Ömür sighed in relief as she unlocked the door, entering the summer house her family owned in Șile, only one hour away from Istanbul. She had decided early in the morning to go there, to think and to relax. It was easier to do it so far away from her family.

Leaving her coat in the hanger in the hall and taking off her shoes, Ömür moved quickly to the kitchen, which was decorated with grey furniture only a few shades lighter than the floor. On one side was a counter with a sink, a stove and a fridge, while on the other was a table for four.

"Miss Ömür."

Turning around to see Kemal, Ömür hurried to take one of the bags from his hands, despite his silent protests, and then placing it on the table. From all the people her father usually assigned to her, Kemal was the one she actually liked, mostly because he was married to Ömür's oldest friend, so they got along well. He was a man of average height, with black hair cut short, brown eyes and a mustache.

"You can go if you want," Ömür said. "I'll be here for some time, so you don't need to stay here."

"As you know, your father would not be pleased."

"It will take me a lot of time," Ömür said. "You can come back in five hours. Go and see the kids. You don't need to wait around for me."

Kemal shifted uncomfortably, and Ömür knew she shouldn't insist. But she knew that Nare was always happy when he came back earlier, as where their kids. She didn't want to keep Kemal away from his family simply because her father said he needed to be all the time with her when she wasn't home.

"I'll call Nare," Ömür said, "see if she has other plans and, if she doesn't, I will invite her here for lunch and we'll eat together. This way, you only leave me alone for two hours."

Kemal sighed and then nodded. She could tell that he wasn't very happy, but Ömür needed to be alone. She needed a few hours away from Yaman and she knew he wouldn't come there. Besides, she wouldn't mind to see Nare again, despite being to her house only yesterday. And the children, of course.

After Kemal left, Ömür started cooking the sarma, but her mind quickly moved to the conversation she had heard. She didn't know who Șeref was, or what he had to do with her father. She hated that. She hated how everyone tried to keep her away, as if she didn't have a right to her own family's business. Her brother was not married, he had no children. If something happened to him and their father, Ömür didn't want some cousin to take her father's place. She wanted to take it herself. She wanted to prove to whoever thought she wasn't capable of doing what Hazım was doing that she was capable of achieving anything she set her mind on.

It was clear, at least to her, that something big was about to happen. Her father seemed more cautious than usual, and that could only mean that he was getting ready for something. But she didn't know what. Hazım had always tried to hide what he did from his daughter and his wife. Zümrüt knew but she pretended she didn't. Ömür was expected to act the same, to close her eyes to what her father did for a living.

As she sat at the table and started to wrap the filling of meat, rice and herbs with the grape leaves, her mind drifted to the other problem on her head. Yaman. Things had not went the way she had wanted but it was too late now to go back. She needed a way to change the situation in her favour. She needed a way to make Yaman more involved into the organisation. There was only one way for her to have that kind of influence over him. Marry him. She had noticed things that made her weary, she had noticed his controlling nature, but that would have to become something else for her to deal with later. Like her father, her brother and her mother, Yaman would learn that Ömür was not a woman who could be forced by someone else's hand or controlled.

Many had tried. Her father. Her mother. Her brother. Even one of her exes. They all had learned quickly that trying to control her resulted in a catastrophy. Hazım had tried to make her study in Istanbul, close to her home, where he could always keep an eye on her. He had wanted to send her to the most prestigious university in Istanbul, but Ömür hadn't applied for any single one of them, choosing any other university abroad. Her mother had told her that she shouldn't date men who didn't have half the wealth her family possessed, and Ömür had done nothing else but avoid them for years.

The doorbell rang, and Ömür shot a glance at the clock on the wall. It was a bit early for Kemal to have arrived, but maybe the children had been ready faster than Ömür would have thought. Although she didn't know why he would rang the doorbell when she had given him a key, Ömür didn't question his presence. Who else could have come there?

When the doorbell rang again, Ömür rose from the chair, wiping her hands on a towel. "I'm coming!"

She moved forward, opening the door as soon as she reached it.

"What are you doing here?" Ömür asked, standing face to face with Yaman.

"I could ask the same," he said, his voice filled with anger as he barged in the house, slightly pushing past Ömür. As soon as he passed, she felt the smell of alcohol on him.

"This is my house," Ömür answered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Me being here doesn't rise any questions."

Unlike him barging in her house. Why did he come? Even more importantly, who had told him where she was?

Without bothering to answer her, Yaman headed into the kitchen, making Ömür follow after him. He stood unmoving as he took in the image before him, although she didn't find anything hard to understand there. Ömür loved cooking. Everyone knew that. So, finding her in a kitchen preparing something shouldn't rise any kind of suspicion.

"What is this?" Yaman asked, rushing towards the table and throwing the pot she had filled with sarma on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Ömür asked, taking a few steps closer, feeling a flash of irritation.

"Who are you cooking for?" Yaman shouted, throwing the grape leaves on the floor, turning the kitchen into a mess.

"Are you insane?" she snapped. "Do you think I answer to you? Get out of my house!"

Ömür raised her finger, pointing it towards the door, waiting for Yaman to get out. Anger welled up in her chest because Yaman had no right to barge into her house and demand explanations. Especially when she wasn't doing anything wrong. Because they were engaged, did her life had to revolve around him?

Before Ömür could do or say anything else, Yaman rushed towards her, his hand clenching painfully around her wrist.

"Let go of me," Ömür hissed, her voice filled with more rage than fear.

"Who is he?" Yaman shouted. "Answer me!"

Ömür struggled against his grip and, when she saw that it didn't work, her free hand moved to wrap around his, her nails bitting into his skin. Yaman let go of her, pushing her towards the wall, and Ömür used the opportunity to rush into the living room, trying to lock the door before he followed her. But she was not quick enough. Yaman pushed her inside, and Ömür fell near the black coffee table. Before she could move, both his arms wrapped around her neck from behind, taking the air out of her lungs.

Panic surged through her chest, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Ömür tried to struggle but it felt useless. Yaman was much stronger than her, and she couldn't fight him off. Would he kill her? She didn't doubt it. He was drunk and angry. He was not thinking clearly.

In a last attempt to save herself, Ömür's hand reached for the vase on the table, picking it up and crashing it into Yaman's head. The vase didn't break, but the impact was powerful enough to free Ömür. Gasping for air, she ran towards the staircases, trying to find another place to hide until Kemal or someone else arrived.

Ömür rushed out of the living room, and she stumbled on something in the hall, tripping. She managed to regain her balance, grabbing the counter with her hand. Yaman chased after her, pushing her towards the staircase. Ömür fell, and she felt her head hit the edge of a stair.

The world turned to darkness for a few seconds, but it remained blurry when she opened her eyes. She heard shouts and the sound of someone hitting something, but she felt as if she was underwater and whatever was happening was on the surface. A flash of pain surged through her, and Ömür slowly moved her hand to her forehead, feeling something liquid. Blood.

"Miss Ömür!"

Grabbing the balustrade, Ömür looked at the scene in front of her. Yaman was laying on the floor, moaning in pain, and Kemal was standing in front of her. Someone moved behind him, and Ömür saw her friend moving past her husband towards her.

Nare helped her get up, and Ömür leaned on her friend, tears forming in her eyes.

"Miss Ömür," Kemal said. "What should I do with him?"

Ömür shot Yaman a glance. He couldn't even more from the floor, and she could see the blood flowing from his nose. She understood what Kemal asked. She didn't even need to look at Nare's husband to know that he was ready to take out his gun and shoot Yaman. Part of her wanted to give the order. But another part, the rational one, screamed at the thought. She couldn't do that.

Instead, Ömür took her engagement ring from her finger, throwing it on the floor towards Yaman.

"I want to go home," Ömür whispered, tears falling down her cheeks.

Part of her could still feel Yaman's hands wrapped around her neck, forcing the breath out of her lungs, slowly killing her. She had been an idiot not to see all the signs sooner. She had been foolish not to understand that, if she married him, her death would come at his hands.

"Are the kids in the car?" Ömür asked Nare. "I don't want them to see me like this."

Her friend shook her head. "They're at my Mom's."

Probably that was the only reason they had made it so quickly.

Leaning on Nare for support, Ömür moved towards the car, not even caring that she was in her slippers. She doubted she could walk on her high heels in that state.

"Ömür, maybe you should sit down for a moment," Nare insisted.

"I only want to go home," Ömür whispered and then turned to Kemal. "Can you take my phone from the kitchen. I need to make a call."

Kemal nodded, rushing back inside the house, while Nare led Ömür to the car, opening the back door. Ömür took a deep breath as she sat, not closing the door.

"Is it bad?" she asked Nare.

"It's just a cut," the other woman said and then turned her head towards the house. "Kemal, bring a clean towel!"

In a few moments, Nare's husband rushed outside the house, holding a white towel in one hand and Ömür's phone in the other. Nare took the towel and pressed it against Ömür's forehead.

"I'll call your father," Kemal said.

"Let's go home," Nare said. "You can change, Ömür, and I can put something else on that cut. Kemal can call Hazım Dayı from there."

Ömür nodded. She didn't care where she went as long as she got as far away as possible from Yaman.

Dayı - (dah-yuh) - Uncle (maternal)