I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I was afraid of meeting Arvan's mother.
But because I was afraid of what it meant that he wanted me to.
Morning arrived too quickly.
I stood in front of my mirror longer than necessary, adjusting my clothes, then adjusting them again. Not to impress—but not to look small either.
If you stay, this gets real.
The words echoed in my head as I left for work.
By noon, the tension was visible.
Arvan's assistant moved faster than usual. Meetings were rearranged. A private dining room was reserved at a place I'd only ever seen in magazines.
This wasn't casual.
When Arvan came to get me, he didn't say much.
"You don't have to do this," he reminded me quietly as we stepped into the car.
"I know," I said. "But I want to."
He studied me for a second, then nodded.
The restaurant was quiet. Elegant. Intimidating.
His mother was already there.
She stood when we approached—tall, composed, perfectly dressed. Her gaze moved to me immediately, sharp and assessing, like she was evaluating an acquisition.
"So," she said coolly, "you're the one."
Arvan's posture shifted subtly. Protective.
"Mother," he said calmly, "this is Mira."
She didn't offer her hand.
"Mira," she repeated, tasting the name. "You work for my son."
"Yes," I replied steadily.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And you've made yourself very visible in a short amount of time."
Before I could respond, Arvan spoke.
"That's enough."
She turned to him. "I raised you better than to blur lines."
"And I learned," he replied evenly, "that control isn't the same as care."
The tension at the table tightened.
His mother looked back at me.
"Do you know what kind of world you're stepping into?" she asked.
I met her gaze. "I know it's not gentle."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face.
Arvan glanced at me—briefly, approvingly.
"This world doesn't forgive mistakes," she continued.
"And it doesn't protect people who don't belong."
Silence followed.
Then Arvan said something I wasn't prepared for.
"She belongs where I choose."
His mother stiffened.
"You've always been difficult," she said. "Ever since you decided you didn't need us."
Arvan's jaw tightened.
"I didn't decide that," he replied quietly.
"I learned it."
The words carried years of history.
Pain.
Distance.
Understanding.
His mother studied him for a long moment, then returned her gaze to me.
"If you stay," she said coldly, "you will be tested."
"I already am," I replied.
That earned me a long look.
Finally, she sat back.
"We'll see," she said.
Not approval.
Not rejection.
A warning.
When the lunch ended, the car ride back was silent.
Not tense.
Heavy.
"You didn't have to defend me," I said quietly.
"Yes," Arvan replied. "I did."
I looked at him. "That world… it's brutal."
He nodded once.
"It always was."
"And you grew up in it," I said softly.
"Yes."
Something in my chest tightened.
"I'm still here," I added.
He glanced at me, eyes unreadable.
"I know," he said.
"And that means more than you realize."
As the car pulled into the office parking, I understood something with terrifying clarity—
Liking Arvan was easy.
Caring for him was dangerous.
But choosing to stand beside him?
That was a decision that would change everything.