Siana is making the kids eat their dinner. Deniz is sitting on her lap while Demir is beside her, chewing slowly, occasionally glancing at his brother’s antics. Her hands move mechanically—feeding, wiping, soothing—but inside, she’s dying. A storm of guilt and fear churns in her chest. The small packet of powder hidden in her drawer feels like it’s burning through the wood.

Her mind screams in conflict. She wants her kids safe. That part is true. But using that man’s method? Betraying Devillian—him, who’s the father of her children, the man who once worshipped her with blood-stained hands and burning eyes? The thought is unbearable.