The morning light slid softly through the tall windows of the dining room, laying quiet gold across the marble floor. Outside, the garden still held the hush of early dew, as if the world itself hadn't yet decided to wake up. Inside, the air was still, except for the faint hum of an espresso machine and the subtle clink of cutlery against porcelain.
The table stretched long, mostly untouched. At one end sat Eunwoo, alone, back straight, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearm. His breakfast was untouched beyond a few surgical slices. He sipped his coffee without taste. The warmth didn't reach his chest.
He wore white today. Crisp, clean, but his eyes were anything but.
There was something quiet about the way his hand lingered near the edge of the plate, like he was trying to hold himself steady. His gaze, though lowered, was alert. And when the faint echo of heels whispered down the marble staircase, he heard it before he saw her.
The rhythm of the steps was sharp, deliberate, measured.
Click. Clack. Click.
Andrea appeared without fanfare.
A simple black dress — sleeveless, backless, hem swaying just above the knees. Boots that kissed the floor with every step. Her hair undone, face clean, lips a subtle mauve. She didn't wear her power today — she carried it like a second skin.
No words. No greeting.
She walked the length of the room, not toward him, but to the chair opposite. As far from him as the table allowed. She sat. Crossed one leg over the other. Lifted her coffee.
He watched her without moving. His eyes trailed the curl behind her ear, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she didn't look at him once.
So he spoke first, voice low but clear.
"I suppose I'm invisible now. Am I right, Miss Yeldiz?"
Her answer came without pause, as if rehearsed.
"Not invisible. Just appropriately distant."
His jaw shifted. The knife in his hand pressed harder against the toast.
"After what happened last night, I thought maybe you'd… say something."
She stirred her coffee slowly.
"And say what, exactly?" Her voice was quiet. Dangerous in its calm. "That I turned into something monstrous? That you saw me shift and didn't flinch?"
He exhaled, a sharp sound.
"Sana zarar vermek istemedim…"(I didn't mean to hurt you…)
Her hand froze mid-stir.
Eyes lifted.
Not blazing. Not broken.
Just... watching.
He met her gaze, slower now.
"You should be embarrassed." He didn't mean it to wound. But it did.
And she smiled. Just barely. A flicker — cruel, tired, honest.
"Utandım. Ama senden değil."(I was ashamed. But not because of you.)
The silence after that wasn't hollow — it was heavy. Like something had been dropped between them that neither wanted to touch.
He stood first. Pushed the chair back with the soft scrape of metal on stone.
"We leave in twenty minutes."
She didn't blink.
"I haven't eaten yet."
"You can eat in the car."
He turned, picking up his blazer, sliding one arm in.
That's when she said it.
Barely louder than a breath, but sharp enough to cut the air.
"Boss... baby."
He froze.
A slow turn. No expression. No rush.
"Did you just call me…?"
She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes, boss. Baby."
His mouth opened. Closed. A sigh escaped instead.
"Ajeossi değil miydim dün gece?"(Wasn't I just the old man last night?)
"Last night I was bleeding into the dirt. Today, I'm drinking coffee. Roles change fast, don't they?"
She stood too, finally, gathering herself in one smooth motion. She looked the same as always.
But nothing felt the same anymore.
He glanced at her heels. "Can you run in those?"
"Only if someone's chasing."
He said nothing more. Just walked toward the door.
This time, she followed.
No words. No promises. Just two sets of footsteps echoing through a house too big to carry this much silence.
Outside, the car was waiting.
The city would not wait.
But inside, something between them had already shifted — like light through a prism.
Not broken.
But changed.
She looked once at his back, watched him open the door without turning to check if she was behind him.
And whispered, not for him, not for herself, but for the version of her she could never return to—
"Ben hâlâ buradayım..."(I'm still here…)
____-___-_-______-____-___-_-______-____-___-_-______-
The engine started with a low purr. The SUV's windows reflected the sharp lines of the mansion behind them—cold, geometric, distant. A soft breeze rustled the tall trees that lined the estate gates. The sky was pale with early light, and the road ahead was long, curving, and quiet.
Inside the vehicle, the air was tenser than the seatbelts.
Minjoon sat in the driver's seat, adjusting the mirrors with muscle memory. Layla took the front passenger side, hair tied high, sunglasses on though the sun hadn't quite risen. Her phone screen flicked in her hand but she wasn't typing. She was watching.
In the back, the two storm clouds sat—Andrea and Eunwoo.
Andrea leaned slightly toward the window, legs crossed, her fingers resting on the edge of the leather seat. She wore black again—casual but composed. A long sleeve crop with buckled boots and sharp eyeliner. No words, just presence.
Eunwoo took the far end. His back was straight, fingers adjusting the cuff of his shirt, one leg crossed loosely over the other. His phone screen lit his face briefly, but his eyes weren't fully on it. Every few seconds, they flicked to Andrea, quietly, without expression.
The silence was not peaceful.
It was too full.
Too loud in its quiet.
Then Eunwoo spoke—low, composed. "Drive."
Minjoon nodded. "Yes, sir."
The car pulled from the drive, turning through the gates and heading toward the countryside. The city behind them was slowly shrinking in the mirrors.
Minjoon glanced at Layla from the corner of his eye, leaned slightly and murmured, "Everything packed, right?"
Layla replied without looking away from her screen. "Yes. Gear bags, first aid, weapons. All of it's in the back compartment."
Minjoon's eyes lifted to the rearview mirror.
"ETA?" Eunwoo's voice cut clean through the air.
Minjoon met his boss's gaze in the mirror. "By 10 AM, sir."
Andrea, who had been watching the trees flick past her window, turned slightly toward Layla.
She didn't look at Eunwoo.
Didn't want to.
"Where are we even going?" Andrea asked, direct, her Turkish accent curling at the edge of her words.
Layla opened her mouth—but Eunwoo spoke first, not looking up from his phone.
"We're going out. It's work."
The cut-off was deliberate.
Andrea's brow twitched, lips parting slightly.
"Work," she repeated. "Is that code for mission or your version of a corporate retreat?"
Her tone wasn't sarcastic.
It was bored.
Tired.
Testing.
Minjoon shifted slightly in the driver's seat, sensing the tension. He inhaled to say something—
But Eunwoo's eyes lifted, sharp.
Minjoon caught the look in the mirror—don't. Not now.
He snapped his mouth shut.
Andrea glanced at Layla again.
But Layla didn't meet her eyes either.
The entire front row of the car suddenly felt like a sealed wall. No words leaking. No expressions given. No explanations offered.
It was just Andrea and the window.
And the man watching her every time she looked away.
The fields outside began to change—city buildings fading into golden farmland. Open plains. Green fields stretching wide under a soft, hazy sky. Andrea pressed her forehead lightly against the cool glass, watching the horizon move.
She liked the silence more than she wanted to admit.
But it didn't last.
A voice—low, closer than expected—spoke near her ear.
Eunwoo.
Not loud.
Not mocking.
Just enough to pull her back to last night.
"Did you… tell them?" Andrea whispered, barely audible. "About what happened?"
She didn't ask with softness.
She asked with that same edge—half pleading, half daring.
Eunwoo's reply came just as quiet, in a low, teasing whisper, "Sence her şeyi anlatmak zorunda mıyım?"(Do you think I have to tell them everything?)
Andrea narrowed her eyes. "Idiot. Pervert."
Eunwoo smirked, not looking at her. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Not because I trust you," she added, arms folded.
"Of course not. You're Turkish," he said, tilting his head. "You only trust your own drama."
A soft snort escaped her.
It was the closest thing to a laugh she'd made in days.
Unfortunately for them, the front seats were not deaf.
Minjoon's eyes flicked to the rearview again.
Layla turned slightly, one brow raised under her glasses.
Minjoon whispered to her in Korean, "둘이 언제부터 이렇게 돼?" (Since when are they like this?)
Layla smirked. "Since always. They just pretend they hate each other."
Minjoon chuckled. "Bickering like an old married couple."
Andrea caught them glancing.
She straightened up and kicked the back of Minjoon's seat lightly with her boot.
"Drive faster, oppa."
Minjoon raised both brows. "Yes ma'am. No bickering zone. Got it."
The SUV rolled on through open land, the road narrowing as they neared the forest outskirts. Trees began to rise on both sides, taller and thicker. The air changed—crisper, colder, untouched.
Andrea rolled down the window halfway, letting the wind whip through her hair. The green spread in waves outside—the smell of pine, damp earth, wildflowers.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
It almost felt like home.
If home had ever been quiet.
Eunwoo watched her from the corner of his eye.
The way she leaned into the breeze, the soft lines of her jaw unclenching, the stiffness in her shoulders fading just slightly.
He didn't say anything.
But something in him eased too.
They didn't always need words.
Three hours later, the SUV made its final turn onto a steep gravel path, cutting through a thicket of pine trees. The engine rumbled lower as Minjoon slowed the vehicle, navigating the narrow, winding road carefully.
Ahead, the forest opened into a small plateau.
At its center, perched like a watchtower above the valley, stood the mountain villa.
Modern. Sharp lines. Glass and stone. A low black roof with wide balconies. Surrounded by nothing but trees and fog.
No neighbors.
No farmers.
No noise.
Just isolation.
"Welcome to middle-of-nowhere," Layla murmured, unbuckling her seatbelt.
Andrea looked out the window. The villa had a haunting beauty to it. Cold. Elegant. Like it had been built to hide secrets.
And maybe… people who carried them.