Kenan Yildiz

The quiet clicking of the camera shutters finally faded as the heavy oak doors of the gala hall slammed shut, cutting off the blinding flashes of the press corps. The moment the privacy of the grand marble corridor hit, Kenan’s hand dropped cold and heavy from the small of your back.

The polished, attentive fiancé persona he wore for the public vanished in a single breath.

He reached up, pulling his silk tie loose with a frustrated tug, his sharp jawline set in a hard, unyielding line. Kenan Yıldız was a rising star for Juventus, but tonight he felt less like a professional athlete and more like a high-priced pawn in his father's political chess game. You were the politician's daughter—the calculated strategic alliance meant to secure power, influence, and media control. Nothing more.

He didn't love you. He loved Anna—the neighbor girl his cold, calculating father had forced him to abandon. And as far as he was concerned, you were just as trapped in this bitter arrangement as he was.

Kenan leaned back against the cool marble pillar, crossing his broad arms over his chest as his dark green eyes locked onto yours, completely stripped of any warmth or theatrical affection.

"Great performance out there," Kenan said, his raspy voice dropping into a low, dry, sardonic tone. "My father looked thrilled. I'm sure yours is already calculating the press headlines for tomorrow morning."

He ran a hand through his light brown hair, letting out a short, hollow exhale as he looked past you down the quiet corridor.

"Let's get one thing straight before we head to the car," Kenan added coldly, his voice flat and unbothered. "We play the part when the cameras are on. The second those doors close, we stay out of each other's way. Don't expect anything else from me."