Chapter 9

Who did this to you?

Yerenica's POV

It had been a week.

Seven days in this suffocating mansion, where the air smelled of expensive cologne and quiet, unspoken rules. Seven days of empty hallways, of whispering maids who looked at me like I was something other.

I wasn't sure what I had expected when I first arrived. A cold indifference, maybe. The Demir brothers were powerful, untouchable, what did they care about a girl like me? They had left on a business trip hours after I last saw Rezan, disappearing like ghosts, their presence lingering only in the sharp dressed men patrolling the estate.

But the real danger wasn't in their absence.

It was in the ones they left behind.

In him.

Reed.

His presence had been a quiet, creeping thing at first. A glance held too long. A smirk when no one was looking. A way of standing in my path, like he was waiting for something.

Perverted asshole.

The laundry basket was heavy in my arms as I walked down the empty hallway. My feet ached from hours of standing, my hands raw from scrubbing floors. All I wanted was to finish this task and disappear into the quiet corners of the mansion.

But then—

A shadow shifted ahead.

I stopped.

He wasn't particularly large, not compared to the other guards. But there was something in the way he carried himself that unsettled me. The lazy grin stretching across his face, the way his eyes dragged over me like I was something he had already claimed.

"Where are you off to, sweetheart?" His voice was slow, gravelly, savoring the words.

My stomach churned.

I shifted the basket, keeping my gaze down. "Excuse me."

I stepped right. He mirrored me.

I stepped left. He did the same.

Cold sweat prickled down my spine.

His grin widened. "Come on. No need to be rude."

I swallowed hard, fingers digging into the fabric of the laundry. If I stayed silent, if I didn't react, maybe he would get bored. Maybe he would leave.

Then his hand shot out.

Fingers like iron wrapping around my wrist, yanking me back a step.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

"You think you're smart?" His grip tightened, his voice lowering to something darker. "Think you can just walk past me like I don't exist?"

My lungs locked.

I wasn't in the mansion anymore.

I was back there.

In that cold orphanage, where shadows stretched long in the halls, where men whispered things I didn't understand, and the girls who fought back always lost.

"You're nothing but a filthy slut." He sneered.

The words cracked through me like a whip, burned into my skin, into my bones.

I ripped my wrist free and stumbled back, my breath coming fast and shallow.

Reed only chuckled. A lazy, knowing sound.

"That's a good girl," he murmured. And just like that, he turned and walked away.

I stayed frozen for a moment. Fought hard to not crumble.

My knees buckled.

The laundry basket slipped from my arms, cloth spilling over the marble floor. I sank against the cold wall, wrapping my arms around myself, curling in as tightly as I could.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless. My breath hitched, chest caving in on itself.

"You're nothing but a filthy slut."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I hated this. The way my body refused to listen, the way fear ate at my insides like a sickness I could never get rid of.

No one was coming.

No one ever did.

please make it stop

Zyran's POV

The quiet, broken sound of crying made me pause.

I should've ignored it.

I almost did.

We had just returned from Antalya after wrapping up a week-long deal one of those high-stakes, no-room-for-error kind of agreements. The kind that kept our empire running. But there was no time to waste. While my brothers scattered to unwind, I headed straight for my office. Business didn't wait, and neither did I.

This house had seen its share of broken things. I had no business stopping for another one.

And yet

My feet carried me toward the sound before my mind had caught up.

Then I saw her.

Curled up against the wall, shaking, her face buried in her knees, her tiny frame folded in on itself like she was trying to disappear.

Something dark twisted in my chest.

I forced it down.

This wasn't my problem.

I should've sent her to the orphanage when I had the chance. The moment we left that godforsaken club, I should have washed my hands of her, locked away whatever misplaced instinct had made me take her in the first place.

But I hadn't.

And now, I found myself standing here, staring at a girl who looked like she was crumbling, and for some goddamn reason, I couldn't make myself walk away.

A muscle in my jaw ticked.

I crouched down, reaching out without thinking. My fingers barely brushed her shoulder when flinched so violently it was like I had struck her.

My gut twisted.

Slowly, she lifted her head, and the moment our eyes met, something inside me lurched.

Tears clung to her lashes, her hazel eyes swollen and red-rimmed, too big for her face, too damn innocent for this world. She looked raw, like an open wound, like someone had reached inside her chest and torn something out. Something sharp lodged itself in my throat.

I forced my voice to be softer than I thought I was capable of.

"What happened?"

She blinked, startled, her lips parting but no sound came out.

I watched her struggle for words, watched her fingers dig into her arms like she was trying to hold herself together. Like if she let go, she'd shatter right in front of me.

Then

"H...he..."

Her voice broke.

A cold, lethal rage coiled inside me.

The air felt heavier. My vision sharpened.

Whoever he was, he was dead.

I saw the way her body tensed, the way her breathing stuttered when she saw the fury in my expression. I reeled it in. Just barely.

"Yerenica," I said, voice even, controlled. "Tell me what happened."

She hesitated, then, slowly, lifted her wrist.

Bruised.

Faint, but visible.

That rage in my chest turned violent.

Her bottom lip trembled. "H-he grabbed my wrist... and he... he wouldn't let go."

I exhaled through my nose, forcing my hands to unclench before I did something irreversible.

I should've sent her to the orphanage.

I should've never gotten involved.

But I was.

And now, looking at her, bruised and crying, there was no undoing it.

I reached forward. Gently. My fingers barely skimmed her wrist, tracing over the mark.

She flinched but she didn't pull away.

Her breathing hitched. She was still crying.

And for some inexplicable, infuriating reason—

It hurt.

I shut my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. Then I stood, my voice low, steady.

"Get up."

She blinked up at me.

I extended my hand. "Come with me."

She hesitated.

"To my office," I clarified.

Because I needed a name.

And when I got it, i was going to make sure he never touched anything again.

Thoughts?

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