## Episode 1: When We First Met
**Narrated by Dilara Aslan**
I was only eight when I first saw him.
It was the summer the jasmine trees bloomed twice, and the sea breeze carried secrets through the iron gates of our mansion in Çeşme. I wore my favorite white dress that day, the one with the lace collar and blue ribbon tied at the waist. My nanny warned me not to run in the grass barefoot again, but of course, I didn't listen. I never did.
The garden was my kingdom. And in my kingdom, I was the queen.
That morning, I chased butterflies through the olive trees until I stopped short.
A boy was standing near the fountain.
He didn't belong there.
He was about my age, maybe a little older. Messy black hair. Torn sandals. A serious expression that didn't fit on a child's face. And eyes... eyes I couldn't forget.
I blinked. "Who are you?"
He didn't answer.
"Are you lost?" I asked, stepping closer.
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," he said, his voice low.
"Says who?"
He glanced toward the house. "My mother."
I tilted my head. "You're not from here. You're not one of the servants' kids."
He looked at me then, really looked. "You're Dilara."
It wasn't a question.
I stepped back. "How do you know my name?"
He didn't answer.
Before I could press him, the maid came running down the path.
"There you are!" she shouted. "Alihan, we're leaving. Now!"
He didn't look at her. He looked at me.
"Goodbye," he said softly.
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
---
**Fifteen years later**
The boy was gone, buried in a memory I wasn't sure was real—until today.
Now I stood at the gates of my father's mansion again. The same place. A different world. Paparazzi screamed my name outside. **Dilara Aslan**, the girl who turned a family name into a digital empire. Two hundred million followers. One dead father. One legacy waiting.
Inside, the house was cold. Lifeless. Like it had been holding its breath.
Selma, my father's old lawyer, waited with a folder pressed to her chest.
"There's someone else you need to meet before we begin the reading of the will," she said.
I narrowed my eyes. "Who?"
Then the doors opened.
And **he** walked in.
Older. Taller. Eyes just as intense.
My blood turned to ice.
"Alihan," Selma said. "Your father left everything to be shared equally between you and your... half-brother."
Half-brother?
No.
Not him.
Not the boy who once stood in my garden and disappeared like a ghost.
---
**To be continued...**