The lock clicks. The door opens.
My eyes lift—searching for him, desperate—to see him, to make sure he’s okay, to demand an explanation—
I freeze.
Bryan stands in the doorway.
His hair is damp, slicked back from his forehead, still glistening with water. Droplets trail along his shoulders and collarbones, slipping down the defined lines of his chest. His skin is warm, faintly flushed, like he’s just stepped out of a hot shower.
A white towel hangs low on his hips, loosely secured, exposing the hard lines of his abdon and the sharp curve of bone beneath—skin usually hidden beneath tailored clothes.
He leans against the doorfra with the easy arrogance of soone who owns the space— like he belongs here, like this is his place, like I don’t.
One arm crosses over his chest, the other braced against the fra, fingers tapping idly against the wood. He blocks the doorway completely— not just standing there, but claiming it.
My body goes cold.
My expression shifts—shock, confusion, sothing I can’t na sliding through like ice in my veins. My gaze drags over him, head to toe, as if I’m seeing him for the first ti.
What is he doing here?
At Deniz’s apartnt—like this?
Bryan’s eyes flick over with lazy disinterest. He knows who I am. He knows why I’m here.
He crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"What do you want?"
I blink.
Tears cling to my lashes, catching the morning light. I can’t speak. The words are there— sowhere— buried beneath the weight of everything I don’t understand.
I try to step forward— to push past him, to get inside.
His hand shoots up, blocking my way. Palm flat against the fra— a barrier I can’t cross without forcing my way through him.
"Where are you going?"
His voice is light. Almost amused. Like he’s watching sothing beneath him.
I stare at him, my voice cold. "Who the hell are you to block my way?"
He laughs softly—low, dismissive. "The owner of this house."
My brows knit. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He tilts his head, studying like I’m sothing mildly interesting. "What are you talking about?"
Before I can answer— Deniz’s voice cos from inside. Low. Sleep-heavy. Familiar.
"Who’s at the door?"
Bryan’s smile widens—slow, deliberate. He doesn’t look away from as he calls out, his voice dripping with easy intimacy—practiced, effortless, comfortable.
"Darling... so lunatic is trying to enter our house without permission."
Darling.
The word lands in my chest— sharp, precise, unforgiving.
I push his arm aside and step inside.
The apartnt looks the sa—the sa walls, the sa furniture, the sa light falling through the sa windows. But it feels different now. Colder. Foreign. Like a ho that no longer belongs to .
Deniz is walking out of the bedroom.
His chest is bare, his dark hair ssy, falling across his forehead in soft waves. His pants hang low on his hips, unbuttoned, like he dressed in a hurry—or didn’t dress at all. He looks comfortable. At ho. Like he belongs here.
Like this is his life now.
My heartbeat stutters. Then stops. Then races too fast to count.
What is this? What is happening? Am I dreaming?
Bryan follows behind . I feel his presence at my back, his quiet satisfaction radiating off him like heat from a fire. His voice is smooth, unhurried, as if he has all the ti in the world.
"Disturbing soone’s privacy isn’t very polite."
I don’t answer. I can’t take my eyes off Deniz.
Please. Look at . Say sothing. Tell this isn’t what it looks like.
Deniz glances at Bryan, his face calm. Unreadable. There’s no guilt in his eyes. No sha. No fear. Just... patience. Like he’s waiting for sothing.
"Go back to the room," he says quietly.
Bryan leans close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. His voice drops to a low whisper, ant only for .
"I didn’t know he was that good in bed."
My fingers tighten around the keychain in my hand— the little bunny and bear, their painted smiles frozen in place. Bright. Cheerful. Cruel.
Bryan waves lightly at Deniz, a lazy gesture of casual affection. "Darling, deal with this stranger quickly."
He pauses, letting his eyes drift over one last ti. "We have unfinished business."
He walks back into the bedroom, and the door closes behind him with a sharp click that echoes through the silent apartnt.
The sound of it—that final, sealing click—breaks sothing inside .
Fresh tears slide down my cheeks. Warm. Silent. Unstoppable.
The pain isn’t in my body anymore. It’s in my heart. A hollow ache, spreading slowly—filling every space he used to occupy.
I’ve felt this before. Being replaced. Being left behind like I was nothing.
But this ti— it hurts more than I can bear.
Deniz steps forward. His voice is flat. Emotionless. The voice of a stranger wearing my lover’s face.
"What are you doing here?"
I can’t answer. The words are stuck in my throat, trapped behind the weight of everything I don’t understand. I open my mouth, but no sound cos out. My heart feels like it’s going to burst—to explode outward and leave nothing but empty space behind.
I don’t know how to stop this pain.
Tears drip from my chin onto the floor. Silent. Endless.
I blink, staring at him through the blur.
Why does his gaze look different?
His expression is calm, like nothing is wrong. Like he hasn’t done anything. Like he’s not the Deniz I know.
The Deniz who held last night. The Deniz who promised he wouldn’t leave alone.
My lips tremble. My voice is weak, almost a whisper, barely audible in the suffocating silence.
"Why did you do this?"
He tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "Didn’t we already clear things up?"
I stare at him, confusion clawing at my chest. Clear....?
"When I left the mansion this morning," he says, his tone slow—asured, distant— "I left a note. Didn’t you find it?"
My vision blurs. I blink again and again, trying to see his face clearly—to find so sign of the person who was once mine.
But the more I look... the further he slips away.
I shake my head. A small movent. Barely there.
"No."
He crosses his arms over his bare chest, sighing like this is an inconvenience, like my presence here is a problem he didn’t ask for.
"Fine." His voice is flat. Final. "I’ll tell you."
He pauses, and sothing shifts in his expression—not guilt, not sadness, just... resolve.
"I don’t want to live with you anymore." Another pause, longer this ti. "Let’s break up."
The words hit like bullets.
One after another, they tear through , leaving wounds I can’t see but can feel—burning, bleeding, destroying everything I thought we had.
I want to scream. I want to demand an explanation. I want to shake him, to make him look at the way he used to, to make him rember who I am, who we are.
But I can’t find my voice.
I never could.
When I imagined seeing my mother again, I always thought I would ask her why she left. Why she never ca back. Why she chose a life without .
When I thought of my father, I wondered if I would ever have the courage to ask why he started another family— why he forgot about the one he already had.
Am I that easy to leave?
Deniz speaks again, his voice cold and distant, a stranger’s voice in a familiar body.
"I already sent my resignation letter to the company." A pause. "From now on... let’s not see each other again."
I look down. The floor shifts beneath my feet— not moving, but no longer steady. Like everything I thought was solid is giving way.
"You should go."
He waits. For an answer. For anything. But I have nothing. No words. No voice. Nothing left to hold on to.
He turns to walk back to the bedroom.
I step forward and take his hand.
He stops. Turns. Looks at .
My eyes stay downcast—fixed on our hands, on my fingers wrapped around his like it’s the only thing keeping upright.
His skin is warm against my cold hands. That warmth— the one I used to know, the one I still crave.
"At least..."
My voice is barely there—thin, trembling, ready to break. "At least give an explanation."
I lift my gaze.
"So I don’t have to spend the rest of my life wondering why you left."
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks.
"Why did you do this?"
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