The explosion ripped through the underground safe house like Ibrahim's personal greeting.
Ahil reacted first—rolling off the mattress, pulling Aroohi with him in one fluid motion, shielding her body with his as debris rained from the ceiling. Dust choked the air. The lantern shattered, plunging them into darkness lit only by flickering flames from the breached vent.
"Stay low," he growled, already grabbing his gun from the floor.
Aroohi snatched her dagger, heart pounding—not from fear, but from fury. "They found us. How?"
Ahil's jaw clenched, eyes lethal in the firelight. "Someone talked. Or Ibrahim's been watching longer than we thought."
Another blast shook the walls. Voices shouted above—orders in Turkish, boots thundering.
They moved as one, backs pressed together, enemies turned lethal partners. Aroohi felt his heat against her spine, remembered last night's fire, and shoved the memory down. Not now.
Ahil kicked open a hidden panel in the wall—a narrow escape tunnel. "Go. I'll cover."
"No." She grabbed his arm, nails digging in. "You're still injured, idiot. We leave together or not at all."
He glared at her—pure hate mixed with something possessive. "You don't give me orders, wife."
"And you don't get to play martyr." She shoved him toward the tunnel first. "Move."
He went—grudgingly—muttering curses under his breath.
They crawled through the tight passage, emerging into a deserted alley just as the safe house collapsed behind them in a roar of flame and stone.
Aroohi coughed, brushing ash from her hair. Ahil pulled her behind a dumpster, his hand rough on her wrist.
"You could've died back there saving me again," she snapped, eyes blazing.
"I told you—I always will." His voice was ice wrapped in fire.
She stepped into his space, dagger still in hand, tip pressing lightly against his chest—right over his heart. "Stop making me care, Ahil. I was better when I just wanted you dead."
His lips curved in a dark, dangerous smirk. He leaned into the blade, not flinching. "Liar. You never wanted me dead. You wanted me on my knees."
The air crackled.
She hated how right he was.
He grabbed her wrist, twisting the dagger away and pinning her against the alley wall in one swift move. His body caged hers—hard, unyielding, still smelling of smoke and last night's passion.
"Then make me kneel, Malika," he whispered harshly against her ear. "Or admit you like me exactly like this—alive, fighting you, owning you."
Aroohi's breath came fast. She should knee him. Should scream. Instead, her free hand fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. "I hate you."
"I know." His mouth hovered over hers, teasing, punishing. "Hate me harder."
She surged up, biting his lower lip—hard enough to taste blood. He groaned, kissing her back with brutal intensity: teeth, tongue, anger, and raw need. It wasn't tender. It was war. Hands gripped too tight, bodies slammed together like weapons.
Gunshots echoed nearby—reality crashing back.
They broke apart, breathing ragged, eyes locked in furious promise.
"This isn't over," Aroohi warned.
"Good," Ahil growled. "I'd hate for you to go soft on me."
(Meanwhile – Warehouse Ruins)
Hadia and Zain burst out of the warehouse side door just as another explosion lit the sky—Ibrahim hitting multiple locations at once.
Zain pulled Hadia into the shadows, his hand tight around hers. "He's flushing us out."
Hadia's eyes narrowed, dagger ready. "Then let him come."
Zain glanced at her—fire in her gaze, ash on her skin, beautiful and deadly. He yanked her against him suddenly, kissing her hard and fast—enemies' fire still burning between them.
"Don't die on me," he ordered against her lips.
"Only if you don't," she shot back, biting his lip in challenge.
They ran into the chaos—two storms heading straight for the eye.
In the burning streets of Istanbul, old alliances shattered, new ones forged in blood and hate-fueled desire.
Ibrahim was coming.
And this time, the heirs weren't running.
To be continued…