Three days had passed.
Since I came back home, time felt like it had stopped. Everything was frozen. Silence…
Even the walls of this house carried that silence. It was as if everything I hadn't lived through for three years was now pressing down on me inside this stillness.
Every morning, I sat at the breakfast table with my father. He would fix his tie, open the newspaper, flip through a few pages, and then leave it there. I'd just stare at my tea. Sometimes I wanted to look at his face, but I didn't have the courage to meet his eyes.
Because he wasn't the same man anymore.
The man I knew used to be the one who gave orders to the servants in the morning, prayed quietly in the evening, and walked around with sweat on his forehead.
But now…
The men who worked for him, the conversations, the cars—they all belonged to another world.
How could a man change this much in such a short time?
For the first two days, I didn't talk to anyone.
Reporters from TV stations came asking questions:
"Where have you been? Were you really kidnapped? Who did this to you?"
I didn't answer.
I only said, "I'm with my father now. I'm happy to be by his side. I'll recover soon and start helping him with his work. That's all I have to say for now."
That sentence was like a wall.
No one could get in, and I couldn't get out.
But something inside me was still restless.
Curiosity, unease…
What does my father really do?
Where do all these men, cars, and money come from?
A man who was once a head servant now acts like the leader of an empire.
Who does he serve? Who does he work for? I can't tell.
And with each passing day, I feel like more of a stranger in his world.
At dinner, I finally asked him.
"Father… what do you do exactly? How did all this happen?"
It felt like I'd stepped into a minefield instead of a dining room.
He set down his fork and slowly looked at me.
"The only thing you need to know," he said, "is that you're safe now. Since you left, a lot has changed."
Safe?
Really?
For three years, I slept against cold walls and woke up to the sound of chains.
'Safety' was just a word to me now.
Still, I stayed quiet. Because that hard look in his eyes reminded me of something I'd long forgotten—authority.
He was still my father. But not the man I once knew.
That night in my room, I couldn't stop thinking of old memories.
The stories he used to tell me when I was little…
"One day you'll be stronger than me," he would say.
But I didn't become strong. I just got lost.
Now he was the strong one, and I… I felt like a stranger in the power he built.
Caner…
He's still in the hospital. Undergoing physical therapy. His body's healing, but his soul is shattered.
His only family, his grandmother, couldn't handle seeing him alive. Her heart gave out soon after.
Between the therapy and the funeral, he disappeared.
He stopped talking to everyone.
Like me, he was silent.
But his silence came from pain—mine came from suspicion.
One evening, while passing by my father's study, I heard a voice.
A phone call.
The tone was low, but familiar.
Tarık Bey.
The moment I heard the name, my blood ran cold.
My father's words were clear and sharp:
"Yes, he's here. He's home now. But the old Alpay is gone. That innocent boy is dead. There's anger, hatred… everything in his eyes. But for now, he's quiet because he doesn't understand anything yet."
My heart started pounding.
Tarık Bey… the last I heard, he was in Syria. Could he be the same man that voice mentioned before?
I held my breath behind the door.
Then silence.
The door opened slightly—my father peeked out.
He didn't see me.
He went back inside.
I slowly crept down the stairs. The wooden floor creaked beneath me, just like the unease inside my chest.
I didn't sleep that night.
A thousand questions ran through my mind.
Who was my father now?
Was Tarık Bey the same man I knew?
And most importantly… was I really free, or just trapped in another cage?
When morning came, I looked at myself in the mirror.
The wounds on my face had scabbed over, but I could still feel the pain. Those boys had hit hard.
My father was at the breakfast table again, acting like nothing had happened.
I looked at him. He looked back.
A father and a son…
With an ocean of secrets between them.
After breakfast, he said, "I'm going to see Mr. Tarık for business."
So I was alone at home.
His men had given me a phone. I called the first number on it—Karahan.
"It's me, Alpay. How are you, old friend?"
"Ah, kid… saw you on the news. Quite the performance."
"Hiding, running… that's what you taught me, remember?"
"How are you, son?"
"Not great. I'm home, but nothing feels the same. My father's no longer a servant—he's one of the powerful now. Caner's grandmother died, he's in therapy, barely holding on. He disappeared too."
"I'm sorry to hear that. And you?"
"I don't feel at home."
"You'll adjust, son. Give it time."
"Karahan, can you look into a name for me?"
"Don't rush. Right now, you're in an adaptation period. Learn what it means to be family again. Heal first. I'll give you time to dig later."
"Come on, Karahan, I can't just sit here."
"You're not in an operation anymore, son. You're young. Find something else to do."
He hung up.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe I needed to rest.
I tried calling Caner, but still no answer. He had vanished completely.
I changed my clothes and got ready to step outside.
But the moment I reached the door, my father's men grabbed my arm.
"Mr. Alpay, we can't let you go. Mr. Vedat's strict orders. You're to stay home until you've fully recovered."
My father had put me under lockdown.
I could have taken them down easily… but what was the point?
Then I realized something—our house was right next to my father's boss's mansion.
How hadn't I noticed before?
The buildings were so close, it felt like they'd never been apart.
I climbed out the window and crossed to the other estate.
Every step triggered old memories—my late-night climbs, the escapes, the balcony that once called to me…
I stared at it for a long time. But she wasn't there. Maybe she'd moved away. I didn't know.
Then I climbed the same wall again. Just as I was about to jump down, a voice called from behind:
"Still the same wall, huh? Years later you come back… and you're still climbing the same wall?"
I turned around—and saw her.
Alara.
She was still beautiful.
Still glowing like the moon.
Her pale golden hair, her graceful figure swaying in the wind…
How could time take nothing from a person?
But her eyes—her eyes were different.
Angry. Hurt. Deep.
Standing before her, that moonlit woman, I felt like darkness itself—ready to disappear into her light.