(Istanbul Streets – Minutes After the Safe House Collapse)
Smoke billowed into the dawn sky as Ahil and Aroohi sprinted through the narrow alleys, hands still linked from the escape. Sirens wailed in the distance, but closer—much closer—were the shouts of Ibrahim's men fanning out like wolves.
Ahil pulled Aroohi into a shadowed doorway, pressing her against the cold stone wall to catch their breath. His chest heaved against hers, the heat from their earlier kiss still lingering like a brand.
"You're slowing me down," she hissed, but her fingers tightened in his shirt instead of pushing him away.
He smirked through the ash on his face, eyes dark and dangerous. "Admit it—you'd be lost without me." His hand slid up her side, possessive, thumb brushing the curve of her waist. "Or dead."
Aroohi shoved him—half-hearted—then yanked him back when footsteps echoed nearby. They froze, bodies flush together, her dagger at the ready. A patrol passed inches away, flashlights sweeping.
Once gone, Ahil's forehead dropped to hers. "We need a new safe place. My old contact—near the Grand Bazaar."
She nodded, but her voice was soft, almost broken. "Why does this feel like we're running out of time?"
"Because we are." He cupped her face roughly, kissing her again—deep, desperate, tasting smoke and unspoken fears. Aroohi kissed back fiercely, nails scraping his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It was messy, urgent, a clash of tongues and teeth that left them both gasping.
When he pulled away, his voice was a low growl. "After this... no more games. You're mine, Aroohi. Hate me, fight me, but you're mine."
Her heart stuttered. "Prove it when we survive."
(Grand Bazaar Outskirts – Hadia & Zain)
Hadia and Zain ducked behind an overturned cart in the chaos of the burning market. Flames licked the ancient wooden stalls, the air thick with spices and destruction.
Zain winced, pressing a hand to his reopened wound. "They're herding us. Ibrahim wants us in the open."
Hadia knelt beside him, tearing her sleeve to bind it tighter. Her touch was gentle despite the fire in her eyes. "Then we stop running." She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "I never thanked you... for keeping Father's promise."
Zain turned, capturing her mouth in a slow, burning kiss—different from the frantic ones before. This one was deliberate, savoring, his hand tangling in her hair as he deepened it. Hadia melted, straddling his lap right there in the shadows, forgetting the world for a stolen moment. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him, eliciting a soft moan from her throat.
"You're not just a promise anymore," he murmured against her skin, trailing kisses down her neck. "You're everything."
Gunfire shattered the intimacy. Hadia jumped up, dagger flashing as she took down an approaching thug. Zain followed, gun in hand—perfect sync, lethal beauty.
His phone buzzed. Ahil's voice: "Bazaar north gate. Now."
(Reunion – Burning Bazaar)
The four met in a hidden courtyard amid the inferno—Ahil and Aroohi from one side, Hadia and Zain from the other. Brief, loaded glances: wounds, ash-streaked faces, unspoken relief.
"No time for reunions," Ahil said, voice steel. "Ibrahim's hitting the city to draw us out. He's at the old Khanzada fortress on the hill—his final stand."
Hadia's eyes blazed. "Then we end him tonight."
But Aroohi noticed something—a burner phone in Zain's hand, screen glowing with a new message: coordinates... and a photo of their fathers together, years ago, with Ibrahim smiling beside them.
Zain's face darkened. "This came anonymously. Says Ibrahim has proof—real proof—that our fathers were partners with him. That the betrayal... was mutual."
Silence fell, heavier than the smoke.
Ahil snatched the phone. "Trap."
"Or the truth we've been blind to," Aroohi whispered, doubt creeping in.
A massive explosion rocked the bazaar—Ibrahim's men closing the net.
They fought their way out—back-to-back pairs: Ahil shielding Aroohi with feral protectiveness, his lips brushing her temple mid-fight whispering "Stay with me"; Zain and Hadia moving like one soul, stolen touches and heated glances fueling their fury.
As they escaped toward the fortress, Aroohi pulled Ahil aside in a dark alcove. "If it's true... if our fathers weren't who we thought..."
He pinned her gently against the wall, kissing her slow and deep—reassuring, claiming. "Then we write our own story. You and me. No more ghosts."
She nodded, tears mixing with sweat. "Together."
But as they crested the hill toward the fortress, spotlights flared—dozens of armed men waiting.
Ibrahim's voice boomed over speakers: "Welcome home, heirs. Time to choose—truth... or blood."
And in the shadows below, a familiar figure watched: someone they all thought dead.
To be continued…