Authors pov

Angelina sat at her desk, her chin resting in her hands. Her eyes skimmed over the notes in front of her, though she isn’t really reading. Instead, her pen wandered over the rough copy, leaving behind absent minded little patterns.

Her thoughts, however, refused to be as easily contained. They circled back to the same place again and again, no matter how hard she tried to push them away. Ever since the evening, those unwelcome memories had been knocking at the edges of her mind, filling her stomach with a weightless, uneasy feeling.

She flinched when a hand suddenly touched her shoulder. Snapping her head to the side, she found Ashleen standing there.

“Mummy… when did you—? I didn’t even notice you were here,” Angelina breathed out, shutting her eyes with a small huff.

Ashleen’s smile was gentle as she pulled out a chair and sat beside her daughter. “What was my sweet girl thinking about?”

Angelina lowered her gaze and gave her head a faint shake. “Nothing…”

But Ashleen knew better. She always did. Angelina was her only daughter, and a mother could read worry on her child’s face like an open book.

With a quiet sigh, Ashleen reached for her daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “Are you bothered about Demir’s return?”

Angelina’s eyes flew to her mother, startled by the directness of the question. She quickly shook her head.

“No, Mummy… it’s not about him coming back. It’s just… hearing about it brings back memories. Of the circumstances under which he had to leave.”

Her voice dropped, trembling slightly as her fingers fidgeted with each other.

“That day… he didn’t push me into the water, Mummy. He saved me. But in my panic, I couldn’t finish explaining myself—and everyone took it the wrong way. I told Deniz the truth later, but still… the thought has always made me feel guilty.”

Ashleen’s heart clenched at the sight of her daughter’s pale expression. She cupped Angelina’s face, her thumb brushing softly against her cheek.

“Lina, sweet pea… you’ve already told everyone the truth years ago. Mr. Giordano and Siana both explained that his departure had nothing to do with you. It was for training, nothing personal. Even if that incident hadn’t happened, he still would have had to leave.”

Her voice was firm yet kind, carrying the weight of reassurance only a mother could give.

“You don’t need to carry guilt for something that was never your fault. It’s a memory, nothing more. And you all have grown up since then.”

Angelina’s lips curved into the faintest smile before she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. Ashleen held her tightly, patting her head with soothing strokes.

Angelina let out a long sigh of relief against her mother’s chest. The heaviness inside her began to ease, replaced by a quiet calm.

She’s right, Angelina thought. We’re not children anymore. Demir has responsibilities now—he won’t be holding on to old memories. He probably doesn’t even remember my face…

A soft smile played on her lips at the thought. There was no need to keep overthinking.

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Siana stirred the broccoli curry one last time before switching off the gas. She set the pan alongside the other dishes she had spent hours preparing for her son. Among all the children, only Demir and Agnese truly loved Turkish food; the rest preferred Italian cuisine.

Her gaze shifted to the maid folding grape leaves at the counter.

“Give those to me, Naya. I’ll do it myself. Go check Demir’s bedroom instead—make sure everything is in order. I don’t want my son to find even a single thing out of place.”

The maid nodded and quietly left.

Siana sat down, carefully stuffing minced meat into grape leaves, folding them into neat dolmas. She was so focused that she didn’t notice Devillian until he was standing in the doorway. His sharp eyes softened briefly as he watched her. She had been in the kitchen for almost four hours.

“Am I paying the maids for nothing, sunshine?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with irritation. “You could’ve just told them to do all this. Why are you loading yourself like this?”

Siana glanced at him from the corner of her eye before continuing her work.

“You don’t understand. I can’t just leave this to the maids when it comes to Demir. He loves my cooking—especially Turkish food. He’s coming home after years… how can I hand that moment over to someone else? What if they make a mistake?”

Her hands moved deftly, rolling the dolmas with practiced care.

Devillian sighed, clenching his jaw. It would have been easier if their son had returned unannounced; then Siana wouldn’t have driven herself so hard.

“Then let me help you,” he muttered, stepping forward.

But the moment he tried, he pressed too hard and ruined six grape leaves in a row.

Siana froze, glaring at him.

“Dev… go handle your mafia or whatever business you do. You’re just ruining them! What if Demir asks for more and it isn’t enough?”

Devillian fell silent, listening carefully as she scolded him. Then, in that low, serious tone of his, he said,

“Fine. I won’t touch them again. But I can carry you while you work. You’ve been standing too long.”

Siana widened her eyes and laughed. “No, thank you.”

His brows furrowed instantly. He didn’t like her refusal.

“Why?” His voice turned rougher with that familiar possessive edge.

Still smiling, she placed the last dolma onto the plate.

“Because you’re old now. You’ll probably drop me. At this age, I don’t want to break my bones.”

Devillian arched a brow, and Siana bit her lip to hide her grin. She knew she was teasing him unfairly. The truth was, his age only made him more handsome in her eyes. The streaks of grey in his hair, the lines at the corners of his eyes—each one made her heart skip the way it used to years ago.

He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

“Don’t forget, this old man use to make you scream all night, almost every day.”

Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing. She smacked his shoulder.

“Dev! Have some shame.”

She walked off to wash her hands, while he stood back, watching her with a gaze that hadn’t dulled over the years. If anything, his love for her had only grown stronger—intense, consuming, eternal.

Their moment was interrupted by Selene’s shriek from the living room.

“Oh my God—bro! Ehhh!”

Siana and Devillian exchanged a glance. They knew instantly: Demir had arrived.

Siana’s face lit up, tears already brimming, as she hurried out of the kitchen. Devillian followed at his usual unhurried pace.

She reached the living room and saw Selene is hugging Demir while his back is facing her.

“Oh my God, Demir bro… you’ve turned so handsome. Like a Greek god! I can’t believe you’re the same lean teenager I said goodbye to fifteen years ago!” Selene cried, her voice breaking with joy.

Demir turned toward Siana, A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Mom.”

Her tears spilled instantly as she rushed forward, wrapping him in her arms.

“Oh my god… my little boy has grown into a man,” she sobbed, cupping his face, drinking in every change. His sharp jawline, the strength in his shoulders—it is Devillian’s reflection, yet uniquely his own. Where Deniz resembles his father features slightly, Demir is carrying his father’s shadow almost perfectly.

Demir took her hands gently.

“And you’re still as beautiful as the day I last saw you, Mom.”

Siana smiled through her tears.

Behind her, the quadruplets and Deniz had already rushed down, drawn by the commotion.

Demir’s eyes shifted to his father. He walked toward Devillian and said simply, “Dad.”

The two embraced firmly. Devillian patted his son’s shoulder before pulling back. His lips curved into something rare—a warm smile.

“Did you finally reach my height? You used to complain about it so much as a child.”

The family chuckled at the unexpected lightness in his tone. Demir only raised a brow in response, and the quiet challenge in his eyes made his siblings laugh louder.

He turned next to Deniz, pulling him into a strong hug. Deniz’s eyes welled.

“I’m sorry…” his voice cracked.

Demir gripped his shoulder firmly. “I told you already—focus on the future, not the past. Didn’t I?” His tone was firm but carried the warmth of an elder brother who hated seeing his sibling upset.

“I’ve watched your concerts. You’re doing amazing.”

Deniz swallowed hard, nodding with a smile.

One by one, the quadruplets greeted him.

“Whoa, those muscles, bro!” Akif’s eyes widened at the size of Demir’s biceps. “Give me tips, please!”

Demir smirked and ruffled his hair. “Focus on your studies first.”

Alessio and Agnese burst out laughing—they knew how much Akif hated anyone touching his hair. And how he didn’t dare protest when it came to Demir.

Akif only glared at them, fixing his hair quickly.

Demir gave Alessio a playful pat on the back, making him grin sheepishly. Agnese and Aylin hugged him side by side.

“You’ve turned into a fictional man in looks,” Agnese said dramatically, her eyes gleaming.

Aylin scoffed.

“It’s called genes. Not that you’d know, considering you pass your exams by bribing teachers with Dad’s money.”

Agnese’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you dare—”

“Enough!” Siana cut in sharply. “Your brother has just come home. Don’t ruin his ears with your bickering.”

She turned to Demir, her expression softening again.

“Go freshen up first, son. You must be tired from the journey. I’ll set the table, then we can all talk properly.”

Demir gave her a small nod and headed toward his bedroom.

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After lunch with the family, Devillian and Demir retreated to the study.

Demir leaned casually over the desk, flipping through the files of the Giordano Empire, though his eyes caught every detail like a hawk.

“Since you were a child,” Devillian began, pouring two glasses of scotch and sliding one toward him, “the Giordano Empire has been at the top. Tech, hotels, luxury goods—every field. You remember.”

Demir accepted the glass, taking a measured sip.

Devillian’s gaze darkened. “But for the last five years… another shark has risen. Strong enough to topple us.”

From a drawer, he pulled out newspapers and spread them across the desk. The headlines screamed of D Enterprises.

“No one has ever seen the man behind it. The ghost of the business world—ruling from the shadows. Just last year, he crushed a tycoon who had been untouchable for generations. And you know what’s most fascinating, son? He did it by stepping into the one field we never touched—gold.”

Demir’s eyes flicked over the articles before returning to his father Calmly. Then the edge of a smirk tugged at his lips.

“You already know, Dad.”

Devillian’s gaze sharpened. “Why, son?”

The smirk faded, replaced by a razor-edged seriousness.

“Because I wanted to.”

He drank his glass of scotch in one go, standing up, he poured himself another one at the bar. Devillian’s eyes narrowed. He had suspected before—when Demir refused to return, when he kept his distance...but now suspicion crystallized into truth.

“All this—everything—is already yours. Why start a separate empire in secret?”

Demir swirled his drink, eyes fixed on a painting across the room.

“You remember when I was six? You asked me who I wanted to defeat when I grew up. And I said… the one I admired the most.”

Devillian froze. A faint memory flickered.

Demir turned sharply, his gaze locking on his father.

“That was you, Dad. I admired you more than anyone—because you were the strongest.” He stepped closer, until they stood face to face. “And to become stronger, I had to defeat you. Not as your son—but as your equal. I don’t want respect because I’m Devillian Giordano’s heir. I want the world to respect you because you’re my father.”

A flicker of pride touched Devillian’s eyes.

Demir continued, his words are clear and deliberate.

“Sending me away was your decision. But leaving? That was mine. And I built what I built, not for the mafia, not for the family, but for myself. I didn’t want the underground to fear me because I’m a Giordano. I wanted them to kneel before me for who I am alone. And they do.”

Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes as he downed the last of his scotch.

“I don't care for your mafia throne to be honest. I mastered the weapons, the knives, the breath-holding techniques, the bruised knuckles as a mere teenager... everything. But not because I had to. But because I wanted to.”

Devillian studied him for a long moment. Then a faint smile curved his lips.

Demir set his glass down and moved for the door.

“See you later, Dad.”

He was almost gone when Devillian spoke, voice calm but edged with insight.

“Without ever studying psychology, I can tell—there’s more to your hunger for power than you’ve admitted, son.”

Demir paused at the threshold. Silence stretched. Then, without a word, he walked out.

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Angelina stood before the towering gates of Giordano mansion, her stomach in knots. Should she really go inside?

She had left her medicine list here yesterday, in Deniz’s room. He could have easily brought it to her, but as usual he has asked her to come and get it herself stubbornly. Saying he wants to show her something.

She is hell reluctant—because stepping foot here meant one thing. Facing him.

Her childhood tormentor. Her nemesis, her so-called hater.

Demir Giordano.

Even after convincing herself that years had passed, that he might not be the same anymore, she still isn’t ready to face him. Not yet.

“Just in and out, Angelina,” she whispered to herself. “Take the list and leave. Easy.”

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the doors and slipped into the mansion. The living room was quiet. She hurried upstairs and reached Deniz’s room.

“Deniz? Deniz!” she called softly, but no reply came, then her eyes caught the folded slip of paper on the desk. Relief flooded her. She grabbed the list.

But it felt wrong to go without informing anyone. Maybe Aunt Siana was in the kitchen.

She headed downstairs, the dim light of evening cloaking the mansion. The kitchen is dark too

She reached for the switch but froze—someone was already there. A tall figure, back turned to her. In the dimness, she instantly assumed it is Deniz. She knew that height anywhere.

Her lips curved into a mischievous smirk when her eyes fell on a familiar container of flour on the counter. Memories sparked—the day Deniz had emptied a whole jar over her head, laughing until his stomach hurt.

Revenge time.

She tiptoed forward, grabbed the container, and just as the figure began to turn, she dumped the flour straight over his head.

The man froze. White dust clouded the air.

Angelina doubled over, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

“Ohh—how does it feel now, haa?” she managed between giggles.

The lights flicked on.

Her laughter echoed in the silence. A tall, flour-covered man stood utterly still, shoulders rigid.

“Ohh, now acting grumpy, are we?” she teased, still laughing.

“Angy.”

Her laughter bubbled over as she spun toward the voice—Deniz, standing in the doorway, staring in horror.

Her smile froze.

Slowly, she turned back to the man she’d drenched in flour. And that was when she saw —

those green eyes, cold and unblinking, piercing through her soul.

Her face drained of all color.

Demir.

Her nemesis.