Hearts of the Bosphorus

Chapter 7

Seeds of Deception

Layla sat across from Esma in the greenhouse behind the Balik mansion, watching as steam curled up from her cup of tea into the humid air. The greenhouse was a world unto itself, a sanctuary of controlled beauty. Orchids in every imaginable shade filled the space, their delicate blooms thriving under the careful touch of Esma Balik. The filtered light streaming through the glass panels painted dappled patterns across the tiled floor, making the scene almost ethereal.

But despite the serene surroundings, a tension hummed between them, like a wire pulled too tight. Layla could sense the unspoken expectations that always hovered in the air when she was alone with her grandmother. Esma's eyes, sharp and calculating even beneath the softness of her silver hair, missed nothing. She had built her life on discipline, on ensuring that everything within her sphere remained under her control.

"It's a shame that your exhibition couldn't be held at the historical museum as you wanted," Esma remarked, her voice smooth but with a pointed edge. "But it's important to understand that certain doors remain closed to those who stray too far from their roots."

Layla forced a smile, though her fingers tightened around the delicate porcelain handle of her cup. "I suppose some places prefer to keep things traditional," she replied, keeping her tone light. She knew better than to argue directly with Esma—it was like throwing a stone at a fortress wall. Esma would always have the last word, especially when it came to upholding their family's legacy.

Esma took a delicate sip of her tea, her eyes glinting with something that Layla couldn't quite read. "Tradition is what gives us strength, Layla. It's why our family has endured while others have fallen. We must be careful who we allow into our circle."

Layla nodded politely, though a twinge of unease fluttered in her chest. She thought of Isabella, of the laughter they'd shared over lunch just an hour ago. She thought of the secrets she kept hidden from her grandmother—secrets that could unravel everything if Esma ever discovered them.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Esma's expression turned thoughtful. "And speaking of those outside our circle... I hear that woman has returned to Istanbul."

Layla's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral, only allowing her eyes to widen slightly, as if the news was surprising. "You mean Isabella?" she asked, carefully keeping her tone even.

Esma's lips pursed, her disdain clear. "Yes. That woman. She has no place here, not among us, not in this city."

Layla held her grandmother's gaze, feigning shock even as she felt a protective warmth rise within her for her friend. She chose her words carefully, knowing that Esma's approval—and scrutiny—were like a double-edged blade. "I hadn't heard, Grandmother. I thought she'd moved on from Istanbul long ago."

Esma's eyes narrowed slightly, studying Layla as if searching for any hint of deception. But she seemed satisfied by what she saw, turning back to the row of orchids beside her. "People like her have a way of lingering where they aren't wanted. It's unfortunate that she didn't learn that lesson."

Layla kept her gaze on her cup, letting her fingers trace the edge of the porcelain as if lost in thought. In truth, she was relieved that Esma seemed to be underestimating Isabella. It gave her hope that perhaps she could keep her friend's secrets safe for a little while longer.

As Esma turned away, Layla excused herself and stood, her hands smoothing the front of her dress. "I'll leave you to your orchids, Grandmother. I have some preparations to make for the exhibition."

Esma nodded absently, her focus already shifting back to the delicate blooms before her. "Yes, go ahead, Layla. Just remember... some things are better left untouched."

Layla forced a smile, bowing her head slightly as she backed out of the greenhouse. Once she was out of sight, she let out a slow breath, tension melting from her shoulders. But she knew the feeling wouldn't last long. Secrets had a way of creeping into the light, especially under Esma's watchful eyes.

Esma stood in the center of the botanical paradise, her sharp eyes inspecting a particularly rare specimen of white orchid. Ceren entered the greenhouse and hovered nearby, a tablet in hand, ready to take notes or execute commands as needed.

"Such delicate flowers," Esma murmured, her voice a velvet purr. She snipped a wilted petal, watching it fall to the floor. "They require constant attention, don't you think?"

Ceren nodded, her expression deferential. "Indeed, Madam Esma."

Esma's lips curved into a smile, though it lacked warmth. "Much like certain unwelcome guests. You remember our little gardener's helper from years ago, don't you?"

"Yes, Madam Esma. That Italian girl."

Esma's eyes sparkled with a cold light. "Ah, yes. That one. So eager to play in gardens she didn't belong to. It was necessary to prune her ambitions before they grew out of control."

Ceren knew better than to interrupt when Esma was in one of these moods. She waited, poised to respond when needed.

"Do you recall how we managed it?" Esma continued, her tone casual as if discussing the weather. "A few whispered words, a suggestion here, a hint there and then the devastating blow. Poor thing was so easily convinced that Omer was spoken for. It's amusing how people believe what they want to hear."

"She didn't stand a chance," Ceren said softly, noting Esma's satisfaction.

Esma moved to another plant, her fingers brushing the petals with a gentleness that belied her words. "And now, she's back. Like a weed, persistent and unwelcome. We must be diligent, Ceren. Weeds have a way of choking the life out of everything around them."

"Shall I alert our friends, then?" Ceren asked, her fingers hovering over the tablet.

Esma paused, considering. "Yes, but subtly. We don't want to stir up unnecessary drama. Let's just say we need to know where she plants her roots this time. And who she's associating with."

Ceren nodded, making a note. "I'll reach out to our network discreetly."

Esma's smile widened, a flash of predatory delight in her eyes. "Excellent. And while we're at it, let's see if she has any new... vulnerabilities. Everyone has them, Ceren. It's just a matter of finding the right angle."

Ceren knew what Esma was hinting at. "I'll look into her personal life, her connections."

"Precisely. We don't want another... entanglement with Omer. She must understand her place, once and for all." Esma turned her attention back to her orchids, her hands gentle yet firm as she tended to their delicate blooms. "It's such a shame, really. She could have saved herself a lot of heartache by knowing her limits."

The assistant observed Esma's serene expression, noting the contrast between her gentle touch on the flowers and the ruthlessness in her words. "I'll handle it, Madam Esma."

Esma nodded, her gaze fixed on the vibrant petals. "Good. Remember, Ceren, in a garden, every element must be in harmony. Anything that disrupts it must be removed."

As Ceren made her way out of the greenhouse, she marveled at Esma's ability to weave plans as intricate and beautiful as the flowers she nurtured. The older woman's determination was a force of nature, much like the orchids that thrived under her meticulous care.

In the quiet, fragrant confines of the greenhouse, Esma plotted her next move, her heart as cold and unyielding as the winter winds that would soon sweep through the city. She had driven Isabella away once before, and she was fully prepared to do it again. This time, however, there would be no mistakes, no loose ends. Isabella would learn the hard way that crossing Esma Balik was a perilous endeavor, one that would leave her regretting ever setting foot back in Istanbul.

Esma resumed her careful tending of the plants, her mind already strategizing. She had the connections, the influence, and the will to protect her family's interests. Isabella Adorno's return was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a weed to be pulled before it spread.

As the scent of orchids filled the air, Esma's lips curved into a smile. The game was afoot, and she was ready to play her part to perfection.