punch him.

Everything fades to black.

Ozan catches her limp body effortlessly, pulling the cloth away as he stares down at her unconscious form.

His breathing is heavy, his pupils blown wide as his eyes trace over her features—but what really catches his attention is her hair.

Long. Soft. Mesmerizing.

His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to run them through the silky strands. His jaw clenches, his heart pounding faster for some reason he can't explain.

Without wasting another second, he lifts her into his arms—bridal style.

He turns and walks out of the washroom, carrying her effortlessly through the empty hallway, his grip on her tightening.

The music thumped loudly outside, but within the dimly lit hallways, everything was silent.

Ozan walked swiftly, his grip on Leyla firm as he held her limp, unconscious body against his chest. His jaw was clenched, his pupils still blown wide as he tried to ignore the soft feel of her hair brushing against his arm.

No one noticed.

The party was too chaotic, too loud, too full of distractions. Not a single soul questioned the powerful businessman carrying an unconscious girl through the back exit.

His black luxury car was already waiting. His men were stationed far enough to avoid suspicion but close enough to intervene if needed.

He opened the car door and gently placed her inside, adjusting her hair so it wouldn't get caught. Why did he care? He wasn't sure. But for some reason, the sight of her in such a helpless state made something stir inside him.

He shut the door and slid into the driver's seat.

As the car sped away from the party, Ozan's grip on the wheel tightened. No distractions. No attachments. This was just necessary.

Right?

Minutes later, they arrived at his mansion—far away from the city, isolated and untouchable.

His men had already cleared out, leaving only him and Leyla.

He carried her inside, his footsteps echoing in the vast, luxurious space. He walked past the grand chandeliers, the elegant marble floors, the expensive paintings—none of it mattered at the moment.

Only she did.

Reaching his bedroom, he pushed open the door and placed her onto the massive bed.

He stood there, breathing heavily, staring down at her.

And then, without thinking, he reached forward.

His fingers brushed against her cheek, trailing down to her jawline, her throat.

He stopped himself before going any further.

Turning away abruptly, he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered under his breath.

He needed to stay in control.

Taking a deep breath, he took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching over her like a predator watching its prey.

He didn't know what he wanted from her.

But one thing was certain—

She wasn't leaving.