Revenge;

Revenge;
Işıl’s heart was shattered with rage. Her legs trembled as she fled the Red Room not from fear, but from vengeance. Ateş Yamanoğlu had rejected her. He had thrown her against a wall, gripped her throat, discarded her like nothing. The last pawn she had trusted had slipped through her fingers.

She stood in the corridor, curling her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms. Pain did not calm her. Nothing could calm her anymore. Everything she had planned for years, every calculation, every step… how had it come to this?

It had all vanished in an instant. A dangerous light flashed in her eyes. Her lips moved slightly; something buzzed inside her. Dark, poisonous, irreversible things.

“Arzu…” she whispered; the name slipped from her lips like venom. Her heels struck the stone as she walked through the dim corridor, each step a vow. “That wretched, fallen woman… How did she take everything from me?”

Her breathing grew heavier. Her fists trembled. She felt cornered , yes. But cornered snakes were the deadliest. And Işıl had never contemplated losing in this game. She could not accept defeat. Her pride, her ambition, the burning hunger that had grown from childhood humiliations ,all of it made her more dangerous.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice hoarse and sharp. “If Ateş doesn’t want me… then no one will have him. No one. I will not allow you to be queen, nor will I permit you to stand above me.”

Plans began to form in her mind , dark, ruthless, irrevocable. She had nothing left to lose. That made her more dangerous still.

Hours later, when Arzu slowly opened her eyes, a throbbing pain hammered through her head. The ache ran from her temple to the crown of her skull as if a hammer had struck inside her. The ceiling was unfamiliar: wooden beams, an old lamp, damp stains on the walls. A faint mildew scent hung in the air, mixed with the warm, natural smell of wood. Where was this place? she murmured.

When she tried to sit up too quickly, dizziness hit her. Nausea followed. She pressed her hands to her face and forced herself to breathe. Her chest felt tight; her heart pounded. Her fingertips were cold. Memories returned in fragments, foggy, jagged, frightening.

The Red Room… waiting for Ateş… footsteps in the dark… someone entering… but the scent was wrong. It was foreign. It was not Ateş’s smell.

She had struggled pushed with her hands… tried to scream but no sound came out…

“No, no, this can’t be,” she rasped, her throat dry as dust. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but her knees buckled. Pressing herself against the wall to steady her balance, she felt her hands tremble; breathing was difficult.

She looked around. The small room was rustic and simple, yet clean. A wooden bed with cotton white sheets. A small window with heavy curtains. The light that came through was pale, as if the sun were hidden behind clouds. When she eased the curtain aside and peered out, her heart lurched. Thick trees , pines , rocks and a steep slope were visible. A mountain cabin? Wherever it was, it was far from the city. Far from anyone who could help her.

Her heart raced wildly. Her chest tightened and she felt as if she could not breathe.

“Mert!” she cried out. Her voice cracked; her throat burned. “My God, my son…”

Panic constricted her. Mert was alone. Natya was with him, but would that be enough? What if Işıl did something? What if that woman harmed Mert? What if they used her son to pressure her? Thoughts ran out of control; dark scenarios lined up one after another in her mind.

She covered her face with her hands and took deep breaths. She had to calm down. She had to control the panic. She must act rationally. She had to be strong for Mert. She must reach Ateş, protect her son. Or perhaps Yaman, since I didn’t return, went to Mert , he wouldn’t have left him alone, would he? she tried to reassure herself, but her thoughts chased one another.

The door opened quietly. Arzu flinched and pressed herself into a corner of the room, fists clenched, body tensed.

A gentle-looking woman entered. Middle-aged, a lined face, a white headscarf, a sad but courteous expression. She carried a tray with a glass of water, a plate of food, and neatly folded clothes. The woman moved in silently and seemed reluctant to look at Arzu, keeping her eyes lowered.

“Ms. Arzu,” she said in a soft, tremulous voice, as if afraid to speak. “I’m so glad you’re awake.” She placed the tray gently on a small wooden table; the sound of the glass was crisp in the stillness. “I left clean clothes and something to eat for you. When you’ve gathered yourself, you may come downstairs.” She paused and swallowed. “Mr. Bora is waiting for you.”

Arzu froze. The woman’s words echoed in her mind but meant nothing at first. Then the name anchored itself.

“Bora?” she whispered, voice hoarse, bewildered.

The woman bowed her head silently and left the room without another word. Her footsteps receded. Arzu noticed the door was closed but not locked.

Her hands clenched into fists. Bora. The name didn’t even sound familiar. Who was this man, and why would he have taken her? she muttered. Her mind was foggy; the effects of the chloroform had not fully faded.

Then she remembered the Red Room, and realized the man who had approached her was not Ateş ,she recalled the scent that had come from that stranger. That unfamiliar, sharp, oddly familiar scent… could it belong to this man?

Anger and fear tangled inside her. Her chest rose and fell. She took a deep breath, then another. Panic was useless. She had to compose herself. She had to be strong. She had to act cleverly.

She glanced at the clean clothes , a plain beige dress, simple yet elegant. She didn’t even look at the food the woman had left. Her stomach turned. Thoughts of Mert made her frantic. She could not afford to waste time. Every second counted.

Resolute, she walked to the door, opened it quietly, and began to descend the stairs. Each step creaked, but she moved slowly and deliberately.

Downstairs, a broad salon greeted her. Wooden furnishings, an old fireplace crackling warmly. Shotguns hung on the wall. Rustic yet luxurious. The rugs looked fine; the furniture seemed antique. Was this a smugglers’ den, or the hideaway of a wealthy man?

There, leaning by the hearth with a crystal tumbler of whiskey in hand, he stood.

Bora.

A handsome face, a sharp jawline, dark brown eyes, a well-formed nose, a cold smile on his lips. His eyes were fixed on the fire, lost in thought. The smile was not sincere. Beneath it, Arzu sensed a reservoir of resentment and pain.

She stopped, fists clenched. Her heart hammered. “Who are you?” she asked, voice wavering but firm.

Bora tipped his head slightly; his smile deepened. He lifted the glass slowly, glanced at the whiskey, then turned to her. “Hello, little bird. Do you remember me?”

Arzu stepped forward. His eyes looked vaguely familiar, but most of all she remembered the smell, he was the polite man who had helped her in the elevator.

Now her anger flared higher; her eyes sparked like flames. Had she been lured into a trap? Her fear lay hidden beneath her rage. “Did you do this on purpose?” she snapped, voice rising, the trembling in it subsiding. “Was your approach, your help getting me upstairs all part of a game?”

Bora took a leisurely sip of his whiskey, completely unhurried. The liquor slid down his throat. “No,” he said softly, almost amusement in his tone. “I didn’t know you. I had no idea you were Ateş’s woman.” He paused; sparks glinted in his eyes. “I was informed about that by Işıl.”