The next morning in Italy, sunlight streamed into the grand mansion. Ozan was in the study, seated behind a large mahogany desk, reviewing business reports, his expression cold and focused.
Meanwhile, Leyla wandered through the marble hallways, her long legs moving with lazy confidence. She wore a black crop top that hugged her curves and beige cargos, her waist cinched perfectly. Her high ponytail swayed behind her, unknowingly triggering the very weakness she had discovered in Ozan.
Guards stationed around the mansion couldn't help but glance at her. Some quickly looked away—others were bolder.
One of them, a younger one, stepped forward, pretending to adjust something near a column as he approached.
"Ma'am," he said, trying to sound casual, "Do you need help exploring? This place can be a maze."
Leyla turned slowly, one brow lifted, the ghost of a smile on her lips—but before she could reply—
A deep voice growled from behind.
"Back off."
Ozan stood in the doorway, expression unreadable, but his eyes burned. The tension in the air was sharp as knives. The guard froze. Leyla, internally smirking, just tilted her head in mock innocence.