Right after the attack, as the explosion faded and the restaurant descended into chaos, Emrah was already on the phone, his voice calm in a way that didn't match the scene.
"Attack confirmed," he said evenly.
"Initiate Aybeyli Protocol. Cleanup and extraction."
That was all it took.
Within minutes, the street outside stopped feeling public.
A matte-black Aybeyli armored convoy rolled in with surgical precision. Two SUVs sealed both ends of the block while a reinforced transport vehicle slid silently to the restaurant's rear entrance.
Men stepped out in synchronized formation, clad in dark tactical gear marked only by a small silver emblem—the Aybeyli crest. They didn't shout. They didn't panic. And no one asked questions.
They followed protocol.
"Beyim," the team leader said, bowing his head slightly. "Extraction is ready. We'll handle the rest."
Emrah guided Efsun and Efsane through the back alley, keeping them close until they reached the armored transport. They climbed inside without speaking, still trembling, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Behind them, the cleanup began.
Cameras went dark across two hundred meters. Digital trails vanished. The attackers' vehicle disappeared. Bodies were removed. By the time an emergency call even registered, the street was already clean.
By the time the first emergency call even registered, the street had already been scrubbed clean.
To anyone watching later, it would look as though nothing had happened.
To Efsun and Efsane, it was the night everything changed.
The doors of the armored convoy shut with a heavy metallic thud. airtight. final.
The engine hummed low, a steady vibration that made the outside world feel distant and unreal. Inside, the reinforced steel and muted lights wrapped around them like a moving fortress.
Emrah sat across from them, composed, his posture relaxed despite everything that had happened. Efsun and Efsane watched him in silence, their eyes flicking between his face and the reinforced windows.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Efsun broke the silence first.
"Emrah… that wasn't normal." Her voice was quiet, filled with awe. "No one moves like that. No one reacts like that."
She wasn't accusing him.
She was impressed.
Efsane folded her arms, jaw tight. "You knew they were coming."
It wasn't a question.
Emrah met her gaze calmly. "I didn't," he said. "But I was prepared."
"For bullets through glass?" she pressed. "For a coordinated ambush?"
"For protecting you."
The words landed harder than either of them expected.
Efsun's cheeks warmed.
Efsane looked away, something unguarded flickering in her eyes.
City lights slid across their faces as the convoy turned a corner.
"You saved us," Efsun said finally. "Both of us. My father will want to meet you the moment he hears."
Efsane scoffed, though without her usual bite. "Same. Mine will try to claim you before sunrise."
Efsun shot her a glare. "My family can make their own offers."
"Oh please—"
"Enough."
Emrah's voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight. The argument died instantly.
"Tonight wasn't about families," he continued. "Or alliances. Or debts. I didn't save heirs. I saved two people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Efsun whispered, "But you did save us."
Efsane spoke just as quietly. "And no one ever has."
Silence settled between them—thick, intimate.
Both girls watched Emrah now. Differently.
Then Efsun asked what neither could stop thinking.
"Who are you?"
Emrah met their eyes, one after the other.
"Someone who wants peace," he said.
"And someone who refuses to let either of you die."
They exchanged a glance, an unspoken realization forming between them.
That night, Istanbul didn't sleep.
News moved quickly through the city, but in the underworld it moved faster—like blood recognizing blood.
By the time Efsun and Efsane stepped into their respective homes, their fathers were already waiting.
The Haznedar estate was alive with noise—guards murmuring, relatives crowding the entrance, panic barely contained. The moment Efsun crossed the threshold, the room fell silent.
Her father, Kureyş Haznedar, strode toward her, fury barely masking fear.
"Who attacked you?" he demanded. "Which dog dared?"
"I'm fine, Baba—"
"No, you are not." His voice cracked. "Tell me everything."
She did.
And when she finished, Kureyş leaned back slowly.
"That boy risked his life for you."
"Yes."
"Find him," Kureyş ordered. "Everything about him."
He paused.
"And prepare a proposal."
Across the city, the Saygın residence stood in sharp contrast—silent, cold, controlled.
Efsane sat before her father, Tamer Saygın, and delivered her report like a battlefield summary. Calm. Precise. Detached.
But when she spoke of Emrah, her father finally looked up.
"You admire him," he said.
She didn't deny it.
"A man who saved two rival heirs in one night," Tamer murmured. "Either a fool…"
His eyes hardened.
"…or a blessing."
"Call him," he ordered. "And prepare a marriage offer."
For the first time in years, Efsane felt something dangerous bloom in her chest.
Hope.
Elsewhere, far from the safety of mansions and armored steel, whispers spread through the underworld.
One name echoed everywhere.
Emrah.
And from a shadowed alley, a figure who had watched the explosion smiled faintly.
"Good," the man whispered.
"Let the world notice him."