The House of Martin was not only built with stone and mortar; it was carved from silence. The walls carried the weight of generations of rules etched in whispers — rules meant to keep women subdued and they believed that women are only meant to be silence their voices clipped before they could ever grow into wings.
Here, daughters were not raised to dream; they were raised to serve their father , brother and their husband.
They learned how to walk with lowered eyes, how to speak only when asked, how to keep their hands busy in kitchens and cradles but never on books.
Yes, Knowledge in this house, was a dangerous than a fire. Pages of books were locked away as if they were weapons ( not to mention they place weapons on show but never books ) .
And when a rare book slipped through careless hands, the girls were told it was cursed — that words would poison their minds, teach them rebellion, make them unsuitable wives.
But Linda Martin ( our rebellious female lead ) always felt the pull of that forbidden flame.
Her curiosity was a viable seed , it didn't need proper environment to raised as a rebel , but she liked what was forbidden.
While her sisters and other women in the villages busied themselves with embroidery , cookinf , cleaning and hushed obedience. Linda would steal stolen minutes in dark corners, pressing her fingers to the stolen books from her brother's school bag and some nights wandering into library to steal books ( ofc she'll keep them at place after reading )
A weathered fairytale here, a discarded history page there — she devoured them all. And though her education was patchwork, her mind stitched the pieces together into something sharp, questioning, alive.
It was dangerous. And it was intoxicating.
She often wondered if her defiance showed in her eyes. Perhaps it did — for her father watched her more closely, her mother sighed more heavily, and the whispers of the household carried her name like a warning. Linda does not bend easily. ( she never bend , she never meant to bend )
But bending was no longer hers to choose.
Against her will, the day came when she was bound — not by rope, but by vows. The marriage had been arranged as such things always were: with negotiations, alliances, , heavy stamp of tradition and the dedication and honesty of her father impressed the Arslan family .
They assumed an man who lives a honest life would raise his daughter with obedience and discipline. ( but they never knew how wrong were their assumptions)
Her father voice raised and was sharp leaving it clear that it was supposed to be obeyed," Linda! You are getting wed to Daniel Arslan next week !"
She wasn't going to obey anyway , " No- I don't know him--
"It wasn't a choice ! It is only option , prepare yourself for the upcoming wedding" , his words contained finality.
"But dad--"
"No !! No buts Linda, I'm done with your rebel behavior go to your room ! It's not for negotiations, wedding is already planned ! "
She wasn't moving looking her father with hatred but her mother tugged her into room and locked it from outside.
She couldn't beleive that , she is soon going to be the wife of Daniel, a man who embodied both the prestige and the shadows of the Arslan name. A Man who would expect obedience and discipline from his wife.
By day, he was untouchable — the most feared and respected businessman of the village. Merchants spoke his name with reverence, rivals lowered their heads. His empire was built on power, cunning, and the quiet ruthlessness that made men step aside when he entered a room.
But the night revealed a different Daniel.
When the lamps dimmed and the streets emptied, he became something else entirely. His presence carried the weight of a predator — a ghost in the alleys, a shadow in the silence. The villagers whispered tales they dared not speak too loudly: that Daniel knew the secrets of every house, that his footsteps could be heard long before his figure appeared, that men who crossed him vanished into darkness and were never seen again.
Not only he knows how to increase price and do marketing , he also knows which nerve can exactly kill a person.
And Linda… Linda had been bound to him.
The vows were spoken in front of hundreds, but they felt like shackles locked only around her wrists. The invisible chains pressed tighter with every congratulatory smile, every "You are lucky to be his" whispered in her ear.
She thought in her mind : Lucky? To belong to a man who wore power like a second skin, whose hands could build and destroy with equal ease?
The village believed she had married upward. They saw riches, protection, influence. But Linda knew better.
In the quiet of her heart, where no one could hear, she admitted the truth to herself: she had not married a man. She had walked into the arms of darkness itself.
And the darkness had a name.
Daniel Arslan
Linda's gaze lingered on him across the marriage hall that night, as laughter echoed and wine spilled. He did not smile often, but when he did, it was dangerous — a curve of lips that held no warmth, only promise. His eyes found hers once, pinning her with a look that made her chest constrict. There was no tenderness there, no affection. Only possession.
She wondered if he could already see through her — if he knew of the hidden sparks of rebellion that she carried in her heart. Perhaps he did. Perhaps that was why he chose her.
Because darkness did not fear the flame.
It wanted to consume it.
And Linda Martin… was about to learn just how much a single flame could illuminate — or burn.
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PLEASE SUPPORT,
WITH REBELLION NATURE,
LINDA MARTIN.
WITH DARKNESS SURROUNDING ,
DANIEL ARSLAN.