Chapter 7

POV DEFNE

For several seconds, I could not look away from the contract.

The words blurred slightly beneath the warm kitchen lights while my heartbeat pounded hard enough to make me dizzy. I read the sentence again anyway, hoping I had misunderstood it the first time.

Direct personal protection and supervision.

It did not sound like legal language. It sounded intimate. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that had very little to do with debt collectors or financial risk.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes toward Adem.

“You cannot be serious.”

The lawyer standing near the counter wisely remained silent, though I noticed the subtle tension in his posture. He looked like a man who had spent years witnessing morally questionable decisions while being paid too much to object to them.

Adem closed the folder calmly. “Sit down, Defne.”

“No.”

The answer came out sharper than intended, but panic had already begun spreading through my chest. Until this moment, part of me had still believed there would be limits. A transfer of debt. A confidentiality agreement. Perhaps even temporary security until things settled.

Not supervision.

Not a contract that sounded as though he intended to absorb my entire life into his.

“You investigated me without my knowledge,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “You had legal documents prepared before I even agreed to anything.”

“I had documents prepared before you panicked and made emotional decisions.”

His calmness only made my anger worse.

“You don’t get to decide what’s emotional.”

“No?” He leaned one hand against the counter, watching me carefully. “You were prepared to walk back into an unsecured apartment after your ex-boyfriend threatened you, someone photographed you leaving with me, and your debt situation became public inside the company. That doesn’t sound rational to me.”

The worst part was that he sounded reasonable.

I hated reasonable men. They cornered you with logic until your emotions began feeling childish and self-destructive.

“That still doesn’t explain this.” I gestured toward the contract. “What exactly does personal supervision mean?”

The lawyer suddenly became fascinated with the rain outside the windows.

Adem’s gaze never left mine.

“It means your current situation requires structure.”

I almost laughed from disbelief. “Structure?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not one of your companies.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Companies are easier.”

The answer unsettled me enough to silence me for a moment.

I looked back down at the contract, scanning the pages more carefully now that the initial shock had passed. Every line felt surreal. Temporary relocation. Restricted media contact. Financial confidentiality. Personal security protocols.

Then I reached another clause.

My stomach tightened instantly.

“No contact with Berat Vehbi unless authorized by Mr. Sahenk.” I looked up sharply. “Authorized?”

“He’s unstable.”

“He’s still not your decision to make.”

“Everything connected to your safety is now my decision to make.”

The certainty in his voice struck something raw inside me.

Eight months ago, before my parents disappeared, I would have walked out immediately after hearing words like that. I had once been stubborn enough to believe independence alone could protect a woman from humiliation.

Then life became more complicated.

Debt changed things. Fear changed things. Exhaustion changed things most of all.

There was a particular kind of vulnerability that settled into people after surviving too much stress for too long. You became dangerously tempted by the idea of someone stronger stepping in and saying, Let me handle it.

That temptation terrified me now.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said carefully.

Adem finally moved away from the counter and walked toward me. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a quiet focus in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe properly when he looked directly at me.

“No,” he agreed. “But you’re considering it.”

I swallowed hard.

The infuriating part was that he knew me well enough already to see the hesitation I was trying to hide.

The lawyer cleared his throat softly, reminding me we were not alone. “Mr. Sahenk, there are additional clauses regarding media exposure that may require revision depending on whether the photograph reaches the press.”

“Handle it,” Adem said without looking away from me.

The lawyer nodded immediately and stepped farther toward the opposite end of the kitchen, granting us the illusion of privacy.

I crossed my arms tightly. “Do people usually obey you this easily?”

“Yes.”

The blunt honesty almost made me smile despite myself.

“That’s incredibly arrogant.”

“It would be arrogance if I were wrong.”

I hated that answer too.

Everything about him felt designed to destabilize people. He never rushed to fill silence, never softened uncomfortable truths, never pretended to be kinder than he actually was. Most men relied on charm when they wanted control over a woman. Adem relied on observation.

He saw too much.

“You’re treating this like a business acquisition,” I said quietly.

Something flickered in his expression then, subtle enough that another person might have missed it.

“No,” he replied after a moment. “If this were business, the arrangement would be much simpler.”

Heat climbed slowly into my face because I understood exactly what he meant.

The air between us shifted again, tension threading itself through the conversation so naturally that it became impossible to separate fear from attraction anymore.

I looked away first.

“That doesn’t make this less disturbing.”

“You’re disturbed because part of you is relieved.”

The words landed with humiliating precision.

I opened my mouth to deny it, then stopped.

Because he was right.

Relief had been growing quietly inside me ever since he stepped between me and Berat in the parking garage. Relief at someone powerful enough to stop the chaos. Relief at no longer carrying every terrifying decision alone.

Maybe even relief at being noticed after months of feeling hunted and disposable.

The realization made me feel weak.

Adem watched my silence carefully. “You’ve spent so long trying to survive alone that you’ve started treating dependence like humiliation.”

“It is humiliation.”

“No,” he said softly. “Humiliation is begging people who enjoy watching you suffer.”

Berat.

The image rose instantly in my mind: his smile, his hands gripping my wrist, the satisfaction in his face whenever fear showed too clearly on mine.

My stomach twisted.

Adem noticed immediately.

His voice lowered slightly. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.”

The lie came automatically.

“Defne.”

Something about the way he said my name made my chest tighten painfully.

I forced myself to look back at him. “Why do you care?”

For the first time all night, the question seemed to catch him slightly off guard.

Not enough to lose control.

Just enough for silence to stretch a little too long.

Then his gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.

“Because,” he said quietly, “I don’t like seeing other men leave marks on things that interest me.”

The words settled heavily between us.

Things that interest me.

Not women, employees or people.

My pulse stumbled anyway.

Before I could answer, the lawyer’s phone rang sharply across the room. He checked the screen, frowned immediately, then looked toward Adem with visible hesitation.

“Sir,” he said carefully, “there’s a problem.”

Every nerve in my body tightened.

Adem’s expression cooled instantly. “What kind of problem?”

The lawyer glanced once toward me before answering.

“The photograph has already been sent to someone at the company.”

A cold wave moved through my chest.

“Who?” Adem asked.

The lawyer hesitated.

Then he said quietly:

“Your wife.”