After the meeting ended, Serkan and I both let out a heavy, synchronized sigh. It's been a grueling week. In just fifteen days, my life has been hauled onto a high-stakes roller coaster. Ozan is still trying to claw his way back into my orbit, but Serkan is always there, blocking every move with calculated, icy precision.
I'm currently cruising along a secluded stretch of the Istanbul coast. My father used to bring me here occasionally; it's the only place, aside from the garden I shared with my mother, where I feel a shred of peace. My phone buzzes relentlessly in my pocket.
"Don't forget there's another event at Jan Divit's gallery tonight. I told you yesterday. Where are you?"
"In the off-hours of our little make-believe, I actually have a life, Serkan. Don't forget that."
"The more I think I know you, the more mysterious you become."
"It was part of the contract package," I retort, watching the waves.
"Hande, Hande, Hande... why do you never make my life easy?"
"Because I'm tethered to a contract with you." Serkan goes silent. I sigh and soften my tone just a fraction. "I'll be there, but only for a short while. I have a commitment afterward."
"What commitment? You're supposed to stay for the duration."
"Then I'm not going at all."
"Hande, seriously," Serkan sounds exhausted. "I've said it a thousand times, and you're still being stubborn about this arrangement. It's almost as if you want it to last forever."
"I am not going, Serkan. I have work."
"Oh? Doing what?"
"I don't owe you a play-by-play of my life outside the contract. Tell them I'm too busy to attend." I hang up before he can argue.
"Merhaba. Trouble in paradise?" Ozan's voice grins from behind me. He looks the part of the modern architect—branded tee, distressed jeans, tattoos on display. The corporate bad boy. My former friend, former lover, former fiancé.
"So, you're a trainee at Art Life by day and still a waitress by night?" He steps closer, having overheard. "I know tonight is your shift."
I turn to keep walking, soaking in the view, but Ozan follows. "The extra income helps with my Italy fund and my aunt."
"You're still going to Italy," he states, though it sounds like a question. I give him a sharp look.
"Even if our lives have taken different paths, my dream stays the same."
"And you'll be at the bar tonight?" Ozan flashes a charming smile.
"Yes," I say reluctantly. "Don't show up. And don't tell Serkan."
"So you don't tell your 'fiancé' everything?" Ozan teases.
"The media is watching us. He'd probably try to talk me out of working, and that's not happening."
"I guess I'll see you later then." Ozan walks away before I can protest.
9:00 PM. I'm behind the bar, wearing fitted jeans and a button-down—the uniform. Serkan is likely at the gallery by now. I know he's sent messages, but I refuse to look at my phone.
"I'd be honored to have a beer," a voice says. I look over to see Ozan smirking.
"I thought I was clear about you staying away tonight."
"For old time's sake, Hande. Besides, I love this place." I let out a dry laugh. He's laying on the charm, but I'm not melting. Not even close.
"Hey! Over here! For Allah's sake, what do I have to do to get some whiskey?" a customer shouts. I leave Ozan to deliver the drink. As I set it down, the man—Yigit—grabs my wrist, pulling me close. "Well, well... if it isn't the pretty little waitress."
"Let go," I hiss.
"I've been here before. Every time I see you, you look at everyone with that superior gaze, like you're too good for us. My name is Yigit," he says with a predatory smile.
"Maybe I'm just not interested in anyone. Ever thought of that?" I flash a fake smile and try to yank my wrist back, but he tightens his grip. "Give me a chance, and you will be."
He pulls me toward him, but before he can force a kiss, Ozan's fist connects with his jaw. The bar erupts. Yigit lunges back, and a brawl starts. I dive behind the bar to grab the baseball bat the owner keeps for 'emergencies.' When I come back around, Ozan is on the floor from a punch, Yigit is also down, and standing over them—fist still clenched—is Serkan Bolat.
The whole bar goes silent, watching the two men in expensive suits. Yigit starts to get up, and Serkan squares his shoulders, ready for a fight. Before they can clash, I slam the bat onto a chair between them. The crack sounds like a gunshot. Everyone jumps. I hit a loud air horn that has everyone covering their ears, then jump onto a chair and scream:
"Listen up! Fighting is strictly prohibited on my shift!" I point the bat directly at Yigit. "GET OUT!"
Silence. I look at my colleague. "Katherina, hit the music."
Bad to the Bone starts blaring through the speakers.
Serkan and Ozan end up sitting side-by-side at the bar. I slide two glasses of whiskey in front of them. They look at me, stunned.
"We could have handled that," Ozan mutters.
"I can smell the testosterone from here, but I have my own ways of handling things. And you, Serkan? What were you thinking?"
Serkan looks up, surprised. "You're angry with me and not Ozan?"
"I expected this from Ozan. But you? The 'logical' robot? How did you even know I was here?"
"I had my suspicions."
"Did you ditch your event?"
"I did." Serkan meets my eyes, and for a moment, the bar fades away.
"Can I take you home, Hande?" Ozan asks hopefully. I look at the crossfire between them, but I'm not fueling this competition.
"I appreciate it, but..." I glance at Serkan. "My bike is outside."
Ozan eventually gives up and leaves. Serkan remains, watching me as I serve other customers.
"I know you're staring."
"Why didn't you tell me you were working?"
"Because I knew exactly what your snobbish mind would say." Serkan flinches. "I'm not ashamed of where I work, and I don't want 'pity money' from you."
"Is that what you think of me? That I'm a snob?"
"I..." I pause. He looks genuinely hurt. "Sometimes. Most of the time."
"I think you judge people too quickly, Hande."
"When we met, you were that person."
Serkan sighs. "I know. And I regret how I treated you."
"You only regret it because we're forced into this fake union. Otherwise, you wouldn't have given me a second thought."
"You're right." I'm surprised he admits it. "And... do you always break up fights like that?" He smirks. I lean over the bar and place a hand on his cheek.
"I couldn't let them bruise this pretty face." Serkan places his hand over mine for a heartbeat, then his expression shifts back to stone.
"The press would have a field day, wouldn't they?" He says coldly.
I pull my hand away, instantly rebuilding the wall he just put back up. We are back to being strangers.