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

Leyla knew she had no other option. If she resisted too much, Ozan might sober up just enough to start questioning things. And if he figured out who she really was… she was dead.

Her body went still beneath him, her breath uneven as his lips trailed along her neck, sucking, biting, branding. His grip on her waist was firm, possessive, his fingers pressing into her skin as if claiming her.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm. Just a little longer.

Ozan's movements were getting lazier, heavier. The alcohol was kicking in faster now. His breath was warm and uneven against her collarbone as he mumbled something incomprehensible. His grip loosened just slightly, and Leyla knew—just a few more minutes.

She tilted her head slightly, letting him think she was melting into his touch, that she was submitting. Ozan smirked against her skin, clearly pleased, his hand trailing down to her thigh, gripping it roughly.

His head dipped lower, resting against the crook of her neck. His breaths deepened, became slower.

Then, finally—his body went limp.

Leyla exhaled sharply, carefully maneuvering out from under him. She stood up, adjusting her dress, her pulse still racing.

Without another glance at him, she grabbed the empty drink glass from the table—the same drink she had handed him—and smirked slightly.

"Sweet dreams, Ozan," she whispered, before slipping out of the room, leaving him unconscious.

Leyla rushed out of Ozan's room, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. She made her way to the kitchen, carefully placing the empty glass back on the counter, making sure everything looked normal. No one should suspect anything.

She exhaled deeply before slipping out, walking swiftly yet calmly toward store room. The second she locked the door behind her, her entire body tensed.

Dark bruises—his marks—stained her neck and collarbone. Some were deep red, others already turning purple. The evidence of his touch was all over her skin.

Her fingers hovered over them, but she didn't dare touch.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

She was here for a mission, for revenge—not to become Ozan's obsession, not to let him get this close.

He thought she was just a maid.

Because if he ever found out the truth… she wouldn't just be marked.

Marking as mine?