The silence inside the boutique became unbearable after Feriha stepped out in the gown.

It wasn’t ordinary silence.

It was the kind that swallowed sound whole.

The attendants stopped moving. Even the soft piano music drifting through hidden speakers suddenly felt distant, muted beneath the weight of the moment unfolding in the private salon.

Feriha stood near the mirror, frozen beneath the attention surrounding her.

The ivory silk clung softly to her curves before falling in graceful folds to the floor. Lace brushed delicately over her shoulders and framed the softness of her throat. Her dark curls spilled wildly over pale fabric, untamed and almost painfully beautiful against the elegance of the gown.

She looked unreal.

Like something hidden too long from the world.

And Evan looked at her as though he had discovered treasure buried beneath years of dust and silence.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then slowly, almost reverently, Evan reached into the box which was on his hand and withdrew a pearl necklace.

Feriha blinked.

“Evan—”

“A dress this beautiful deserves something worthy of it,” he said quietly.

He opened the box.

Inside rested a pearl necklace.

Simple.

Elegant.

Every pearl perfectly matched, glowing softly beneath the boutique lights.

Not flashy wealth.

Old-money elegance.

Timeless.

Feriha instinctively took half a step back.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

His voice was gentle but firm.

The room remained completely still as he stepped behind her.

Feriha’s pulse stumbled violently when his fingers brushed the back of her neck.

Warm.

Careful.

Intimate.

He lifted her curls softly over one shoulder and fastened the necklace around her throat with practiced ease.

His fingertips lingered against her skin for one dangerous second too long.

Not enough to offend.

Enough to claim.

“There,” he murmured quietly beside her ear. “Now you’re complete.”

Feriha looked up at the mirror.

The pearls transformed everything.

She no longer looked like a frightened girl playing dress-up in someone else’s future.

She looked like a bride.

The realization terrified her.

Evan stepped back slowly, unable to hide the awe in his expression.

He wasn’t pretending anymore.

That was the frightening part.

His admiration had become genuine somewhere along the way.

And everyone in the room saw it.

Including Lily.

Standing near the far end of the salon, Lily watched the interaction unfold with growing unease twisting inside her chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Feriha was meant to remain pathetic.

Forgettable.

A soft little puppet trapped inside Savash’s house.

She was never supposed to become wanted.

But Evan looked at her like she was someone.

And worse—

Feriha looked different beneath his attention.

Less frightened.

Less invisible.

Lily suddenly understood something deeply unsettling:

Evan was giving Feriha something Azlan never had.

Tenderness.

Safety.

Choice.

And if Feriha learned what real affection felt like, then Azlan would lose whatever invisible hold he still had over her.

Lily’s jaw tightened.

Because another truth sat uglier beneath all of it—

she was jealous.

Not of Feriha’s beauty.

Not even of the engagement.

She was jealous because Evan looked at Feriha the way Azlan had never looked at anyone.

Certainly not her.

Azlan touched Lily.

Desired her.

Slept beside her.

But love?

No.

Azlan loved possession.

Control.

Need.

And Lily had spent years starving herself emotionally trying to become enough for a man who barely understood tenderness.

Watching Evan admire Feriha so openly felt like humiliation.

Without another word, Lily quietly stepped out of the salon and pulled out her phone.

Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.

Lily: You need to get here.

Azlan: I’m busy.

Lily: Busy enough to let another man dress your little obsession for her wedding?

Azlan: Watch your tone.

Lily: He’s buying her pearls, Azlan.

Lily: He touched her neck like she already belongs to him.

Lily: And the worst part?

Lily: She looks happy.Lily stared at the messages after sending them.

A bitter satisfaction curled inside her.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him suffer the same ache she had swallowed for years.

Back inside the salon, Evan handed his black card to the sales associate.

“We’ll take the gown.”

His gaze shifted calmly toward Feriha.

“And the necklace.”

The young attendant nodded nervously.

“Of course, sir.”

Evan slipped one hand into his pocket again, perfectly composed.

“Bill everything to my account.”

Not a request.

A declaration.

The boutique doors suddenly chimed.

Sharp.

Intrusive.

Every head turned instinctively.

And then the entire atmosphere changed.

Azlan stood in the doorway like a storm dragged into human form.

Dark suit.

Dark eyes.

Darkness clinging to him like smoke.

The polished warmth of the boutique seemed to recoil around his presence.

His gaze swept once across the room before locking onto Feriha.

And stopping.

The gown.

The pearls.

Evan standing too close beside her.

The softness still lingering on her face.

The image hit him with brutal force.

Something violent shifted behind his eyes.

“What is this?”

His voice was quiet.

Far too quiet.

He stepped inside slowly.

The sound of his shoes against marble echoed through the suffocating silence.

“A private fitting?”

Feriha’s breath caught.

Evan straightened slightly, instinctively moving closer to her.

Protective.

That alone nearly shattered whatever restraint Azlan still possessed.

“Azlan,” Evan said evenly. “This is not the time.”

Azlan’s eyes finally tore away from Feriha.

Cold fury landed fully on Evan.

“This is a family matter.”

Evan didn’t move.

“She is my fiancée.”

Something dangerous flashed across Azlan’s face.

“No,” he said softly. “She’s my family.”

The tension cracked violently through the room.

Lily stepped back instinctively.

Even Sirah looked frightened now.

Azlan ignored all of them.

His focus returned entirely to Feriha.

She stood trembling beneath his stare.

Not because he shouted.

Because he didn’t.

Azlan being angry was frightening.

Azlan's calm was catastrophic.

Slowly, he walked toward her.

Each step deliberate.

Predatory.

Feriha’s heartbeat pounded so loudly she thought she might faint.

He stopped directly in front of her.

Close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body.

His eyes lowered to the pearls resting against her throat.

The pearls another man had chosen.

Another man had touched.

Another man had fastened onto her skin.

Azlan’s jaw tightened.

“So,” he murmured softly, “he buys you pretty things now.”

Feriha’s lips parted helplessly.

“I—”

“Does that make you his?”

The question wasn’t really for her.

It was for himself.

Because Azlan didn’t understand why seeing her with Evan felt unbearable if he supposedly didn’t want her.

He had Lily.

Didn’t he?

Lily was beautiful.

Sophisticated.

Perfect beside him.

Yet the sight of Evan touching Feriha made something primal and ugly tear through his chest.

Contradiction twisted violently inside him.

He didn’t want Feriha.

But no one else could have her either.

Feriha shook her head quickly, tears gathering in her eyes from the intensity of his stare.

Azlan looked at the pearls once more.

Then suddenly—

his hand shot forward.

The necklace snapped violently beneath his grip.

Feriha gasped.

Pearls scattered across the marble floor in every direction, bouncing like tiny white tears beneath the lights.

The sharp sound echoed through the frozen salon.

“You don’t wear gifts from other men.”

His voice came rougher now.

Raw.

Possessive.

Evan stepped forward instantly.

“That was unnecessary.”

Azlan barely glanced at him.

“And you,” he said coldly, “don’t pay for her things.”

He looked toward the sales associate.

“She came here with my mother. The bill goes to the Kyte family.”

Then finally, his eyes returned to Evan.

“No need to play the generous husband.”

The insult landed exactly where intended.

Feriha stood frozen in the wreckage of pearls and humiliation, her chest rising unevenly.

Azlan looked at her one final time.

And something inside him twisted painfully at the sight of tears in her eyes.

Not because he felt guilt.

But because another man had put them there first.

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

The boutique doors slammed shut behind him.

Silence crashed down afterward.

Scattered pearls covered the marble floor.

Feriha stood shaking in the ruined gown.

Evan’s face had hardened into something dangerous.

Lily stared toward the doorway Azlan disappeared through, her chest tight with a realization she had avoided for too long.

She had wanted Azlan jealous.

Wanted him to be possessive.

Wanted proof that he could feel something deeply enough to fight for it.

But what she had just witnessed ….

It was obsession waking up.