Lara's fingers dug so tightly into Cem's shirt that she could feel the pulse hammering in his throat.
"Who is M?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in her words seemed to echo off the mansion's walls.
The smile that curved Cem's lips was predatory. He placed his hand on Lara's waist—a possessive, warning touch. "You'll find out tomorrow. But first, you need to accept my offer."
Lara pulled back, trying to breathe. Cem's touch had left burn marks on her skin. *Focus. This man is dangerous. This man is manipulating you.* But the voice inside whispered something worse: *This man knows more than your father did.*
"Your offer?" She laughed, but her voice trembled. "To work for you?"
"With me." Cem leaned back in his chair, gently swirling his whiskey. The amber liquid traced circles in the glass. "The distinction matters."
"There is no distinction." Lara slammed her fist on the table. "Both drag me into what my father did."
Something flashed in Cem's eyes—jealousy or admiration? "Your father was a genius. But he got caught when you weren't there."
The words stabbed like a knife. Lara's eyes filled, but she wouldn't let the tears fall. *Don't show weakness. Never.*
"Get out," she said, her voice ice. "Get out of my house."
Cem didn't move. He just watched her, those dark eyes scanning every part of her. "This isn't your house, Lara. The academy owns this mansion. I'm the curator in charge of tomorrow night's exhibition. So technically, I'm the one at home tonight—you're in mine."
Lara's hands balled into fists. "You like playing games, don't you?"
"I like surviving." Cem stood, walked toward her. With each step, the distance between them shortened, the oxygen in the air depleted. "And I know you do too. Otherwise, you'd have gone to the police by now."
Lara couldn't argue. *He's right. Damn him, he's right.*
"If M takes that painting tomorrow night," she whispered, "my father's last job disappears too. That painting... it's the only thing my father left me."
Cem stopped. Only a step separated them. Lara could smell his cologne—tobacco, leather, and danger. "That's why you'll work with me. You'll take it before M can."
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. "You want me to steal it? From the academy exhibition?"
"No." Cem reached out, took Lara's chin between his fingers. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "I want you to switch it with a forgery."
The world spun. Lara's breath caught. "Impossible. There'll be security at the exhibition, cameras—"
"All under my control." Cem's thumb traced along Lara's lower lip. "I'll be with you tomorrow night. Every step."
The touch was electricity, poison, murder. Lara forced herself to pull back. "Why? Why are you helping me?"
A dangerous glint appeared in Cem's eyes. "Because M is my enemy too. And the skills you learned from your father... I need them for something."
"What do you want?"
"The Topkapi Palace security system is being upgraded next month." Cem turned back, stood before the window. The lights of the Bosphorus outlined his silhouette. "For three days, the artifacts will be moved to a special storage. Among them is a medallion from Sultan Suleiman's collection."
Lara's blood froze. "You can't steal from Topkapi. That's insane."
"I can." He turned, his eyes like fire. "With your help."
"No." Lara walked to the door. "My answer is no. Leave."
"Lara." His voice was soft but steel underneath. "If M takes that painting tomorrow night, you'll learn their identity too. And why your father was murdered."
She stopped. *Murdered.* The word exploded like a bomb.
"What did you say?"
Cem came to her, stood behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck. "Your father didn't commit suicide. He was murdered. And his killer works for M."
Lara turned, with rage and tears. "How do you know?"
"Because I was there that night." Cem's face was taut with pain. "I went to warn your father. But I was too late."
The world swayed. Lara leaned against the wall. "You're lying."
"I wish I were." Cem pulled an old photograph from his pocket. Lara's father, a young Cem, and a third man she didn't recognize. All three were smiling. "Your father was my mentor. He taught me everything."
The photograph trembled in Lara's hands. "Then you..."
"I was his student. Your father was everything to me." Cem's voice broke. "And I couldn't save him."
Lara couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Years of accumulated pain, anger, questions—all spilled over. Cem took her in his arms, and Lara couldn't even think of resisting. She buried herself in his chest, trembling.
"Shh," Cem whispered, running his hand through her hair. "I'm here."
This was wrong. Everything was wrong. This man was dangerous, manipulative, maybe a liar. But for the first time in years, Lara didn't feel alone.
She lifted her head. Cem's face was very close. His eyes dropped to Lara's lips, then returned. The electricity between them was almost tangible, touchable.
"This..." Lara's voice was hoarse. "This would be a mistake."
"I know." Cem's thumb wiped the tear on Lara's cheek. "But you like mistakes."
They were going to kiss. Lara knew it, Cem did too. The distance narrowed further—
A knock at the door.
Both startled, separated. Lara wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. *What was I doing?*
When she opened the door, the academy's security guard stood before her.
"Ms. Özkan, I'm sorry but..." The man hesitated. "The fire alarm went off in your studio. The fire department is on the way."
Lara's blood drained. Her studio—all her work, her father's notes, the forgeries. *No.*
Over the guard's shoulder, she looked at Cem. The man was smiling—a sad, understanding smile. But there was something else in his eyes.
Calculation.
Lara started running, down the stairs toward the academy's main building. She could hear Cem's footsteps behind her. Her heart was going crazy, her lungs burning.
When she opened the studio door, smoke greeted her. Firefighters were extinguishing the blaze. But the scene she saw made her collapse to her knees.
All her work was gone. Every painting, every note, every trace—ash.
Cem knelt beside her. "Lara..."
"It was you." She turned to him, rage and pain in her eyes. "You did this."
Genuine shock crossed Cem's face. "No. I was with you, remember—"
"Someone." Lara stood, fists clenched. "Someone's warning me."
She went to the fire chief. "How did the fire start?"
The man shook his head. "Arson. Professional job."
The world swayed again. Lara walked until she felt the wall, leaned against it. *Everything's gone. Father's legacy, evidence, everything.*
Then she saw it.
On the table, through the smoke—a white envelope. It hadn't burned, hadn't even gotten sooty. As if someone had carefully placed it there.
Trembling, she reached out, took the envelope. Inside was a single card with elegant handwriting:
*"Dance with me at tomorrow night's exhibition. M."*