Our lips part, the distance between them shrinking, shrinking, the mont stretching like taffy in the warm night air—
"Deniz...!"
A voice cuts through the night like a blade.
Deniz flinches, his body going rigid above . He looks up, and I watch the softness drain from his face, replaced by sothing cold and guarded.
Mr. Bryan stands a few feet away, holding a paper bag, a smile fixed on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Deniz straightens quickly and stands. I sit up, brushing grass from my clothes, and he offers his hand without looking back.
I take it, letting him pull to my feet. Only then does he turn to face .
His eyes find mine imdiately—soft again, concerned. The shift is so quick, so automatic: from guarded stranger back to my Deniz in the space of a heartbeat.
"The grass is in your hair." His voice is gentle, ant only for .
His fingers work carefully, brushing through my silver strands, picking out the tiny pieces caught there. His touch is tender, intimate, a small act of care that says more than words.
Over his shoulder, I watch Bryan. His expression flickers—sothing dark passing through his features before he smooths it into that smile.
But it’s wrong. Forced. The kind of smile everyone can see is fake, plastered on like a mask.
"I’m sorry," he says, his voice dripping with false apology.
"I shouldn’t have interrupted the lovey-dovey couple."
Deniz’s gaze shifts to him, and I feel the change imdiately. His eyes harden.
The warmth drains away, replaced by sothing cold and distant—the sa look I saw this morning when Bryan left our apartnt.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice is flat, devoid of its usual gentle cadence. It’s the voice of soone building walls.
Bryan steps closer, confidence in every movent.
"It’s a public place. You can’t ask that."
He gestures around the little town—the glowing stalls, the people laughing and eating, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between us.
"Our favorite sticky rice noodles, rember? The ones we used to share... back when you actually answered my calls."
A dramatic sigh. He’s performing, I realize. Playing to an audience of two.
"But you’ve been ignoring , so I ca alone."
He holds up the bag with that innocent smile that doesn’t fool for a second.
"I bought so for you, though. Here. These are for you."
Deniz looks down at the bag, then back at Bryan’s face. His voice is ice. "I don’t like them anymore."
Bryan steps closer, closing the distance between them like he has every right to be there. His hand reaches out and takes Deniz’s, pressing the bag into his palm.
I watch—my eyes fixed on the contact, on the way Bryan’s thumb strokes slowly across Deniz’s skin.
It’s possessive. Deliberate. A statent.
"Deniz," Bryan says softly, his voice dropping to sothing intimate, "be good to your teacher."
My jaw tightens. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Deniz steps back sharply, breaking the connection as if burned. He turns to imdiately, his eyes seeking mine, and takes my hand. His grip is firm, urgent, like I’m the only solid thing in a world gone wrong.
"Let’s go."
I nod, ready to leave this place, this man, this mont behind. Ready to find our quiet spot again, to reclaim what was stolen.
Before we can take a step—
A crash.
A woman’s cry.
We turn. A few yards away, a woman stands frozen, her hands empty, a heavy tray of apples overturned on the street. Red and green fruit roll in every direction, so bumping against shoes, so disappearing into the shadows. The woman’s face crumples, her hands flying to her mouth.
Deniz’s grip on my hand loosens, and I look at him in confusion.
"Wait here," he says quickly. "I’ll be right back."
He runs to her without hesitation, dropping to his knees among the scattered apples. I watch him—my Deniz, so kind, so good—as he gathers the fruit, speaking softly and calming her distress. The woman’s face slowly relaxes, gratitude replacing panic.
I stand there, watching him, my heart full.
Bryan’s voice slithers into my ear.
"Little oga, what’s your na?"
My soft smile vanishes. I turn to him, my gaze cold as winter frost. "Why do you want to know?"
He steps closer, invading my space with casual arrogance. "Just for knowledge."
"I’m not a subject for your knowledge."
My voice is flat, dismissive, the sa tone I use with annoying business rivals.
He laughs, the sound grating against my nerves. "You have a sharp tongue."
He tilts his head, studying like I’m a specin pinned under glass.
"Honestly, I’m surprised. How did a young, beautiful oga like you end up with a beta like him?"
I look away, trying to ignore this annoying, condescending man. My eyes find Deniz, still helping the woman, still kind, still mine.
Bryan touches his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Don’t tell ..."
A pause, heavy with implication, dripping with insinuation. "You’re a bar oga, aren’t you? With him just for money?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
I turn to him slowly, my eyes widening, anger igniting in my chest like dry timber catching fire.
First, he interrupted our mont. Then he touched Deniz, marked him with his fingers, his words, his claim.
And now—now he’s calling a prostitute?
My jaw clenches so tight I feel the ache in my temples.
He laughs again, oblivious or uncaring, the sound like nails on glass. "I’m just kidding! You’re giving such a death stare."
His hand reaches out, touching my shoulder.
I step back sharply, jerking away from his touch as if burned.
"Don’t touch ."
He holds up both hands, palms out, the picture of wounded innocence.
"Hey, I’m not an Alpha. It’s fine. I can’t hurt you."
"I know."
His eyebrows rise, curiosity flickering in those too-bright eyes. "Did Deniz tell you about that?"
I snap, my voice cold and clear, carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "No. I can sense your pheromones."
He goes completely still.
His eyes widen, processing, the implications landing one by one.
I turn away without looking back, my voice carrying over my shoulder like a dismissal.
"Such cheap pheromones."
I start walking toward Deniz, leaving Bryan frozen behind like a statue. His voice follows, surprised, almost awed, stripped of its earlier condescension.
"That ans... you’re an Alpha."
I don’t turn. Don’t stop. Don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
I won’t let him ruin this night.
He’s not worth it.
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