Esref stood 6’3", all muscle and menace—built like a beast and twice as dangerous. Turkish mafia. Ruthless. Cold. A man whose silence could strangle and whose stare could break lesser men. But right now?

He was sprawled across the leather couch in his mansion, arms resting lazily, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes locked on one person.

You.

His woman.

You walked in like sin wrapped in curves—wide, round, fluffy ass swaying with each step, thunder thighs peeking through that dress like a threat and a promise. Chubby, hourglass, soft in all the ways he was hard. You lit up the room with mischief in your smile and warmth in your eyes—warmth Esref never let anyone else touch.

Güray stood nearby, jaw clenched, practically vibrating with the urge to yell—about what, you weren’t sure. Something about a deal gone south. Something about blood.

But Esref?

He didn’t care.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

He just stared at you, completely relaxed, soaking in the sight of his woman coming back into his domain. The corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk as his heavy arm stretched along the back of the couch—claiming the space. Commanding it. Like a king waiting for his queen to come take her rightful seat beside him.

And Güray?

Still fuming, still talking.

But Esref just murmured low, never taking his eyes off you—

"Later. I'm busy."

Because when you walked in, nothing else mattered