The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 26

Hayats pov

I could feel my cheeks burn with his glances I looked at him not able to mentain the eye contact I can't help but notice the marks on his neck . Suddenly the guard came in the room his face restless

" Sir ,mr bozok is here with Ali abraham and mr.malik there's an emergency" he said in hurry his gaze fixed on the floor.

" What's wrong" he asked his voice cold the kind of cold that makes one shiver. He didn't said anything just forwarded his phone to him

" Take them to the library I will be there in a moment" He informed.with that the guard left

He looked at me his eyes now soft now ...I looked at him .

" Is everything okay!? Why don't they come here first we can have breakfast" I said excited

" Yes don't worry about it , we just need to discuss something, you can meet them later okay?  " he said
Getting up from his seat.

" There's something wrong right? It's not possible for Azkar to come and not me first " i asked  he didn't said anything just walked towards me while I looked at him confused he bent down and kissed my forehead i could feel the heat creeping to my cheeks .

" I told you not to worry " He said and I nodded gave me smile before walking to the library

I stared at the door long after it closed behind him, my lips pressing into a thin line. He said not to worry—but how could I not? The look in his eyes just now… it wasn’t the calm reassurance he thought he gave me. It was the kind of softness someone hides behind when they’re protecting you from something far heavier.

My gaze flickered back to his seat. His cup still half full, the steam curling up like unfinished words between us. The faint marks on his neck… my fingertips itched to trace them, to remind myself he was real, here, mine. But my heart tightened with the fear that he was already halfway gone.

I tried to eat, but the food tasted like ash. Every sound from the hallway made me flinch, waiting for his footsteps to return. Minutes stretched like hours.

Finally, I pushed the plate away and rose, pacing the room. An emergency. A library meeting. Azkar, Ali, Abraham, Mr. Malik—all at once. Something was wrong. I knew it in my bones.

When the door creaked, my head shot up. But it wasn’t him—it was a servant, bowing politely.

“Would you like more tea, hanım?”

I forced a smile and shook my head. My throat was too dry, my chest too tight.

“Just… tell me when he comes back,” I whispered.

The servant nodded and left.

I spent the whole morning pretending not to notice the shadow that had settled in his eyes. At breakfast, his hand lingered over mine for a second too long, as though memorizing the shape of it, and the weight of his glances burned into my skin. But I smiled, I laughed, I forced the air to stay light. That’s how he liked it—how I learned from him—acting as though nothing could shake us in front of the world.

Hours later, when the house had grown quiet, I found him standing by the window of our room. His shoulders were stiff, jaw set, as if he was holding the whole sky from falling.

“Hazar?” I whispered, stepping closer.

He turned, and for a moment, I thought he would brush it off, the way he always did. But instead, his eyes found mine, unguarded, and something inside me twisted.

“I have to leave,” he said simply. His voice didn’t waver, but I could hear everything it carried—duty, danger, the possibility he might not return.