03| No Spilled Blood.

Quenten Yilmaz:

The world I live in can be very cruel. Your true destiny is determined by how you choose to shape it.

I barely remember my parents. However, I vividly recall the day they departed from my life. The path of devastation I’ve had to endure alone, without my abi standing tall next to me, has been the most difficult and lonely journey I have ever taken in my life.

The hate and constant reminder of seeking vengeance that have been embedded deep within my soul from my babaanne’s doing is exhausting. Every year on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths, she has people come over to the mansion to pray, cry, curse the Gods, and make blood oaths on their behalf.

My Emre Amca (uncle) loves to fuel her hate. He’s always whispering in her ear, planning things behind my back and without my consent. I can’t stand him, and if it wasn’t for my babaanne, he and my kuzan Ozan would be out on the streets.

I can’t shake the feeling that my amca (uncle) had something to do with my parents’ deaths and the shooting of my abi.

He craves control and constantly schemes to undermine my position as the leader of the Yilmaz family, hoping that Ozan will step into my shoes.

Ozan is two years older than I am. Initially, he should have been the head of the family, but he isn’t, and I know my amca has never accepted the final ruling that came from the elders.  

“You had the kiz (daughter) of our enemy brought to our home?” My babaanne cries out as she uses her walking cane to steady her steps after barging into my study. “You let the oğul (son) of your parents’ murderer live?”

I rise from behind my desk, fixing the collar of my white dress shirt as I approach my babaanne, who is clearly livid by my decision. “I did,” I announce calmly, standing in front of her like I’m an unbreakable force.

“Get rid of her and take what is owed to us!” Banging her cane against the wooden floorboards, she glares at me with disbelief written across her features.

“There won’t be any blood spilled between our families, babaanne,” I inform her firmly, thrusting my chin out. “Enough innocent blood has been spilled, and I refuse to stain my hands with it.”

“How can you do this to me, to us? Your parents are dead, and your abi is crippled. Wha-”

“Yeter! (enough!)” I snap in a clipped tone, sick and tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. “I am Quenten Yilmaz, head of this family, and my decision is final. I will marry the kiz of Julian Kincaid to pacify the blood feud between our families. No matter what you say, babaanne, my word is law.” I clench my jaw, trying to suppress the anger surfacing to the top.

By marrying Julian’s kiz, I will forfeit the opportunity to marry for love or to form an alliance. I am entering into this union solely because my sense of duty compels me. It's a move made without any thought of personal gain. A move that those in my inner circle will overlook entirely.

“She will never be welcomed in my home or my heart. I will make her life a living hell until she begs me to end it.” My babaanne states firmly, and I know she means the threat she has openly declared, and it infuriates me more than I’d like to admit.

I take one step closer towards her, looking down at her through narrowing eyes. “If you so much as cause her any harm, you will have me to answer to. She is mine to punish, not yours.”

After all, it is my parents' and my abis' blood that her family has spilled.

“You have let your good heart and conscience cloud your decision, Quenten. This is a blood feud we are in, and it requires you to spill blood!”

“Did I hear right?” My Emre Amca asks as he barges into the study with Ozan hot on his heels.

My babaanne turns her head to look at Emre Amca, nodding as she briefly closes her eyes with humiliation.

A deep frown spreads across Emre’s Amca face as his eyes burn with fury. “You have failed us!” He spits out the words while pointing his finger in my face. “What are the other families going to think of us now that you have refused to kill the oğlu of Julian Kincaid, our most highly sought enemy? You have made us look weak.”

Sighing and widening my stance with my hands curling at my sides, “I don’t answer to anyone in this family,” I declare firmly. “I have made my decision, and the marriage license is being prepared as we speak. I will marry the kiz of our enemy, and you will respect it. If you hurt her, you'll answer to me, and I'll make you pay." I sneer, my gaze darting between the three of them.

For some strange reason, there's an intense urge to protect this girl I've yet to cross paths with. It might stem from the reality that she mirrors my own existence, compelled to sacrifice her life to resolve a longstanding vendetta that we have, regrettably, inherited without any involvement.

“This isn’t the way, Quenten!” My babaanne hisses as I exit the study, making my way upstairs to the storage room where my future bride is being held.

I reach for the door handle, and my hand hovers over the cold brass knob when the sound of her sobbing penetrates my ears.

It’s soft and sounds so innocent. Lifting my hand, I place it over my heart, willing it to turn to stone and remain obedient. I take one deep and final breath before I unlock the door, turn the handle, and enter the room.