orhan-e-roohi

orhan e roohi

Episode 1: An Ordinary Girl, An Unordinary Prince

I am Roohi Altin. And he is Orhan Bey.

An ordinary girl like me could never understand him. No one could.

Why? Because I am not one princess. I am a thousand princesses. Money buys every door in Istanbul, Dubai, London. But his name... his name is Orhan Bey.

When I first met him, I hated him instantly.

Charity gala. My father forced me. I wore red. Always red. Red is blood. Power. Warning. He wore black. Simple suit. No Rolex. No diamond cufflinks. Nothing that screamed money. That annoyed me more than anything.

Orhan seemed arrogant. But now, looking back, maybe I was the arrogant one. Maybe I couldn't see past his calm eyes.

We belong to Turkey's richest families. The Altins. The Beys. Our names are in history books, business magazines, whispers at every high society party.

A princess like me, for whom the world was nothing, lived in her palace all alone. People think rich means friends. Love. Wrong. When you have everything, people come for your money, your name, your power.

I was proud. Arrogant. Girls at university wanted photos for i********:. Boys wanted to say "I dated Roohi Altin." Everyone feared and respected me.

But they respected me because they feared me.

One girl looked at me during a lecture. 3 seconds too long. By evening she was expelled. Her father lost a 20 million dollar contract.

I don't like anyone looking at me. Look in my eyes, pay the price. My eyes are not for common people. My anger is not for weak hearts.

At 16 I swore by my life: no man would control me. I would never love. Love makes you weak. Love makes you bleed.

Then I broke that promise.

A stable boy. Poor. Honest eyes. He didn't know who I was for 2 months. He treated me like a normal girl. Made me laugh. Made me feel human.

My father found out. The boy disappeared next day. No goodbye. No note. "Sent away for his safety," my father said.

I learned: promises are lies we tell before the world breaks them.

But now... now there is Orhan Bey.

They say he is different. Doesn't care about money, power, Altin name. They say he looks at me and sees a woman. Not a princess. Not a billionaire's daughter. Just Roohi.

That terrifies me more than anything.

For the first time, I met a man who doesn't bow when I enter. Doesn't flinch when I raise my voice. Black eyes that look into mine and don't look away.

Orhan Bey doesn't fear me.

That is the most dangerous thing I've faced.

The day we met again at my father's office, he walked in 10 minutes late. Everyone waited. No apology. He sat, crossed his legs, said, "Let's begin. I don't have all day."

I wanted to slap him. Throw coffee on his black suit. See him break.

No one talks to Roohi Altin like that. No one.

But he did. Worst part? A part of me liked it.

I wanted to push him. Test him. Break this unbreakable man.

So I did what Roohi Altin does. I started a war.

I don't know if I'll win.

But he will never forget me. Even if I burn his world down.

My name is Roohi. A thousand princesses.

His name is Orhan Bey. The only man who dares stand before me.

But now... the game begins.

---

The 87th floor of Altin Tower smelled like money and fear.

Everyone stood when I entered. Everyone except him.

Orhan Bey sat in my father's chair. Black leather chair that saw hundred-million deals. Chair that made grown men sweat. He sat relaxed, like reading a newspaper at home.

Black suit again. Simple. No pinstripe. No label. Calm eyes like deep water. Eyes that don't chase money. Don't bow to power. Like he owned the world and waited for us to realize.

"You're late," my father said. Mehmet Altin. Man who made CEOs cry. Voice careful today.

Orhan checked his plain black watch. "10 minutes. Traffic."

Traffic excuses everything except being late for Roohi Altin.

My red nails dug into my palm. Weapons. Warnings.

"Let's begin," Orhan said, not waiting for my father. "I don't have all day."

Silence. Air conditioning hum. My father's assistant dropped his pen. Gunshot sound.

No one talks like that in Altin Tower. Not to my father. Not to me.

I wore white. White silk dress. White heels. White looks innocent. White shows blood better. Shows every sin.

"Mr. Bey," I said, voice sweet like poison. "Coffee? Barista trained in Milan 8 years."

He looked at me. Black eyes didn't blink. Didn't bow. Studied me like a document.

"No," he said. "I prefer coffee without sugar. Without games."

Games. He called me a game.

I smiled. Smile that made men sign bad contracts. Mother taught me at 12: "Smile, Roohi. While your enemy bleeds."

"Then business," I said, sliding merger across glass. Paper on glass was loud. "Sign here. Altin Group makes Bey Industries number one in Turkey. Europe. World."

Orhan didn't touch pen. Didn't touch paper. Didn't glance at numbers that make men kneel. He leaned back in my father's chair like time was afraid to touch him.

"I don't want number one," he said quietly. Everyone heard. "Number one has enemies. Targets on his back. I prefer being the only one."

"Orhan Bey," my father cut in, anger under careful tone, "this merger is 3 billion dollars. Three billion. Show respect."

Respect echoed. Bounced off glass walls.

Orhan stood. Slow. Tall. Taller than my father. Taller than guards with guns under suits. When he moved, room shrank.

"I respect money," he said, eyes on me now. "I respect power. I respect time. I don't respect people who think signature buys loyalty. I don't respect people who think 3 billion is price of a man."

Hands shook. Not fear. White-hot rage burning veins. Vision blurred.

No one rejects Roohi Altin. No one rejects Altin merger. No one walks from my father and lives comfortably.

"Do you know who I am?" Words slipped out. Stupid. Weak. Villain line before losing.

Orhan turned to me fully. For first time, not looking past me. Not at my father. At me. Only me.

"Yes," he said. One word like he knew every secret. "Roohi Altin. Daughter of Mehmet Altin. 12 companies. 3 private islands. 8 billion dollars. Zero patience."

Zero patience. Counted me like balance sheet. Numbers on page.

I picked up espresso cup. 200 dollars. Florentine porcelain.

"Let me tell you who you are, Mr. Bey," I said. Voice sweet with cold steel. "You walked into Altin Tower without appointment. Sit in my father's chair without permission. Think you can walk out without signing contract that changes your life."

Stepped closer. White heels clicked marble. Click. Click. Click. Threat. Countdown.

"And you will learn Roohi Altin does not lose. Roohi Altin does not get rejected. Roohi Altin gets what Roohi Altin wants."

Orhan didn't move back. Didn't raise hands. Didn't call security. Watched me like unsolved puzzle. Like I was interesting.

"Try me," he said. Two words. Harder than slap. Harder than father's insult.

Something snapped. Locked away since 16. Since stable boy disappeared.

Raised coffee cup. Hand steady. Eyes steady. Heart steady.

And threw it.

Hot coffee flew slow motion. Brown against black suit. Splash chest, tie, shirt. Spread like blood. Like wound.

One second. World stopped breathing.

Assistants gasped. One covered mouth. Father stood so fast chair crashed floor. Guards reached for guns.

Coffee dripped down Orhan's suit. Chest. Hands. Stained white shirt. Burned. Espresso burns at 90 degrees.

Waited for him to shout. Curse. Call security. Arrest me. Break like every man broke when Roohi Altin showed anger.

Instead... he smiled.

Not polite. Not fake for cameras. Real. Small. Amused. Like I told joke only he understood. Like I proved point he waited for.

Looked at ruined suit. Coffee dripping lapel. Then at me. Coffee dripped from jaw, down neck.

"White suits you," he said, voice calm. No anger. No insult. No threat. Just calm. Like discussing weather. "But coffee suits you better. You have fire, Roohi Altin. Real fire. I thought you were pretty face with rich father and expensive shoes."

Mouth opened. Closed. No words. First time in life, no words.

Reached into pocket. Pulled white handkerchief. Plain cotton. Not silk. Not monogrammed. Just plain cotton. Dabbed suit slowly. Carefully. Like he had all time. Like 200-dollar coffee was normal day.

"3 billion dollars," he said, eyes on me not father. "You offered 3 billion to sign paper. You showed me something worth more than 3 billion."

Folded handkerchief. Neat. Perfect. Put back pocket. Coffee stained, folded like soldier's uniform.

"You," he said, stepping closer. I didn't move back. "You are not scared of me. Everyone here scared. Your father. Assistants. These walls scared of Altin name. But you... you threw coffee on me."

Another step. Close enough to smell coffee and something clean. Rain after storm.

"That makes you dangerous, Roohi Altin. Dangerous things only things worth my time. Only things worth my attention."

Heart beat too fast. Throat. Ears.

This wasn't script. Supposed to win. See him kneel. Beg forgiveness. Sign with shaking hands.

Instead he looked at me like challenge he wanted to solve.

"Get out," my father said, voice shaking rage. "Both of you. Out of my office. Now."

Orhan nodded once. Walked past me. Shoulder brushed mine. Smelled coffee and clean rain.

At door, stopped. Didn't turn fully. Just head. Just eyes.

"Monday," he said. Voice carried silent room. "9 AM. My office. Bey Industries. 42nd floor. We'll talk merger. But this time, Roohi Altin, bring more than coffee. Bring something that can burn me."

Then gone. Door closed soft. No slam. No drama. Soft click. Like he owned building too.

Room exploded. Father shouted at assistant. Assistants ran for towels, water, anything. Security confused, looking at me, at father.

I stood frozen. White dress. Coffee stains on hands I didn't remember.

Hand still felt cup's weight. Heat.

Chest still felt weight of his eyes.

He didn't fear me. Didn't break. Didn't flinch.

He smiled.

Orhan Bey turned my war into his game. My attack into amusement.

For first time, didn't know next move. Didn't know what to do next.

But I learn. Always learn. Learn fast. Learn better.

My name is Roohi Altin. I burn worlds. I break men.

Monday, 9 AM, I find out if Orhan Bey can burn too. If man who doesn't fear coffee can fear me.

To be continued in Episode 2...