Chapter 22

'will you still love me if i was no longer beautiful and young'

Yerenica Demir

Yerenica stood before the mirror, her hazel eyes tracing the soft fabric draped over her frame. The sundress was beautiful, a delicate white with florals scattered like pressed petals across the fabric. It skimmed just past her knees, its thin straps resting against her shoulders, the sweetheart neckline baring the fragile stretch of her collarbones. She lifted a hand to smooth the fabric, the sensation both foreign and comforting, like a lover's whisper against her skin.

She had never worn something so lovely before.

Her fingers ghosted over the dress, a hesitant smile twitching at the corners of her lips. This morning, she had woken to the sound of wheels rolling across the floor, only to find a clothing rack being brought into her room. The maid had spoken softly, barely above a breath, as she informed her that Zyran had ordered new clothes for her.

Zyran.

As last night flashed her mind thie name lodged itself in her throat like a stone. She swallowed around it, around the weight of it. It was easier to pretend he was a force of nature, ruthless, unyielding, rather than someone who placed silken things in her hands and told her she deserved them. Why would he do this? What was kindness to a man who reeked of blood and cigarette smoke?

Her gaze lifted again, but whatever admiration she had been on the cusp of embracing shattered the moment she saw it,

The deep purple bruising on her right cheek.

The smile disappeared, sinking back into the abyss of all the things she had lost. She tilted her head slightly, as if viewing herself from a different angle might lessen the cruelty of her reflection. But the bruises did not shift, did not blur like an oil painting left too long in the rain. They remained, stark and unrelenting.

Her collarbone bore more of them, faint remnants of pain etched into her skin like a signature. Her arms, too decorated in muted violets and fading crimsons, each one a whisper of her fragility, a cruel reminder that she was made of paper, and the world had no shortage of flames.

She no longer felt beautiful.

The dress, the way it hugged her softly, how it had made her feel just moments ago, it all became insignificant under the weight of those bruises. She rubbed at her arms, as if she could scrub them away, as if she could erase herself and redraw something less breakable in her place. But the discoloration remained, stubborn and cruel.

A knock at the door startled her. She turned just as Dehrin stepped inside, his usual air of reckless confidence tempered into something careful.

"I'm here to take you down for breakfast baby," he announced, voice light, though she caught the restraint in his tone.

Her stomach twisted. Breakfast? With them?

Her mind raced. They must want her to return to her duties. She didn't know how to cook, what if she failed? What if she angered them? But when she met Dehrin's gaze, there was no demand, no cold expectation. Just... patience. He smiled softly at her and all the negative thoughts flew away.

Still, she nodded, fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress.

He took a step closer, careful, deliberate. His gaze flickered to the bed where the bunny he had given her sat, neatly tucked in, its ears flopped over like it, too, had been put to sleep. His lips twitched.

"Didn't peg you for the sentimental type, güzelim," he teased, voice laced with warmth, not mockery.

Heat crawled up her neck. She looked away, gripping the hem of her dress. "It... keeps the nightmares away."

Something flickered in his eyes. He didn't push, only reached for her hand. She flinched just slightly but he felt it. He always did.

Instead of commenting, he merely smoothed his fingers over hers. "You look pretty," he murmured, as if it were an undeniable fact.

Her lips parted, but she couldn't form words. Instead, she lowered her gaze.

He tilted his head, eyes scanning downward before frowning. "Where are your shoes?"

"Oh," she blinked. "I... I don't have any right now. I was going to get my uniform shoes- "

Dehrin scoffed before she could finish, shaking his head. "Not happening."

Before she could protest, he stepped out of his slides and nudged them toward her. She stared.

"Wear them for now," he said simply.

Her eyes flickered up to his, dumbfounded. No one had ever- she hesitated, but at his expectant look, she complied, slipping them on. They were too big, but warm.

He was barefoot now.

He nodded, satisfied, before leading her out. Her heart thundered against her ribs as they descended the stairs. She didn't know what to expect.

When they stepped into the dining room, all conversation halted.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto her. Their usual sharpness dulled, softened into something unreadable. The attention wasn't suffocating, wasn't cruel. It was... different.

Rezan was the first to move. He got up, pulling out a chair beside Zyran's. "Sit here, princess," he said smoothly.

Dehrin muttered something in Turkish, tone petulant. Rezan smirked in response.

Hesitantly, she sat.

"Baby, you look lovely," Cihan murmured, his voice warm, fond.

Rezan hummed in agreement. "Lovely is an understatement. Ethereal, really."

Zyran cleared his throat. "Do the clothes fit?"

She swallowed, nodding.

"I'll get all your clothes according to your preference," he told her, as if it were a given.

She hesitated before murmuring, "Thank you."

His dark eyes softened, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You never need to thank me for what is already yours, my love."

Something in her chest tightened.

Before she could dwell on it, they began filling her plate, one by one, each brother adding something until her plate was full. She blinked at them, bewildered.

"You need to eat properly," Cihan said when he noticed her hesitation.

She nodded slowly, reaching for her fork. The moment she gripped it, a sharp pain shot through her hand. She hissed, the pain sudden and unforgiving.

The room stilled.

Zyran's gaze snapped to her hand, his expression darkening. He looked as though someone had driven a knife through his ribs.

She knew why.

It was the same hand he had stepped on.

She mustered a small, reassuring smile, but he wasn't looking at her face anymore. Without a word, he took her plate and began cutting her food, his movements precise, careful. Then, to her utter shock, he speared a piece and held it out to her.

Her breath hitched.

Tentatively, she opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her.

Warmth pooled in her chest, unfamiliar and disorienting.

She didn't know what this was.

But for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was merely surviving.

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Author

All four brothers watched in silence as Zyran continued to feed her, balancing his own meal between carefully cutting pieces of food and bringing them to her lips. Yerenica looked small between them, tucked away in the presence of men who were larger than life, yet she sat obediently, allowing Zyran to place each bite into her mouth without protest.

But he wasn't giving her a chance to swallow.

Her cheeks puffed out, mouth filled on both sides, her hazel eyes growing rounder with every additional bite. She looked utterly lost, her lips slightly parted as she attempted to chew while another forkful approached her.

Dehrin was the first to break. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, shaking his head. "Allah aşkına, abi," (For God's sake, brother), he drawled, shaking his head. "You're going to choke her."

Zyran paused mid-motion, only now realizing what he had done.

Rezan, ever the opportunist, reached for the glass of peach juice beside her. Without a word, he pressed it into her hands, tilting it slightly so she'd take a sip. "Drink, Princess," he murmured, his voice teasing but gentle.

She obeyed without question, swallowing the cool liquid gratefully, though her mind spun. The warmth in the room, the way they all watched her with amusement, their protectiveness, it was overwhelming. Too much. Too kind. Too surreal.

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

Her fingers gripped the glass tighter, and without thinking, she turned to Zyran, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sir... where are Irem and the other maids?"

The room fell quiet.

Zyran's brows furrowed, but before he could respond, Rezan leaned in with a smirk. "Sir?" he echoed. "No, no, that won't do. Don't call him that."

Her lips parted in hesitation. "I..I shouldn't?"

"Never," Zyran answered firmly.

Rezan placed an elbow on the table, resting his chin against his palm as he regarded her with a lazy amusement. "You should call us something else, something fitting. Call us 'Abi.'"

Yerenica blinked, confused. "Abi...?"

"It means older brother," Cihan supplied smoothly. "It's what younger siblings call their older brothers in Turkish."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "Older... brother?"

Rezan grinned. "Yes, sweetheart. And since I'm the most charming, I should be your favorite abi."

Dehrin scoffed. "In your dreams."

Cihan merely shook his head, lips twitching. "Ignore him, baby. Just say it once. Let's hear it."

Yerenica hesitated, the word foreign on her tongue. She felt their eyes on her, waiting, expectant, but not demanding. Her heart pounded. Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered her gaze and mumbled, "...Abi."

Silence.

Then, warmth.

Something swelled in the room, something unseen but deeply felt. Their expressions softened, Cihan's eyes glimmering with quiet joy, Rezan's smirk dimming into something far fonder. Dehrin, despite his usual rough edges, looked down at his plate with the hint of a smile, as if he were trying to suppress his emotions.

And Zyran..

His lips parted slightly, his usually cold expression betraying something deeper. Something softer. He cleared his throat, nodding once in approval, before returning to his food. "Good," he murmured, as if the word alone had settled something inside him.

But Yerenica's question still lingered.

"Irem," she whispered, deliberately avoiding the title. "The maids...?"

"They've been fired," Zyran answered simply.

Her brows knitted together. "All of them?"

"Yes."

She waited for further explanation, but none came. Something in his tone told her not to ask more. She swallowed, nodding, though confusion gnawed at her insides. She hadn't known Irem well, but she didn't treat her cruelly despite being strict. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself.

As she sank into silence, her mind drifting, she felt the sudden touch of fingers against her chin. She startled, her breath catching as Zyran gently tilted her face to the side. His thumb brushed against the corner of her lips, wiping away a stray bit of food with meticulous care.

Her skin tingled under his touch.

But his focus had shifted.

His dark eyes traced the bruises along her cheek, his expression darkening, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he was silent, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, as if he wanted to erase the mark with sheer will alone.

Then, he exhaled sharply.

"We are sorry."

Her breath hitched. "W-What?"

He let go of her chin, but his gaze did not waver. "Everything. The way we treated you. The way we... failed you." He looked at each of his brothers before settling his gaze back on her. "We regret it, Yerenica."

Her fingers curled into her lap, uncertainty swimming in her hazel eyes.

"I know this must be overwhelming," he continued, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Everything feels strange. Sudden. But know this, we are your brothers. And that means you are our responsibility and we'll do anything to make it up to you."

Responsibility.

The word should have felt suffocating, like a leash, a chain, another means of control.

But it didn't.

Instead, it felt... safe.

A foreign kind of safety she wasn't sure she knew how to accept.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly as warmth pooled in her chest, so thick it nearly hurt. And when she looked up at them again, all four pairs of eyes watching her with quiet determination, she knew,

For the first time, she wasn't alone.

Thoughts

Also, should i post her outfit inspos too from now on?