Leyla pushed open the door without hesitation, stepping into the dimly lit hallway. Her bare feet were silent against the cold marble floor as she made her way toward the grand staircase.
She found Ozan in the lounge, sitting lazily on the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, giving him an effortlessly disheveled look. He looked up as she entered, his expression unreadable.
Leyla crossed her arms. "Ozan."
He arched a brow. "Hmm?"
"I'm hungry," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Ozan blinked. Then, slowly, he smirked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "And?"
Leyla narrowed her eyes. "And feed me."
His smirk widened. "Oh? Are we married now, Ateş?" His voice dripped with amusement. "Because that sounded like something a wife would say."
Leyla rolled her eyes. "Shut up. I haven't eaten all day."
Ozan set his glass down and stood up, his height suddenly more intimidating now that he was standing so close. "Say please."
Leyla scoffed. "Not happening."
Ozan chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine. Follow me."
Ozan stepped into the massive, modern kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. The sleek marble countertops and high-end appliances looked barely used—probably because they were.
Leyla leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You know how to cook?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
Ozan shot her a sideways glance as he pulled ingredients from the fridge. "What, you think I survive on whiskey and air?"
Leyla shrugged. "Honestly? I assumed you had a chef or something."
Ozan smirked. "I do. But I don't always like depending on others. Unlike you, princess."
Leyla narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"
Ozan chuckled, grabbing a pan. "Tell me, Ateş, have you ever even boiled water?"
Leyla scoffed. "Of course, I have—" She paused. "Okay, maybe not, but I've seen it being done."
Ozan laughed under his breath as he turned on the stove. "Unbelievable."
Leyla watched as he moved around the kitchen with ease, cracking eggs, chopping vegetables, and seasoning everything with precision. His movements were smooth, practiced. It was almost unfair how effortlessly he did it all.
"Stop staring," Ozan muttered, without even looking up.
Leyla straightened. "I wasn't staring."
Ozan glanced at her with amusement. "Sure."
She rolled her eyes but didn't look away. Watching him cook was oddly fascinating. It was strange seeing him do something so... domestic. The man who kidnapped her, who looked at her like she was his possession, was now making her food like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Here," Ozan finally said, sliding a plate toward her as he leaned against the counter. "Eat."
Leyla eyed the dish. "What if you poisoned it?"
Ozan smirked. "Then at least you'd die with a full stomach."
Leyla huffed but took the plate anyway. The moment she took a bite, her eyes widened. It was good. Really good.
Ozan watched her reaction, his smirk deepening. "Told you I could cook."
Leyla set the fork down, crossing her arms. "Fine. You win this round."
Ozan chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. "There will always be more rounds, Ateş."