Captive to the Storm

2

He finally pulled his eyes away from me, looking back down at the boy. "Come on, grab your coat. Let's go home."

Without answering Ege's question, the tall figure straightened up. While I remained kneeling beside my son, Ege scrambled to his feet the moment he heard the word *home*, darting off toward the house. Arzu ran in right behind him.

Realizing we were suddenly alone and that he was towering over me, I stood up as well. Even that simple movement felt insignificant; despite giving birth to his child, standing next to him often made me feel more like a kid sister than a wife—a painful contradiction I grew used to carrying.

I hoped to slip inside quietly after Ege, but a strong, firm hand wrapped around my elbow, halting me in my tracks and forcing my eyes up to his.

Those dark eyes seemed determined to drag me under and drown me in their depths.

He leaned down slightly, his warm breath fanning against my ear with an unsettling intimacy. "Don't pull any reckless stunts when we're out," he murmured in a low, commanding tone. "Just watch our son."

"He was only playing in the yard with Arzu," I murmured, feeling an involuntary urge to defend myself.

My words cut off as his grip on my elbow tightened, pulling my body flush against his with a closeness that robbed me of my voice.

"Don't make excuses for me—just watch him," he warned, his voice turning ice-cold. "If so much as a single hair on his head is harmed, I won't leave anything standing. You know how this works, don't you?"

I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip remained unyielding. Nothing I ever did seemed to faze him.

He was my husband. I was still paying the heavy price for a single mistake I made five years ago. If I hadn't made that choice back then, I would never have walked straight into the devil's den.

Asilkan Karadağ.

His name wasn't just a label; it was the heavy foundation of a building that had collapsed entirely over my soul. And I was the one trapped beneath the rubble, dying a little more each day.

"Let go of my arm," I said, glaring up at him with matching defiance. "Ege is waiting. I need to go."

His heavy breathing washed over my face, yet he continued to stare down at me as if my words were entirely weightless, like a solar eclipse cast across a bright sky. Suddenly, a cheerful voice echoed from the gate: "Mom! Dad! Come on!"

If it weren't for him—if his cold, dominating presence hadn't anchored me to this harsh, artificial world—I never would have survived any of this. He was my lifeline, yet he was also the heavy iron shackle locked securely around my wrist. My life had been claimed the moment I was born, and Asilkan Karadağ was the inescapable fate assigned to walk beside me.

He finally released my arm. I stared at the faint red mark glowing against my pale skin, keeping my mouth shut. As I turned to walk toward the doorway where my son was struggling with his coat zipper, a warm hand suddenly clamped back onto my waist, effortlessly pulling me flush against his side again.

"Don't you ever touch me without my permission," I muttered through clenched teeth.

Asilkan leaned down, his voice a low, smooth whisper against my ear. "I don't need anyone's permission to touch my wife."

When we reached Ege in a few long strides, I immediately pulled away from him. He couldn't simply touch me whenever he pleased, and he knew very well that our marriage was nothing more than a title. Even a child sharing our blood couldn't change that fundamental truth.

I reached out, and Ege's tiny fingers wrapped trustingly around two of mine. I could feel the burning weight of Asilkan's gaze stabbing directly into my back as we moved.

I wore a comfortable dark green dress—fitted and simple at the top with thin straps, flowing out into a loose, airy skirt that fluttered with every step, drawing his narrowed eyes toward me relentlessly.

I forced a polite smile for the family waiting by the front door, who looked cheerfully oblivious to the tension between us.

"Come back and visit soon," Ceylin said, setting her daughter down and stepping forward to pull me into a tight embrace. She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. "And don't let anything get to you."

I pulled back, nodding quietly. Even though the thought of returning to that grand, suffocating house drained me, I kept my thoughts to myself.

When toxic hands manage to wrap themselves around your collar, shaking them off becomes an uphill battle. Even if you manage to break free, the stains they leave behind tend to linger, dirtying whatever innocence you have left.

After saying our goodbyes to Birkan and Arzu, I grabbed my coat from the entry hall and stepped outside. Their neighborhood was lined with quiet, upscale two-story villas where the residents valued their privacy. I had attended a few neighborhood gatherings and spoken with most of them, though I harbored no illusions: if I weren't carrying the Karadağ surname, most of these people wouldn't have given me a second glance. Yet, they always tripped over themselves trying to talk to me now.

In fact, this entire gated community belonged to the man walking right beside me. Every single one of the 153 identical luxury homes spread across the property was his, a fact that kept me constantly aware of the fishbowl we lived in.

The moment we stepped outdoors, an employee hurrying to button his shirt rushed over. He gestured toward the sleek luxury vehicle waiting across the drive and said in a polite, flat tone, "Right this way, Mrs. Yakut."

The area was practically swarming with his men. Another car filled with more guards sat idling just behind ours. This was the environment Ege was growing up in. The constant, looming fear that something might happen to his father or anyone close to them had been drilled into his mind from infancy—far too much weight for a little boy to carry. He lived surrounded by bodyguards, and his tiny hand squeezed mine even tighter out of sheer instinct.

Asilkan flicked his chin toward the car as he walked past me. "Get in."

As his large frame moved ahead of me, the deep rumble of the engine in the trailing car filled the air.

"Come on, Ege," I called out softly to the boy, whose dark eyes were curiously scanning our surroundings.

We walked over to the car where the rear door stood open for us. As I helped the little boy climb inside, I could feel the towering presence of the man standing just behind us. Ignoring him entirely, I hoisted myself up into the high cabin and sat down. The door slammed shut with a heavy, unyielding thud.

Asilkan climbed in after us. Ege immediately stretched out across the backseat, resting his head comfortably on my lap and his legs across his father's, blinking sleepily up at him.

"Can I lay down like this, Dad?" Ege asked, suddenly looking a bit intimidated.

Asilkan offered a rare, subtle smile down at his son—a look reserved entirely for Ege, one that no one else in the world ever got to see. In all the time we'd been married, I had only ever witnessed that look once, on a day that changed everything for both of us.

When I caught him looking, he slowly lifted his gaze from the boy and locked his dark eyes onto mine.

When the driver turned around to ask, "Heading home, sir?", Asilkan answered without breaking eye contact with me. "Home."

I honestly didn't know what was or wasn't between us anymore. There was an intense pull—perhaps purely physical, a raw, bodily desire I couldn't quite name. But we were both healthy adults, and my private life remained as strictly untouched as his. He respected our arrangement, just as I did. Throughout all these years, there had never been another woman near him; I had witnessed enough of his world to know that. He swatted away every temptation with the back of his hand, always returning at the end of the night to the silent house we shared.

The car pulled away smoothly, and I was the first to look away. If I hadn't, he would have stared indefinitely—I knew him well enough by now.

If someone had told me years ago that I would end up marrying Asilkan Karadağ and having his child, I would have laughed in their face and walked away. But life rarely bends to our wishes; it simply follows the twisted path of destiny written for us since birth, and he was the heavy cross I was meant to carry.

I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the dark, blur-filled road slide past. A strange, phantom prickling spread across my skin, a dull ache from old internal wounds. Feeling a slight shift from the sleeping child resting on my lap, I looked down. Ege's dark eyes were shut tight, fast asleep. Gently, I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, exposing his peaceful face. His chest rose and fell in a steady, calming rhythm. He had clearly exhausted himself running around with Arzu today. Normally, he was an outgoing, warm little boy who never met a stranger, and I prayed nothing would ever happen to harden that sweet personality of his.

"Did he go to sleep on an empty stomach?"

The sudden question made me lift my chin. Asilkan had torn his attention away from his phone, turning his head toward me as if sensing my eyes on him.

I shook my head left and right. "No. He ate."

He didn't say anything else. He simply turned back around, falling silent once more.

***