Stella_Winslet

In the heart of Istanbul, where power and danger walk hand in hand, two fierce souls collide. Leyla Iskender—a woman born into privilege, the daughter of a feared police officer, and a storm in her own right. Trained in combat, fluent in multiple languages, and untouched by fear, she is the kind of woman who doesn’t bow to anyone.

Then there’s Ozan Ali Ahmet—ruthless, enigmatic, and a mastermind with control over the city's underground. When Leyla dares to interfere in his business, she unknowingly marks herself as his greatest obsession. A dangerous game of power and dominance unfolds between them, where every step brings them closer to a line that neither is willing to cross—until it’s too late.

What happens when a man used to control meets a woman who refuses to be tamed? When fire meets fire, will it burn them both… or ignite something even darker?

In the streets of Istanbul

Ozan and Leyla arrive at the mansion. Without saying much, both head to their rooms to change.

Leyla stands in front of the mirror, staring at herself. The red dress was beautiful.

Her long hair cascades down her back as she runs her fingers through them, sighing.

Ozan, now dressed in a black shirt, leans against the doorframe, watching her.

"So, you do have a feminine side," he smirks.

Leyla rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

Ozan raises a brow as he watches Leyla struggle with her hair. "You seriously don't know how to tie your hair?"

Leyla glares at him through the mirror. "Do I look like someone who plays with hair all day?"

Ozan chuckles and walks toward her, standing right behind her, their reflections meeting in the mirror. His fingers brush against her long locks as he takes a section of her hair.

"Sit." His voice is deep, commanding.

Leyla scoffs. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Ateş." Ozan pulls the chair out for her. "If you can't do it, I will."

Leyla narrows her eyes, but curiosity wins over. She sits. "If you mess up my hair, I swear—"

Ozan smirks as he gathers her hair gently, his fingers working with practiced ease. "I don't mess up, sweetheart. I'm perfect."

Ozan's fingers move through her long, silky hair with surprising skill. Leyla watches him through the mirror, her heartbeat slightly uneven as his fingers brush against the back of her neck.

"You've done this before?" she asks, trying to sound indifferent.

Ozan smirks, his warm breath ghosting over her shoulder. "Maybe."

Leyla rolls her eyes. "On who?"

He chuckles, securing the top section of her hair with a hair tie he magically produced from somewhere. "Jealous, Ateş?"

Leyla scoffs. "As if."

Ozan leans in slightly, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. "Good. Because I only do this for you."

He steps back, admiring his work—a perfectly done half-up, half-down hairstyle. "There. Beautiful."

Leyla stands up, pretending to examine her hair critically. "Hmph. Not bad."

Ozan smirks. "Try 'thank you,' princess."

Leyla crosses her arms. "I don't say thank you to kidnappers."

Ozan leans in again, his hand tilting her chin up. "Then I'll take it another way."