CHAPTER 1

...AYSEL KARANLIK...

The world keeps trying to convince me I was meant for softness.

Pretty lies wrapped in pretty words.

Moonlight.

Aysel.

A name that sounds like silk slipping off skin — delicate, breakable.

People crave things like love, safety, a warm home, arms that stay.

They build their entire existence around belonging to someone.

But me?

I crave a Louis Vuitton, a Hermès Kelly, a Porsche 911 Turbo, and a man built like sin who knows how to shut me up properly — not with tenderness, but with dominance and intention.

Something dangerous.

Something that feels like a goddamn crime scene, not a fairytale.

I learned early that softness is just another way to die slowly.

I drag my fingertips across the dusty windowsill of the safehouse, watching the night bleed into the crooked streets of Istanbul. The city hums like a restless beast — half lit, half rotting. And still, it stands. Still, it doesn’t break.

Maybe that’s why I like it.

Anything that survives chaos earns my respect.

My lighter clicks open, the flame a trembling little dare. I watch it dance before snapping it closed. Even fire fears being held.

On the table sits a file. Thick. Heavy. Worth millions to the wrong people — or the right ones, depending on perspective.

I stole it two hours ago.

Not because I needed it.

But because someone else did.

And nothing tastes better than power you take out of someone’s hands while they watch.

My phone vibrates once — sharp, precise.

A code. A warning.

They found you.

Of course they did.

They always do.

The smart ones stop chasing.

The stupid ones try anyway.

But this strange sinking in my stomach tells me tonight isn’t about the usual idiots.

Tonight feels different.

Like the game has shifted without my permission.

The stray cat I allow to exist in my space knocks over something behind me. I don’t flinch. My body stopped reacting before my mind ever could — survival rewires everything.

The creature looks at me like I’m the inconvenience.

“Don’t get attached,” I mutter.

It blinks.

I tie my hair back, slow and precise, letting the silence thicken. Somewhere out there — someone is moving toward me. Not fast. Not reckless.

Calculated.

A presence rather than a pursuit.

A hunter who understands patience.

I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t feel the tight pull beneath my ribs or the restless curiosity scratching at bone.

I shouldn’t want to know who’s bold enough to stalk the darkness expecting to find me.

I’m the one people fear.

The one they chase but never catch.