A Warning Written in Blood

Some men make threats. Emir makes examples.

Private Lounge – Midnight

Selim didn't know what hit him—one moment he was sipping his drink, the next, he was slammed against the wall, a knife pressed to his throat.

The room was dark, the air thick with danger. And at the center of it all stood Emir.

Dark green eyes, burning with something far worse than anger—pure, undiluted wrath.

Selim smirked, ignoring the sharp bite of steel against his skin. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Emir."

Wrong move.

In an instant, Emir's grip tightened. The blade pressed harder, drawing the first drop of blood.

"Jealousy?" Emir murmured, his voice dangerously calm. "You think this is jealousy?"

Selim swallowed, but his smirk remained. "What else would it be?"

Emir leaned in, his breath hot against Selim's ear. "This is me deciding whether I let you leave with your tongue intact."

A slow pause. The weight of the threat settled between them.

Selim chuckled, though there was a hint of caution now. "You don't scare me."

Emir's smirk widened. "Then you're even more of a fool than I thought."

Meanwhile – Beren's Penthouse

Beren was sipping her tea when her phone buzzed.

A message. Unknown number.

📩 "You should keep your men on a leash. It would be a shame if Selim lost a limb tonight."

Her fingers tightened around the cup.

"Devil."

Of course, it was him.

She smirked, typing back.

📩 "Don't kill him. I hate cleaning up your messes."

Seconds later, another reply.

📩 "No promises, Butterfly."

Beren exhaled. Selim had no idea what kind of monster he had provoked.

Back at the Lounge…

Emir finally released Selim—but not before leaving a deep cut along his jaw.

A warning. A signature.

Selim wiped the blood with the back of his hand, his smirk returning. "You can mark me all you want, Emir. It won't change anything."

Emir chuckled darkly. "Oh, it changes everything."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Because now? You're a dead man walking."