111
Yalda had started breathing easier. It wasn’t dramatic. It hadn’t come all at once. But something had shifted in her, softly and quietly.
The first time she didn’t break down after sex with Ioannis had surprised even her. She had lain there on the bed, his arms loosely wrapped around her waist, her skin still buzzing, her breath catching, but not in panic.
The ceiling had stared back at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it hadn’t collapsed over her chest like a coffin lid. Her tears hadn’t come.
Not then. And not the time after that, either.
The dreams still came, of course; Alexander's voice echoing in the dark, his ghost reaching out with cold fingers, but they no longer clung to her all day.
They drifted, like morning mist, retreating once sunlight touched them. Guilt remained, of course. The ache of what she had done, and undone, it never really left. But the grief no longer defined her. She was beginning to breathe again.
And with Ioannis… she began to feel again.
Not just desire, though that was a wildfire of its own, unpredictable and consuming. But safety. Permission. Space. She was no longer a woman wading through the wreckage of her choices.
She was learning to be a body again, not just a shell.
The first time he spanked her, she had frozen. Just for a second.
It was playful at first, his palm landing firm and warm on her backside as he took her from behind, her thighs trembling, her hands pressed flat into the mattress. But when his hand struck her again, sharper, her breath hitched.
Not from pain, but from memory.
She recalled how Alexander would spank her, and how her wanton body would crave more. And how she'd feel drenched in shame after he finally gave the the release she had begged for.
So when Ioannis did it, she expected the shame to come crashing back. But it didn’t. Instead, his voice followed, husky and reverent. “You take it so well, Yalda. You’re so good for me.”
And her body responded like a flower to sunlight.
She had moaned, shamelessly. Melted under him, her thighs parting wider, the tension in her spine unraveling like silk. He hadn’t punished her, rather, he had praised her.
And that difference struck something deep in her chest.
It wasn’t just sex. It was healing, unexpected and unspoken.
Now, she sat by the window of their suite, legs tucked beneath her, eyes fixed on the slow drizzle that shimmered across the balcony rails. Morning stretched quietly through Istanbul, soft traffic hums below, the occasional chirp of birds, the melodic call to prayer drifting on the breeze.
It had been a week.
Seven days of waking up beside him, of quiet breakfasts, of being touched and looked at like she wasn’t ruined. Seven days of pretending she knew what came next, even when she didn’t. But the strangest part? She didn’t feel like running. Not anymore.
Ioannis emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips, hair damp and messy. He seemed distracted and she just watched him.
He caught her gaze and smiled slightly, then came over to where she sat. His hand brushed through her hair, a habitual gesture now, it had become familiar.
“You didn’t come back to bed,” he murmured.
“I woke early,” she replied, voice soft. “Had some thinking to do.”
He leaned against the window frame beside her, crossing his arms. “Heavy thoughts or just restless ones?”
“Bit of both.”
A beat passed. Then he asked, “Do you trust me yet?”
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” His tone was teasing but the look in his eyes was anything but.
Yalda glanced away. “I thought we've talked about this. I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you.”
“That’s good enough,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.
She looked up at him, uncertain. “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow. Greece is calling. I've got tons of meetings to attend.”
Her heart did something strange in her chest; half disappointment, half panic. “And me?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He crouched in front of her, catching her full attention. “Where are you going from here, Yalda?”
“I…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
She just knew she wasn't ready to go back to New York yet.
He didn’t look surprised.
“I’d like it if you came with me,” he said gently. “Not for anything. Just… to be.”
“To be?”
“Wherever I go, you’re welcome to tag along,” he said with a shrug. “For as long as you want. I’m not asking you for anything you’re not ready to give. Just your company.”
Yalda looked at him, really looked at him. There was no manipulation in his words, no pressure. Just that quiet steadiness that had become his signature.
Still, she hesitated. “I can’t just follow you around like a stray cat.”
He chuckled. “You’re more like a wild thing. Beautiful, difficult, moody.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And you want that in your life?”
“I want you in my life. Even if it’s a mess sometimes.”
Something tightened in her chest.
She could say no. She could return to her old life, whatever scraps of it remained. Or she could chase something new. Something uncertain but alive.
“…Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay?”
“I’ll come with you.”
He smiled, and the mirth in his eyes was contagious. She smiled along.
“Good call,” he said, pulling her up into his arms. "You'll love my villa back in Greece."
A villa? Somehow she had assumed he lived in the suite at the hotel. But then, he had been married, he couldn't have lived in the suite with his wife.
"What's it like?" She asked him.
"Tall and strong on the outside but cozy on the inside." He replied.
She smiled. It sounded like him.
"I think I just might."
Later that day, they packed.
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