A dangerous flight to Italy

The Next Morning

Leyla woke up feeling exhausted, her body still heavy from the stress of the past few days. As soon as she opened her eyes, she found Ozan standing near the wardrobe, his arms crossed, watching her intently.

"Get up," he ordered.

Leyla frowned. "What?"

Ozan stepped closer, his voice firm yet calm. "Pack your bags. We're leaving for Italy."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean we? You're going. Not me."

Ozan smirked. "Oh, but you are coming with me, karıcığım (my wife). You're my bride. Did you really think I'd leave you behind?"

Leyla sat up abruptly. "I never agreed to this! You made decisions on your own, as always!"

Ozan leaned down, placing both hands on the bed, trapping her between his arms. His voice was low but held a dangerous edge.

"You belong to me, Leyla. And where I go, you go."

She clenched her fists, her anger boiling inside her. "I hate you," she spat.

Ozan only chuckled, brushing a stray hair from her face. "Pack your bags, aşkım (my love). We leave tonight."