The Turkish Bride For Exchange 18+

ADULT CONTENT WARNING!

While I was confiding in my daisies, nourished by my tears, the door of the room suddenly burst open with a loud noise. I turned around in fear, my heart pounding as if it would leap out of my chest. It was my husband, Botan Karahanli, whom I burned with love like a moth drawn to a flame, but who always shouted his hatred at me, turning my heart to ashes. As he started to approach me, I was trying to suppress my excitement by playing with the edge of my dress with trembling hands. While giving his command in an anger-filled voice, his piercing green eyes trapped my brown ones in darkness.

”Undress and get into bed! Let's just get this over with.”

At eighteen, the only duty I had in this mansion, where I came as a bride just to avoid a blood feud, was to give a grandchild to continue the lineage of the KARAHANLI tribe. Yet, I had harbored so many hopes in my heart, all of which Botan had destroyed one by one since the day I arrived. What remained was my love for him, a secret I kept like a mystery, still enduring despite everything. As I was about to do what he said and unbutton my dress, I felt myself turning crimson with shame.

”Be quick, Kirmanlı, I don't have much time!”

For the man I loved, I was just the daughter of the family he called murderers. Once, he had told me that neither being married to him nor being able to give him a child would ever make me a Karahanlı. He had taken me only because his family pressured him to prevent a blood feud. So much so that while people outside called me "Karahanlı Bride," my husband emphasized that I do not belong to him by calling me by my maiden name, Kirmanlı. When I lay down on the bed, he took his place above me, and when my hand instinctively touched his shoulder, he spoke angrily.

”Get your hand off me, don't dare to touch me, Kirmanlı.” 

I had no worth, neither in my father's house nor in this mansion where I came as a bride. I am Dicle, the bride of the Karahanlı Mansion, where I've forgotten the sound of my own name. Dicle, the eternal object of Botan's hatred, the one his family never hesitated to sacrifice. Listen to my story from my own lips.