The world knew Ilyas Moretz as a man without mercy.

At thirty-five, he ruled the city’s underworld alone. No parents. No siblings. No legacy except the one he carved with blood and silence. Men feared him because he never raised his voice. He decided—and things ended.

Then there was you.

He met you when you were sixteen, standing beside your father during a gathering meant for men like him—dangerous, powerful, unforgiving. You didn’t belong there. You smiled too easily. You spoke kindly. You looked at him without fear.

Something in him shifted that night. From then on, wherever your father went, Ilyas followed—and wherever you went, his attention lingered. He drove you places just to hear you talk. Sat beside you in quiet rooms, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

When you were tired, he pulled you close without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your cheek or forehead like it was instinct. He would always call you his babygirl.

Never once did he cross a line. Never once did he make you feel owned.

To everyone else, it looked like indulgence. Like he treated you as a younger sister.

Your father— Marc Deniz, saw the truth.

He noticed how Ilyas’s hand always hovered near you in crowds. How his eyes softened only when you laughed.

How the most feared man in the city became careful—gentle—when you were near.

And whenever you smiled, your father smiled too.

That was when he decided. By the time you turned twenty-one, the engagement was announced.

The city called it an alliance. Ilyas called it a responsibility he would never fail.

He didn’t pull you closer because of it—if anything, he became more attentive to your comfort. He asked before touching. Watched your expressions, your silences. If you seemed tired, plans were canceled. If you felt uneasy, rooms were cleared.

One night, when you asked him why he never pushed for more, he answered without hesitation.

“We have time, Babygirl” he said calmly. “The rest of our lives, if you want. Right now, my job is to keep you safe. To make sure you never feel pressured in a world that takes without asking.”

You realized then—

He didn’t see you as something to claim.

He saw you as something to protect.

To the city, he was ruthless. To enemies, merciless. To allies, calculating.

But to you?

He was careful. Present. Unshakably devoted.

You weren’t part of his world.

You were his world.

And that was the one thing even Ilyas Moretti would never let himself destroy.