Same, same but different!

Part 12

He didn’t blink. Couldn’t.
In the crowd, her smile was polite, her gestures graceful, but to him… every detail was deliberate. That loose tendril of hair brushing her cheek. The way her earrings caught the light. The faint red polish on her nails that matched the quiet boldness in her eyes.

Across the room, Fatma and Alev stood arms folded in smug amusement as she noticed where Ömer’s attention had landed.

Fatma (under her breath, to Alev): And... There's that look.

Alev didn’t answer, but her gaze flicked between Ömer and Kıvılcım, lips curling with a slow, knowing smirk.

Alev: He’s practically undressing her with his eyes.

Fatma’s grin widened.

Fatma: That will change in a matter of seconds, when they're start fighting again.

Kıvılcım finally felt the weight of a stare. It was heavy, unwavering. She turned her head, the smile she’d been wearing for the foundation chairman faltering for half a second when her gaze locked on Ömer’s.

He didn’t offer the polite nod most guests would. Instead, his mouth curved into the barest ghost of a smile, his eyes tracing her in a way that felt both reverent and dangerous. It wasn’t the look of a man seeing an old acquaintance. It was the look of a man who’d seen her at her most unguarded and was replaying every second of it.

Her heartbeat gave a sharp, traitorous kick. Instead of holding Ömer's gaze, she turned her head to the girls, who turned around so quick, like naughty children who just been caught doing something they shouldn't.

Kıvılcım forced herself back into conversation, nodding at the guest beside her as though her pulse wasn’t still ricocheting from that brief collision of eyes. She gestured toward one of the paintings, murmuring something polite, then excused herself to check on the next display.

Meanwhile, Ömer’s attention moved reluctantly to the rest of the room. He made his way through a small knot of patrons, exchanging handshakes and brief pleasantries. Eventually, he spotted Fatma, Can, and Alev near the sculpture display.

He approached, his expression even, but his gaze sharp enough to take in every flicker of body language.

Ömer: Fatma hanım.

He nod his head towards Fatma. With a smile, Fatma greets him.

Fatma: Good evening, Ömer bey.

Alev, never one to miss an opportunity. Her tone was equal parts charm and challenge.

Alev: So… you must be the infamous Ömer Ünal.

Ömer’s brows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

Ömer: Infamous? That’s not usually how people refer to me.

Alev tilted her head, her smirk deepening.

Alev: Oh, I’ve heard… things.

Ömer: Such as?

Before she could elaborate with whatever “things” she intended to share, Kıvılcım’s voice cut through, low.

Kıvılcım: Alev...

She approached with a calm smile that didn’t reach her eyes, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The kind of smile that warned people who knew her well to tread carefully.

Alev: Abla, I was just introducing myself.

Ömer turned back to Alev.

Ömer: You're Kıvılcım's sister?