Chapter 12

Cihan Demir

It has been two weeks since she arrived, and I have yet to make sense of it.

At first, I thought it was just curiosity. A passing interest in something or rather, someone new within these walls. But no, it's more than that.

I see it in the way my brothers are around her, in the way they speak to her, even in the way they look at her. Zyran, the coldest of us all, has a strange patience when it comes to her. Rezan, who finds humor in everything, teases her, but never cruelly. And Dehrin—Dehrin, who barely has time for anything that isn't self-indulgent, watches over her like a damn guard dog.

I am no exception to this madness. I don't understand it, and I hate things I don't understand.

I button the cuffs of my shirt, adjusting the collar as my thoughts linger. Maybe it's because she looks so breakable. She is small, timid, skittish. The kind of girl who flinches at the sound of raised voices and keeps her head bowed when spoken to. She doesn't belong here, and yet, here she is, scrubbing our floors and serving our tea. A misplaced puzzle piece in a world that would chew her up and spit her out without hesitation.

My father would have loved to exploit something like that. He was a bastard that way—always finding ways to manipulate, to use, to destroy. He had no love for innocence. No love for anything, really. If he were still alive, she wouldn't last a day under his roof.

My jaw clenches at the thought.

Zyran and Dehrin painted their hands red a few nights ago. The guard  who dared to touch what wasn't his - what wasn't meant to be touched at all. He torn apart like a rabid animal. The rage they carried wasn't uncommon. We all have it, buried beneath layers of control, but the reason behind it was what unsettled me.

She was the reason.

It was unsettling because I understood it.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair before making my way to open it. When I do, I'm met with her. Yerenica.

She's holding a tea tray, her delicate hands barely gripping the edges, as if she's afraid to drop it. Her wide, hazel eyes flicker up to me before quickly darting back down. "Ma'am Irem sent tea," she says timidly. "Where should I put it, sir?"

She looks...adorable. The thought is unwelcome, but there nonetheless.

I step aside, motioning toward the small table near the sitting area. "There."

She nods and moves carefully, setting the tray down with practiced precision. I watch her, noticing the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the way she straightens the cups without thinking, the way her features seem oddly familiar. There's something about her—something I can't put my finger on.

Then it hits me. Her eyes. The same shade as Dehrin's. And the shape of her face... there's a resemblance. A faint, ridiculous resemblance to our mother.

I frown. I'm being absurd. There's no way—

"Do you need your room cleaned, sir?" Her voice interrupts my thoughts. She's still looking down, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her uniform.

"No need."

She hesitates, shifting from foot to foot. "If I don't do it now, ma'am Irem will get mad."

I let out a quiet sigh. Of course. Irem runs this house like a goddamn prison.

"Clean it later," I say. "Tell her I said so."

She looks up then, surprised, but quickly nods. "Yes, sir."

With that, she turns and leaves, disappearing down the hall like a ghost. I watch her go, an uneasy feeling settling in my chest.

This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense.

And yet, I can't bring myself to ignore it.

Thoughts?

this was a filler chapter...Everything is about to go down.