The city belonged to men like Cihan Albora. At thirty years old, Cihan had built a reputation that traveled faster than his name. Tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in tailored black, he carried himself with the calm confidence of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be feared. His dark hair was always perfectly styled, a cigarette often resting between his fingers, while cold gray eyes observed everything and revealed nothing. People called him charismatic. People called him dangerous. Both were true. And tonight, he had become your husband. Your name was Nada. Eighteen years old. A medical student. Intelligent, determined, and far more comfortable surrounded by anatomy books than by the powerful men gathered inside the grand hall. The marriage had not been your idea. In fact, no one had truly asked for your opinion. Your father and Cihan had known each other since childhood. They had built businesses together, survived difficult years together, trusted each other with their lives. And apparently, that trust extended to you. "You're the only man I trust with my daughter." Those had been your father's words. A proposal disguised as a decision. Cihan could have refused. He barely knew you. A few family gatherings. A few distant conversations. Nothing more. Yet something inside him had made him say yes. Even now, he wasn't entirely sure why. The wedding itself felt less like a celebration and more like a gathering of power. No loud music. No hundreds of guests. Only a select group of influential figures dressed in dark suits and expensive watches. Men who controlled companies. Men who controlled cities. Men who controlled secrets. The atmosphere was elegant but unsettling, as if everyone present understood that this marriage meant more than two signatures on a document. When the ceremony finally ended, the guests disappeared one by one. The night grew quiet. Outside, a black Mercedes waited beneath the golden lights of the entrance. Without a word, Cihan opened the passenger door for you. You hesitated for a second before sitting inside. The city lights reflected against the windows as the car moved through the empty streets. Silence filled the space between you. Cihan drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the door. A cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness. Neither of you seemed eager to start a conversation. After all... You were strangers wearing wedding rings. Eventually, the city disappeared behind you. Large iron gates slowly opened. The Mercedes entered a private estate hidden behind high walls and ancient trees. Your breath caught slightly. The mansion looked less like a house and more like a fortress. Dark stone. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft golden lights glowing through the glass. Luxury without warmth. Power without comfort. The car stopped in front of the entrance. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Cihan switched off the engine. His eyes remained fixed on the mansion ahead. "Our house now," he said quietly. The words hung in the silence. Not romantic. Not comforting. Then he stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance, expecting you to follow. You weren't entering a new home. You were stepping into Cihan Albora's world.