Chapter 10

"Dramatic Monkey"

Author's Pov

The silence in Zyran's office was thick, pressing down on Yerenica's trembling form as she perched on the couch. Her fingers curled into the hem of her dress, knuckles white, as her hazel eyes darted around, taking in the room. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged books and files. The heavy wooden desk dominated the space, impeccably organized, save for a single glass of whiskey left untouched. The dim lighting cast long shadows, making the room feel both imposing and strangely safe at the same time.

She flinched when Zyran moved, her body still on high alert. But to her surprise, he didn't speak. Instead, he crouched down in front of her, his movements uncharacteristically slow. A first aid box appeared in his hands, and Yerenica's breath hitched.

She blinked.

Of all things she had expected, this wasn't one of them.

Zyran said nothing as he opened the box, his dark eyes scanning her bruised wrist with a sharpness that sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers, rough from years of handling weapons, barely brushed her skin as he cleaned the area with antiseptic.

She whimpered as the liquid stung, her body instinctively jerking back.

His grip on her hand tightened; firm, yet oddly reassuring.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "Bebek, sakin ol. Geçecek. (Baby, calm down. It will pass.)"

The words were foreign to her ears, but the soothing tone behind them was unmistakable. Yerenica swallowed hard, watching as Zyran worked, his touch impossibly gentle. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line, but there was something else there, something she couldn't quite place.

-

Her name still lingered in his mind.

Yerenica.

A name from another lifetime. A name that never should have resurfaced.

He had never let himself think about Ana—their mother. Not beyond the facts that she left, she was gone, she died. That was it. No questions, no useless pondering. But as he wrapped Yerenica's wrist, as he heard her sniffle and hiccup, the thoughts came anyway.

What if she had never left?

What if they had a sister, Yerenica's age?

A girl growing up under their protection, a girl who never had to suffer, never had to be afraid.

His jaw clenched.

No. There was no point in thinking about what-ifs. Their mother made her choice, and the past was just that- the past. He forced the thoughts away, focusing instead on the girl in front of him.

Just as he tied off the bandage, the door suddenly burst open.

Zyran didn't even look up. "Dehrin, kapıyı çalmayı öğren. (Learn to knock.)"

"öğren—" Dehrin's voice was indignant before he switched to English. "Bro, I literally just got back and—" He stopped, his hazel eyes narrowing as they landed on Yerenica. Her swollen eyes. Her bruised wrist. "What the hell happened?"

Yerenica stiffened. She wanted to disappear, to shrink into the couch, but Dehrin was already moving closer, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury.

"Who did this?" His voice was sharper now. Demanding. "What the fuck happened?"

She hesitated, shoulders curling in on themselves. The last thing she wanted was to bring more trouble. But one look at Zyran's expectant gaze told her she didn't have much of a choice.

"I... It's nothing, really," she murmured. "Reed just—"

"Reed?" Dehrin cut her off, his face twisting into something dangerous. "That bastard? What the fuck did he do?"

Zyran shot him a warning glance. "Düşür sesini. (Lower your voice.)"

Dehrin ignored him, turning back to Yerenica. "Did he touch you?"

Her stomach churned at the memory, at the way Reed's fingers had dug into her wrist, at the words he had spat at her. She didn't want to say it, but the weight of their expectant gazes left her no room to escape.

She nodded.

Dehrin swore. Loudly. Violently.

"That motherfu—"

"Dehrin." Zyran's voice was sharp, controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. He turned back to Yerenica, his tone gentler. "It's not your fault."

She looked away. "I should've told someone earlier."

"You should have," Zyran agreed. "But that doesn't mean you're to blame."

Dehrin crossed his arms. "Where is he now?"

Zyran exhaled. "I'll handle it."

That didn't seem to satisfy Dehrin, but before he could argue, Yerenica suddenly jolted upright, eyes wide.

"Oh no."

The brothers stared at her.

"Oh no what?" Dehrin asked.

"The laundry!" She gasped. "I forgot the laundry! If I don't finish it, I'll—"

Before she could so much as take a step, Dehrin reached out and grabbed the back of her collar, stopping her effortlessly.

"I knew it," she lamented dramatically. "This is the end. Tell Irem I died doing my duty."

Dehrin rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out. "Dramatik maymun. (Dramatic monkey.)"

Zyran pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yerenica, go rest."

"But—"

"Irem will handle it," Zyran cut her off, his tone final. "You need to rest."

Yerenica huffed but didn't argue further. As Dehrin finally let her go, she shuffled toward the door, still pouting. Before stepping out, she glanced back at them.

"...Thank you."

The words were quiet, hesitant, but they lingered in the room long after she was gone.

Dehrin scoffed, flopping onto the couch with a groan. "Yani, Reed'i öldürüyor muyuz, abi?" (So, we killing Reed or what, brother?)

Zyran's expression darkened, his voice cold and unwavering.

"Evet." (yes)

Dehrin let out a slow exhale, his fingers twitching. "Good."

Zyran stood, rolling his shoulders. "I want his screams to echo."

A slow smirk curled on Dehrin's lips. "Let's make sure he regrets ever breathing in our fucking presence."

The air in the room turned heavy- lethal.

Reed was as good as dead.

Thoughts?

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