Chapter 1: Midnight Knock
The wedding had been a whirlwind of forced smiles and polite nods, a delicate dance of pretending everything was fine between Yağmur and Kenan. Now, as the night wound down, Yağmur sat alone in her hotel room, the faint hum of the air conditioner her only company. She sipped a glass of wine, her sharp mind replaying the evening’s awkward exchanges. Divorced for two years, yet Kenan’s presence still stirred something in her—something she refused to name.
A sudden, sharp knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. She set the glass down, her brow furrowing. It was past midnight. Who the hell—?
She opened the door to a sight that made her lips curl into a smirk. Kenan, clearly drunk, swayed on his feet, his tie loosened and shirt half-untucked. Supporting him were Arda and Can, their faces a mix of amusement and exasperation.
“Well, well,” Yağmur drawled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “If it isn’t the walking disaster. What’s this, boys? A late-night delivery of bad decisions?”
Arda chuckled, adjusting his grip on Kenan’s arm. “He had one too many shots. Kept mumbling your name, so we figured you’re the only one who can handle this mess.”
“Oh, I’m flattered,” Yağmur shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “What am I, his babysitter now? Dump him in his own room and let him sleep it off.”
Kenan’s bleary eyes focused on her, a sloppy grin spreading across his face. “Yağmur… damn, you look good. Always did. That dress—fuck, it’s killing me.”
She rolled her eyes, but a flicker of heat danced in her chest. The black satin dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and she knew it. “Save the drunk compliments, Kenan. You’re not charming your way into anything tonight.”
Can raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure? He’s been a pain in the ass all night. Maybe you two need to… hash things out.”
“Hash things out?” Yağmur laughed, sharp and biting. “What, you think I’m gonna play therapist to this idiot? Or something else?” Her gaze flicked to Kenan, who was still staring at her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
“C’mon, babe,” Kenan slurred, taking a shaky step forward. “One night. For old times’ sake. You remember how good we were…”
Her smirk faltered for a split second, memories of their past flashing hot and vivid—sweaty nights, tangled sheets, the way his hands knew every inch of her. But she steeled herself, stepping closer, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t ‘babe’ me, Kenan. You lost that privilege. And if you think I’m some nostalgic pushover, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Arda and Can exchanged a look, sensing the crackling tension. “Alright, we’re out,” Arda said, clapping Kenan on the back. “Don’t kill each other. Or… do whatever you’re gonna do.” They retreated down the hall, leaving Kenan leaning against the doorframe, his gaze locked on her.
Yağmur didn’t move, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t slam this door in your face.”
He grinned, a wicked edge to it despite the alcohol. “Because you’re curious. Because you’re still as horny for me as I am for you. I can see it, Yağmur. That fire in your eyes—it’s still there.”
Her breath hitched, but she masked it with a scoff. “You’re delusional. And drunk. Get out.”
But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and his familiar cologne hitting her like a punch. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Tell me you don’t want to rip this shirt off me right now.”
Her pulse raced, heat pooling low in her belly. She hated how right he was, how her body betrayed her with a rush of wet heat between her thighs. But she wasn’t about to let him win. Not yet. “You think you’ve still got it, huh?” she taunted, her voice a purr as she grabbed his collar, pulling him inside. “Prove it, then. Show me you’re not just all talk.”
The door slammed shut behind them, and the air thickened with unspoken promises. Their banter had always been foreplay, sharp words cutting through the tension until it snapped. She shoved him against the wall, her hands firm, her eyes blazing. His cock was already hard—she could feel it through his pants as she pressed against him, and a smirk curled her lips. “Looks like you’re ready to lose this game, Kenan.”
“Fuck, Yağmur,” he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. “I’ve been hard for you all night. Let me taste that pussy again. I’m begging.”
Her laugh was low, dangerous. “Begging already? Pathetic. You’ll have to work for it.” She pushed him toward the bed, her control absolute, her body thrumming with need. Their clothes were a barrier she was ready to tear through, her skin already sweating with anticipation, her breath panting as she straddled him. This wasn’t surrender—it was war, and she was going to win.
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