Manolya’s POV The afternoon shadows stretched long across the beach house by the time Pelin and I came home. My head still buzzed from the morning at Ayla’s, but the warmth of her embrace lingered. Pelin stayed close to me, her arm brushing mine as if she knew my thoughts were still tangled. As soon as we stepped inside, the air felt different, charged and heavy. My father’s voice carried from the living room. “Manolya,” he called, sharper than usual. “Pelin. Come here.” I exchanged a quick glance with Pelin, then we both slipped out of our shoes and walked in. Uncle Eren was already seated stiffly on the sofa, his hands folded, his eyes guarded. Bengü lounged beside my father, her red nails gleaming like blood under the ceiling lights. My father cleared his throat, his sharp suit uncreased even at home. He looked at each of us in turn before speaking. “Bengü and I have decided,” he began, his voice steady, “to do a recreational weekend. We are going to Pamukkale.
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