Chapter 1: Midnight Knock
The wedding had been a spectacle of opulence, a glittering cage of white roses and champagne flutes that trapped Yağmur in a haze of unspoken longing. Kenan, her best friend since they were reckless teenagers sneaking into abandoned buildings, had just married someone else. She’d smiled through the ceremony, her heart a clenched fist in her chest, as she watched him pledge his life to another. Now, hours later, the laughter and music had faded, and Yağmur sat alone in her dimly lit apartment, a glass of wine trembling in her hand.
'He’s gone,' she muttered to herself, her voice sharp as a blade. 'Married. Done. And here I am, the idiot who never spoke up.' She laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the bare walls. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, a wild contrast to the sleek emerald dress she hadn’t bothered to change out of. The fabric clung to her curves, a cruel reminder of the heat she’d felt every time Kenan’s gaze lingered on her during the night.
She took another sip, the wine burning down her throat, when a sudden, insistent knock shattered the silence. Her brow furrowed. 'Who the hell—?' she growled, setting the glass down with a clink. She strode to the door, her heels clicking with purpose, and yanked it open.
Kenan stood there, still in his tailored tuxedo, the bow tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. His dark eyes were stormy, conflicted, and his jaw was set in a way that made her stomach flip. 'Yağmur,' he said, his voice low, rough, like he’d been arguing with himself for hours.
'What are you doing here?' she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, her tone dripping with defiance. 'Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon, playing the perfect husband?'
He flinched, but didn’t look away. 'I couldn’t leave. Not without… not without seeing you.' He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—woodsy, intoxicating—hitting her like a punch. 'I saw the way you looked at me tonight. Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it too.'
Her laugh was sharp, cutting. 'Feel what, Kenan? Your ego inflating? I’m not some damsel pining for scraps. I’m fine.' But her voice cracked on the last word, betraying her.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm, and the contact sent a jolt through her. 'You’re not fine. And neither am I.' His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, dark and hungry. 'Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want me here.'
Yağmur’s breath hitched, her resolve wavering as heat pooled low in her belly. She should push him away, slam the door, protect herself from the inevitable heartbreak. But instead, she stepped closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. 'You’re an idiot if you think I’ll make this easy for you.'
His smirk was pure sin. 'I don’t want easy. I want you.'
Before she could fire back, his hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him. Her body betrayed her, molding to his as if it had been waiting for this moment for years. His lips crashed into hers, desperate and searing, and she kissed him back with equal ferocity, her fingers tangling in his hair. The taste of him—whiskey and regret—ignited something primal in her. She wasn’t surrendering; she was claiming.
They stumbled into her apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. Her back hit the wall, and his hands roamed her body, igniting every nerve. 'God, Yağmur,' he groaned against her neck, his breath hot. 'I’ve wanted this for so long.'
'Shut up,' she hissed, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched into him. 'Don’t talk. Just…' Her words dissolved into a gasp as his hand slid under her dress, finding the heat between her thighs. She was already wet, dripping with need, and the realization made her curse under her breath.
This was wrong. So wrong. But as his fingers teased her, as her body trembled with a hunger she couldn’t deny, Yağmur knew there was no turning back. Tonight, she’d take what she’d always wanted—even if it burned them both to ash.
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