AILE

As a psychologist, Zehra knew what panic looked like: the shallow breathing, the racing pulse, the sudden inability to think beyond the immediate threat. She knew how to recognize it in other people. She had never expected to experience it herself. Not like this. Not because of him.

The first time she saw blood on Tarık's hands, she didn't scream. She simply stopped.

The hallway was silent. Too silent. The Karahan estate had always been like that at night—beautiful, enormous, and strangely watchful. Tonight, the silence felt different.

Tarık stood beneath the dim hallway light, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his white shirt stained red.

Zehra stared at him, then at his hands, then back at his face.

“Tarık.”

He looked at her. For a moment, neither of them moved.

She had seen that face before—the hard jaw, the unreadable eyes, the terrible stillness. But never like this. This wasn't the man who teased her over her terrible coffee, or reached for her in his sleep, or kissed her forehead before leaving for work because he knew she would pretend not to care. This was someone she didn't know. And that frightened her more than the blood.

“What happened?”

His eyes dropped. “Go home.”

Her heart tightened. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Zehra.”

“No.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something in his expression broke. Not anger. Not guilt. Fear.

“Please.”

She had heard Tarık angry. She had heard him arrogant. She had heard him whisper her name against her skin. She had never heard him say please like that.

She took one step toward him, and he immediately stepped back. That hurt more than it should have.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then whose blood is it?”

He said nothing.

“Tarık.”

“Don't ask me that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to lie to you again.”

Her breath caught on the word. Again.

“You've lied to me?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.” The word was quiet, absolute.

Zehra felt something inside her shift. “How long?”

He didn't answer.

“About what?”

Still nothing. She stared at the man she loved, trying desperately to reconcile him with the stranger standing in front of her.

Then she noticed something: his hands were shaking. Barely, but they were. And suddenly the blood wasn't what frightened her most. It was the terrifying possibility that whatever had happened tonight had finally pushed Tarık somewhere even he couldn't come back from.

She whispered, “Who are you?”

His eyes met hers. For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then: “Someone I promised you I'd never become.”

And that was the moment Zehra understood. She hadn't fallen in love with a man untouched by darkness. She had fallen in love with a man who had spent his entire life standing at its edge.

And she had no idea how close he was to falling.