Get ready, little bird;

Get ready, little bird;
The first light of dawn slipped through the curtains, spilling into the room. Thin beams of sunlight trembled across Arzu’s face, waking her from a restless night. As her eyes opened, a dry knot lodged in her throat, and her heartbeat had yet to slow its frantic rhythm. In her head, deep within her ears, that voice still echoed.
Ateş’s menacing, almost demonic timbre remained alive: “Get ready, little bird.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs trembled, though she refused to admit it to herself. When her bare feet touched the cold marble floor, a shiver spread through her entire body. She inhaled deeply and walked to the mirror. The woman staring back at her was still afraid, but this time she did not hide it. She was no longer trying to suppress or deny it. Instead, she was determined to turn it into a weapon. Because from this day on, she would no longer live merely for Mert she would claim her own future, too.

She opened the wardrobe and reached into the drawer of lingerie. Her fingers brushed past the ordinary, everyday cotton pieces. She pushed them aside. At the very bottom lay the set she had hidden away. She found it: a delicate ensemble of black lace, held together with the thinnest straps. It would glide against her skin, making her look both vulnerable and dangerously powerful. The fabric slipped like water through her fingers, and her breath caught. Putting this on was not just a matter of attire; it was a declaration, a challenge. When the lace kissed her skin, she shivered yet confidence flooded her veins. It clung to her like a second skin, concealing nothing, but instead accentuating everything.

Next came the dress. By the rules of the game, most red-masked women chose silver or gray tones. But Arzu’s choice tonight was far more daring. She reached for the crimson silk gown hanging in her wardrobe one shoulder bared, the fabric sleek and liquid in her hands. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself on stage for a fleeting moment. When the silk slid down her body, only one thought pulsed through her mind: “Tonight, I am not just a player. I am the author of my fate.”

The gown plunged low, open all the way to her waist at the back. She twirled once before the mirror. With each movement, the silk rippled around her legs and hips, weighing down her steps, making them slower, more deliberate, more enticing. Lace details shimmered when they caught the light, gifting her an air that was at once regal and dangerously seductive.

Her hand reached for a small box. Inside lay her mother’s necklace: Ottoman silver with a blood-red ruby at its center. She knew its history passed down from her grandfather to her mother, and now to her. It was not merely an ornament but an heirloom, a vessel of memory. When the cool metal touched her collarbone, a wave of serenity coursed through her. It was as if her mother whispered to her, “Stand tall.”

Her makeup was applied with meticulous precision. Smokey eyes added shadows, deepening her gaze and sharpening her resolve. Dark rouge coated her lips, turning them ripe, full, and dangerous. She gathered her hair up, leaving only a few loose curls to tumble by her ears. Even that single detail lent her otherwise severe look an unexpected softness.

Finally, she took the mask into her hands. Velvet-textured, red, covering the upper half of her face it was no mere decoration. It transformed her, birthing another identity altogether. When she slipped it on, Arzu ceased to be an ordinary lawyer. She was now a red-masked player, a force to be reckoned with inside this dark game. She stared at her own eyes in the mirror. Behind them, yes, there was fear… but also hunger, defiance, and fire.

By evening, the taxi pulled up in front of the club. From behind the glass, she studied the entrance. Security guards stood like sentinels, shadows of crimson light spilled across the pavement, and faint music seeped from within. It was a stage waiting for her entrance. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She bit her lower lip, whispering to herself: “Be strong. He is no longer your innocent Ateş. And you… you are no longer the abandoned little Arzu.”

The moment she stepped inside, the routine consumed her. Her phone, her ID, her wallet collected. Her body searched from head to toe. Once more, the ritual severed all ties with the outside world. She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. The moment carried with it a suffocating weight, but also a reminder of the price of freedom.

When the elevator doors opened, her breath hitched. The atmosphere eclipsed that of her first visit more lavish, more dangerous, more dazzling. Crimson light seeped down the walls, mingling with chandeliers that dripped with crystal. The music was heavier, more deliberate, like a heartbeat pounding through the room. Dozens of gazes swung to her instantly. For a split second, she felt crushed beneath their weight.

The ground floor belonged entirely to the red-masked players. Walking among them, Arzu realized that though they were all part of the same game, each followed a different strategy. Some roared with laughter, reveling in excess. Others whispered conspiracies in corners, forging temporary alliances. The elevators leading upward would only open by invitation from the men above. To ascend, one had to catch the eye of someone powerful.

She reminded herself of her task. Tonight’s target was Baron Erdem. Aristocratic by bloodline, with a reputation polished by high society. Outwardly harmless, inwardly calculating, a man searching for a wife deemed worthy. Winning his attention meant a ticket upstairs.

She spotted him almost immediately. Tall, chin lifted, smugness curling on his lips. He gestured broadly with a glass in hand, his laughter booming through the air. A small circle of admirers clung to his every word.

Arzu’s steps carried her forward. Fear still lived inside her, but she no longer sought to hide it. Tonight she would wield it as a weapon, twisting it into allure. As she neared Baron’s group, she curved her lips into a graceful smile. Then she dipped her head slightly, her eyes glinting behind the mask.

She offered him a polite greeting.
And with that, the game had truly begun.