Two weeks passed in a blur.
Ozan's wounds slowly healed under the careful eyes of the doctors—and Leyla's unwavering presence. She stayed by his side day and night, refusing to leave even for a moment.
Each day, they grew closer. The silence between them was no longer heavy; it felt like a quiet understanding. Ozan started to smile more genuinely. Leyla no longer avoided his gaze—though she still pretended to hate him when he teased her.
Finally, on a bright, crisp morning, the doctors gave Ozan permission to travel again.
Standing in their Italian mansion's hallway, Ozan zipped the last of his bags. Leyla watched him from the doorway, her arms crossed, but her eyes softer than ever before.
"We're going home," Ozan said, glancing up at her with a small smirk. "Back to Turkey. Where it all began."
Leyla didn't answer. She simply rolled her eyes and turned away, but a faint blush betrayed her.
Without warning, Ozan stepped forward and grabbed her wrist gently. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.
"Don't pretend you aren't happy," he whispered.
Leyla yanked her hand free, glaring at him—but her heart pounded against her ribs.
As they left the mansion and stepped into the waiting car, Leyla glanced back one last time. Italy had changed everything, but Turkey… Turkey would decide their true fate.