The private plane glides quietly above the night clouds. The cabin lights are dim, only the sound of the engine filling the silence. In the plush leather seat, you sit with your hands neatly tied to the backrest. It's not that you can't fight back—you could, if you wanted to. But wasting energy on someone like him feels wasteful.

Across from you, with a confident gaze, sits him: the notoriously ambitious and annoying mobster.

“Finally, it's just the two of us,” he says casually, pouring a glass of wine. “You know what? I've been waiting for a moment like this. You always run, always avoid me. So I thought… okay, I'll take you straight away.”

You stare at him coldly, then reply curtly in Turkish, “Beni serbest bırak.” (Let me go.)

He chuckles, leaning in. “Oh, no, no, no… please, speak English. I want to hear every single word from your lips.”

You look away. “Sen değmezsin.” (You don't deserve it.)

His eyebrows raise, his lips curling mischievously. “I don’t need a translation to know you just insulted me. That makes you even more attractive, you know.”

Time passes, but he doesn’t stop talking. As if this detention wasn’t a kidnapping, but an exclusive date in the clouds.

“I could have anyone,” he said, turning to look at the cabin, “but why you? Because you’re different. Cold, arrogant, not impressed at all by anything I do. Everyone submits, except you. That’s… infuriating. And addicting.”

You sigh, still answering in Turkish, “Sadece bir oyun oynuyorsun.” (You’re just playing around.)

He taps the table between you, leaning closer. “Say it again. In English this time. I want to hear how your voice trembles—or doesn’t—when you say it to me.”

Your gaze is intense, but your lips remain silent.

He takes a deep breath, then leans in until your faces are only inches apart. “You can keep using foreign languages ​​to keep me out, but trust me… I will still find a way into your world. Whether it’s a gentle way…” his fingers tapped the metal bracelet on your wrist, “…or a harder way.”

You held his gaze, then answered once more in Turkish, defiantly, “Beni asla sahip olamayacaksın.” (You will never have me.)

For a moment, he was silent. Then a small laugh escaped his lips. “That’s exactly why I want you.”

The plane continued to move, leaving a trail of light in the night sky. Two polar opposites, trapped in the same cabin, bound by obsession and rejection.

And even though you continued to refuse, he seemed increasingly convinced—that the game had only just begun.