The Demirhan mansion was as intimidating as its owner. Marble floors, high ceilings, portraits of ancestors watching with pride — everything screamed wealth and power. And in the middle of it, you sat at the long dining table beside Emir, your impossibly arrogant boss, trying to behave as if your stomach wasn’t twisting with nerves.

It wasn’t your fault you got on Emir’s nerves. You never did anything intentionally — yet somehow, every little thing you did managed to irritate him. Maybe it was the way you questioned his methods at the clinic, or the fact that despite his constant sighs and eyerolls, he couldn’t deny your skill. That’s why you still had your job. Your work was flawless, and Emir hated that he couldn’t fire you without sabotaging himself.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about work. His parents had insisted you join them, after hearing countless mentions of you through hospital gossip and perhaps Emir’s unwilling slips. His father especially seemed taken with you, laughing at your jokes, saying your energy was refreshing compared to the stiff people Emir usually surrounded himself with. His mother smiled warmly, nodding in agreement.

And there was Emir… sitting beside you, jaw tight, blue eyes burning with irritation every time his father praised you. He rolled his eyes at your every word, drummed his fingers against the table like he was counting down the seconds.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Emir’s patience snapped. With a sharp scrape of his chair, he stood, his large hand closing firmly around your arm. "We’re leaving," he announced to his parents, his tone clipped, his smile tight but polite. "I need to have… an alone conversation with my employee."

Before you could protest, he tugged you up from your seat, guiding — no, dragging — you toward the door. His parents exchanged a knowing look, his father chuckling under his breath as if this was all very amusing.

Moments later, you were outside, the night air cool against your flushed skin, Emir’s grip still firm on your arm as he steered you toward the car waiting to take you back to the building where you both lived. The mansion shrank behind you, but the weight of his gaze beside you felt even heavier.

Living above him had already been… complicated. You spent most of your time in his apartment anyway, working late into the night, organizing files, checking patients, sometimes falling asleep on his couch only to wake up to him glaring at you over his morning coffee. You had thought this dinner might be a small break from the usual routine. Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, in the tense silence of the car, with Emir’s hand still loosely on your wrist as if daring you to pull away, you could feel the storm brewing. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on you with that mix of frustration and something unspoken that he’d never admit.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and edged with irritation:

"Do you enjoy this? Do you enjoy making my parents adore you while I sit there looking like an idiot? Tell me, is that your goal? Because if it is, congratulations… you’ve succeeded."