Hearts of the Bosphorus

Chapter 19

Cold Front

The sleek, glass-walled conference room of Adorno Industries was filled with the soft scratch of pencils against paper, the quiet murmur of voices as the design team went over their latest revisions. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, but the atmosphere between Omer and Isabella remained cool, a brittle tension crackling beneath the surface.

Isabella sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid, her expression focused on the papers in front of her. Her cream blouse, delicate with lace trim at the collar, softened her appearance, but her demeanor was anything but gentle. She had been distant all afternoon, keeping her responses to Omer clipped and polite, her voice carrying a cool edge that he couldn't ignore.

Across from her, Omer tried to match her professionalism, but he couldn't shake the sense of unease that had settled in his chest. He watched her from under hooded eyes, wondering what had caused the change in her attitude. Just a few days ago, there had been warmth in her smiles, a softness in the way she spoke to him. But now, that warmth had turned into a wall of frost, and every time he tried to reach across it, she pulled further away.

Their discussions about the design concepts were efficient, yet strained, each exchange feeling more like a negotiation than a collaboration. Even the other team members had picked up on the shift. Clara, normally a source of lighthearted banter, kept her head down as she took notes, while the other designers exchanged uncertain glances, as if afraid to break the uneasy silence that had settled over the room.

What happened to change things? Omer wondered, frustration knotting in his chest as he watched her from across the table. He forced himself to focus on the designs, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow been shut out, locked behind the frosty reserve she had wrapped herself in.

The tension held like a taut string until, just as the clock ticked toward the end of the afternoon, the glass door swung open again, this time revealing a very different visitor. Marco burst into the room with all the energy of an eight-year-old, a bright smile lighting up his face as he spotted his mother and waved excitedly.

"Mamma! I'm here!" he called out, racing toward her with his backpack bouncing on his shoulders. His nanny, Fikriya, followed at a more sedate pace, offering a polite nod to the room.

Isabella's entire demeanor softened at the sight of her son, the icy distance melting away as she knelt down to greet him. "Marco, what a surprise!" She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Did you have a good day?"

Marco beamed up at her, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! I drew another picture at school. Do you want to see?"

Isabella's laughter, genuine and warm, filled the room, easing some of the tension that had weighed down the afternoon. "Of course, sweetheart. Show me."

As Marco proudly displayed his drawing of Istanbul's skyline, Omer couldn't help but watch the scene with a small, unguarded smile. It was a side of Isabella he had rarely seen since their reunion—this gentle, maternal warmth that softened her sharp edges and made her seem, for just a moment, like the girl he had once known. He found himself smiling as Marco chattered on, feeling the chill in his chest ease, just a little.

"You've got quite the artist here, Ms. Adorno," Omer remarked, his voice light as he crouched down beside Marco to get a better look at the drawing. "I think you might have some competition."

Marco grinned up at him, clearly pleased by the attention. "Thank you, Omer! Mamma says I'm getting better at drawing."

"I think she's right," Omer said, glancing up at Isabella, who met his gaze for a brief moment. Her smile wavered slightly, but there was a softness in her eyes that made his heart twist in a way he hadn't expected. For a moment, it felt like the chill between them was beginning to thaw, like they might find a way to bridge the gap that had grown between them.