Chapter 2

POV DEFNE

The ride to his penthouse happened in complete silence.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind people in love shared after long days and longer conversations. This silence felt expensive, deliberate, almost suffocating. It filled every corner of the car along with the faint scent of leather and Adem’s cologne, something dark and clean that lingered in the back of my throat every time I breathed.

I sat rigidly beside him, my hands clasped tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking. Istanbul blurred outside the tinted windows in streaks of gold and rain, but I barely saw any of it. My mind was still trapped in that parking garage, replaying the moment he said he would buy my debt as casually as another man might order coffee.

Fifty million lira.

People did not save women over debts like that.

Men like Adem Sahenk certainly did not.

I glanced at him carefully.

He was reading emails on his phone as if tonight had been ordinary. As if he had not just altered the course of my entire life with a few cold sentences. The city lights slid across the sharp line of his jaw, illuminating the faint shadow of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He looked exactly the same as he did every morning in the office: immaculate, controlled, untouchable.

That somehow unsettled me more.

“Why?” I asked quietly.

His thumb paused against the screen for half a second before continuing.

“Why what?”

“You know what.”

He finally lowered the phone and looked at me.

People often described powerful men as intimidating, but that word had never fully captured what Adem was. Intimidation implied noise. Anger. Force. Adem did not need any of those things. He had the kind of presence that made you aware of yourself in humiliating detail, every nervous movement and every shallow breath.

“You’re valuable to my company,” he said.

I almost laughed.

It escaped softer than intended, bitter enough that his gaze sharpened slightly.

“You don’t spend fifty million lira on an accountant.”

“No,” he agreed calmly. “I don’t.”

The honesty of that answer sent unease curling through my stomach.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, blurring the Bosphorus lights into liquid gold. The driver remained silent behind the divider, invisible enough to feel unreal. Everything about this night felt unreal.

“What happens now?” I asked.

Adem studied me for a moment before speaking.

“That depends on whether you prefer desperation or honesty.”

I frowned slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice remained even. “You’re trying very hard not to ask what I want in return.”

Heat climbed slowly up my neck.

Because he was right.

Of course there was a price.

Men like Adem did not believe in charity. Men like him built entire empires on calculated exchanges. Even kindness from someone that powerful came with contracts hidden beneath the surface.

The problem was that part of me already knew the answer before he said it.

The car finally slowed in front of a private residential tower overlooking the water. Two security guards opened the entrance doors immediately the moment they saw the vehicle. No waiting. No hesitation. The world bent itself around men like Adem Sahenk.

I followed him inside on unsteady legs.

The lobby alone was larger than my entire apartment building. Black marble floors reflected warm golden lights overhead, and somewhere in the distance soft piano music drifted through the air. Everything smelled faintly of money and polished wood.

I suddenly became painfully aware of the bruise darkening my wrist.

Of the split in my lip.

Of my ruined blouse.

I looked like a stain inside his world.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Glass walls overlooked the city skyline, rain sliding down the windows in silver streams. The space was enormous but strangely cold, decorated in dark colors and sharp edges that felt more architectural than personal. Nothing about it looked lived in. It felt like the home of a man who spent very little time sleeping and even less time feeling.

Adem loosened his tie as he walked toward the kitchen bar.

“Sit.”

It was not a suggestion.

I sat anyway.

My knees felt weak enough that arguing seemed pointless.

He poured himself a drink, then glanced at me. “Whiskey?”

“No.”

Without another word, he handed me water instead.

I accepted it carefully, trying not to notice how absurdly expensive the glass probably was. My entire monthly salary might not cover one chair in this apartment.

Adem remained standing across from me, one hand resting against the counter while he watched me drink.

That was the thing about him.

He watched quietly.

Not like other men who stared openly, greedily. Adem observed people the way predators observed movement, with patience sharp enough to make you nervous.

“You should disinfect your lip,” he said eventually.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s bleeding again.”

I touched my mouth instinctively and winced.

Before I could react, Adem crossed the space between us.

My pulse stumbled.

He crouched slightly in front of me, close enough that I could smell whiskey beneath his cologne now, and reached for my chin with slow, controlled movements that somehow felt more dangerous than sudden ones.

“You flinch before people touch you,” he said softly.

It was not a question.

I hated how quickly humiliation flooded my chest.

“I’m tired.”

His fingers tilted my face toward the light. His touch was firm but careful, and that made it worse somehow. Cruel men hurting you was easy to understand. Gentle restraint from a man like Adem felt infinitely more threatening.

“Did he hit you often?”

“No.”

The lie came automatically.

His thumb brushed lightly beneath my lip, wiping away the blood there. My breath caught before I could stop it.

Dark eyes lifted to mine immediately.

The air changed.

Not dramatically. Quietly.

A shift so subtle another person might have missed it entirely.

But I felt it.

Something dangerous flickered across his expression before disappearing again beneath that terrifying self-control.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard.

“Yes.”

For the first time that night, Adem smiled.

It was small.

Beautiful.

And deeply unsettling.

“Good,” he said quietly. “That will make this much easier for both of us.”