I WON'T LET YOU GO

Ozan's grip on her waist tightened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. His lips barely brushed against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Leyla's body stiffened—this wasn't part of the plan.

His fingers traced slow circles over her hip, his other hand resting against the sofa beside her head, caging her in. The air between them grew thick with tension as Ozan's lips ghosted over the sensitive skin near her collarbone.

"You smell familiar…" he murmured against her skin. "Sweet. Just like her."

Leyla swallowed hard, her mind racing. He was talking about her. He didn't know it, but the woman he was obsessed with was right under him.

She had to stop this—without blowing her cover.

Forcing herself to stay in character, she let out a soft, nervous laugh. "S-sir, I… I should go. The other maids might wonder—"

Ozan pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. His pupils were blown, filled with something unreadable—possession? Obsession? Lust?

"Let them wonder." His voice was husky, his thumb brushing against her waist again. "I like having you here."

Ozan's grip on her waist tightened possessively as his lips crashed against her neck—rough, desperate, and completely unrestrained.

Leyla gasped, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest to push him away, but he didn't budge. His body was firm, radiating heat, his scent intoxicatingly masculine. This wasn't just a kiss—it was a claim.

His lips trailed down, sucking at her delicate skin, his teeth grazing against her collarbone. "You drive me insane," he murmured against her flesh, his voice thick with desire. "I don't even know why."

Leyla's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She had to get out of this—fast.

Her mind scrambled for an excuse. She let out a breathy laugh, keeping her voice as composed as possible. "S-Sir, please… I have work to do. The head maid will be looking for me."

Ozan didn't stop. His tongue flicked against her pulse point before he bit down just enough to make her gasp. "Let her wait."

Leyla clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into fists. She couldn't expose herself—but she also couldn't let this continue.

Ozan's grip didn't loosen—in fact, it tightened as he pressed Leyla further into the sofa. His lips were relentless against her skin, kissing, sucking, leaving marks as if branding her as his. His hot breath fanned against her collarbone, and the way his lips moved was both possessive and desperate—like he had been holding himself back for too long.

Leyla's entire body tensed. This wasn't part of the plan. Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to run, but she knew one wrong move and everything would be over. If Ozan even suspected who she was, she was done for.

"Sir—" she tried again, her voice shaky but still controlled.

Ozan groaned softly against her skin, his fingers brushing against the strap of her maid outfit. He was completely lost in his drunken haze, his lips trailing down her neck, then to her exposed shoulder.

"Why do you feel so familiar…?" he murmured, his lips grazing her ear.

Leyla's breath hitched. Shit.

He was getting too close. His hands, his touch, the way his body caged hers in—it was all too much. If she didn't stop him now, he'd figure it out..

Ozan's lips ghosted over Leyla's ear before he captured her earlobe between his teeth, biting down just enough to make her shiver. His breath was hot, uneven, fanning against her skin as he pressed another slow, open-mouthed kiss right beneath her jaw.

"You feel like her," he muttered against her skin, voice thick with intoxication. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against his hard chest. "But that's impossible… because she's not here."

Leyla's pulse was erratic, but she forced herself to stay still, to play along without giving herself away. She needed to escape, not react. If she gave in even slightly, if she let herself falter, he'd see right through her disguise.

"S-Sir, I should go," she whispered, her voice deliberately meek, trying to maintain the illusion of an ordinary maid caught in the presence of a dangerous man.

But Ozan wasn't letting go. His fingers skimmed along the delicate fabric of her uniform, his touch slow, almost teasing. His lips trailed down the side of her neck, lingering at the spot where he could feel her pulse racing beneath his mouth. He smirked.

"Why?" he murmured. "You're already here… stay."

Leyla clenched her fists. This was dangerous. Ozan was dangerous. And yet, there was something unsettlingly intoxicating about the way he touched her, the way his deep voice curled around every word.

Leyla tried to run away but failed.

Leyla tensed as Ozan's grip on her tightened, his breath hot against her skin. His lips brushed against her earlobe, teasing, testing. Just when she thought he was done, a sharp sting shot through her as he bit down—a warning, a punishment.

She swallowed her gasp, knowing any reaction would only fuel him further.

"You think you can just walk away?" His voice was low, dangerous. One of his hands trailed down, his fingers grazing her thigh through the thin fabric of the maid dress. The touch was possessive, claiming—like she was already his.

Leyla's mind raced. She had two choices—push him away and risk him suspecting her, or play along just enough to slip away when the time was right.

She let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to relax in his hold, tilting her head slightly as if submitting. "I—I didn't mean to upset you, sir." Her voice was soft, calculated, laced with just enough hesitation to sound real.

Ozan chuckled darkly against her skin, his fingers pressing a little harder against her thigh. "Good girl."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, not from desire, but from the sheer power he held in this moment.

But he was drunk. And that was her advantage.

She needed to outmaneuver him, not just physically but mentally. So, she played the part.

"Would you like another drink, sir?" she murmured, her tone smooth but careful. A distraction—that was her way out.

Ozan's lips hovered over her throat, his grip still firm. His head tilted slightly, considering her words.

A slow smirk spread across his lips. "You want to serve me, hmm?" His thumb brushed against her jaw. "Then pour me a drink. But don't think for a second that you're off the hook."

Leyla forced a small, obedient nod, slipping from his lap the moment his grip loosened—her heart pounding as she took slow, deliberate steps toward the drink tray.

She had to be careful. One wrong move, and she'd never leave this room.