He could. He gathered all his strength, pulled himself together, and when the lawyer entered the office, he was faced not by a grief-stricken man, but by a calm and confident man with a cold gaze of black, penetrating eyes. He stood at the table leaning on his hip and arms crossed on his chest. On his proud face, as if carved from stone, not a single muscle flinched at the sight of the visitor. Omer didn't budge, didn't go to meet the guest, didn't reach out and Kerem didn't do that either. He stopped in the middle of the office and greeted him with restraint.

"Good morning," Omer answered with a heavy gaze, scanning the person who entered. The guy was short, thin, but with a proportional figure. The face was smoothly shaven, with the right features, it seemed quite young, and in the bright blue eyes, there was no cautious cynicism inherent in all experienced lawyers.

Well, Defne for Omer's happiness, doesn't know how to choose a lawyer. Slightly pushing his chin forward, Omer spoke in a tone that could turn any opponent into a trembling creature:

"How can I be useful?" I will ask you to be brief. Through, "he looked at his watch," I have a meeting after seven minutes.

But the guy did not shy away. In the same way, he raised his chin and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I can handle it," he promised ironically. - The conversation will not take much time. I represent the interests of your wife, Defne Iplikci.

The moment when he spoke the name of Defne didn't hide from Omer who was closely watching him. His voice trembled slightly, and a soft expression appeared on his face. It was fleeting, but Omer, watchful for capturing emotions, noticed it and the green-eyed monster awoke in his chest. It breathed fire and paralyzed his mind. His teeth clenched and fingers tightly clung to the edge of the table.

"Mrs. Defne wants a divorce," continued the lawyer. "She signed the documents, and if you do the same, then in a week both of you will become free people."

- And if I don't sign them? - Omer asked sarcastically.

- Then, also in a week, you will have to find time in your busy schedule to participate in the hearing. You state your arguments, and Mrs. Defne hers.

"I will not give Defne a divorce," Omer said firmly. - Never, ever. So pass it on to your client. Better she gives up this stupid undertaking and returns home.

Mentally calling Iplikci a self-confident moron, Kerem, smothering his emotions, looked into his eyes and with a cold calm in his voice said:

- The decision to divorce you or not will be made by the court. And I will do my best so that it is in favor of my client.

Omer went right up to the lawyer and, looking down at him, gritted his teeth:

- I, too, will do everything possible and impossible to prevent it.

He did not even try to disguise the threat. The duel of their gazes resembled a battle. The black eyes glowing with dark fire crossed with the determined blue ones and none of them wished to concede.

The battle of gazes was interrupted by Derya. She looked into the office, reminded the boss that they were waiting for him in the conference room, and immediately disappeared.

Omer went to the table and, nodding at the door, said:

"I dare not hold you anymore."

Kerem nodded restrainedly and headed for the door.

Omer watched him go. His soul was torn to pieces. Jealousy burned him inside. The pride demanded to be silent, and the heart - to hear at least a word about his wife.

"Mr. lawyer," he called the guy. He looked around. - Where is Defne now?

Kerem looked him up and down, kept his gaze for a second on the ring finger of his left hand, and answered.

"If Defne wanted you to know this information, she would have informed you herself."

Without saying goodbye, he left the office.

Omer stood by like a pillar and looked in front of him with an unseeing gaze. Then he jumped from his seat and hurriedly crossed the office. He slammed the door behind him and turned to the startled Derya:

"Tell Sinan that I cannot attend the meeting." Let them hold it without me.

- Mr. Omer, are you leaving? - the secretary stared.

- Yes! Omer barked and went out into the corridor. He saw the lawyer, hiding his phone in his pocket and entering the elevator and hurried after him. But a puffy hand emerging from a side branch of the corridor that led to Korai's office blocked his path.

- Wait! The photographer's capricious voice was heard.

"Koray, I'm in a hurry," Omer muttered through his teeth, but his rudeness did not hurt him at all.

- I know that you are in a hurry and I know where. This jerk with legs like sticks now spoke on the phone with your skinny girl.

"Did you eavesdrop?" - Omer's eyes clung to his pampered face.

"Yeah," Koray admitted, making an innocent grimace, and lowered his eyes modestly.

- And-and-and? Omer urged him impatiently.

"First, promise that you will forgive me for being silent about the rental," he demanded whiningly.

Omer was ready to agree to anything to find out at least some information about Defnе.

- Good, I forgive you. Speak!

Koray clapped his hands.

- My dear Omush! Prince of brunettes, gorgeous hair ...

- Koray !!! Omer interrupted impatiently.

The photographer again capriciously pouted his lips and put forward a new demand:

- And you'll forgive Nero!

Omer had an irresistible desire to strangle this oversized blockhead, but he gritted his teeth and promised:

- I will forgive her!

Koray instantly issued information:

- The man agreed with the skinny woman in fifteen minutes to meet in a cafe around the corner. Where such strawberry cakes are served ... - the look of the eternal starving man became dreamy.

- Name !!! Growled Omer.

- "Rose jam" blurted Koray and Omer, not uttering another word, ran to the elevator.

Barely turned around the corner he saw her. Defne sat at a table on the café's open terrace and slowly stirred a spoon in a cup of tea. Her beautiful hair was mercilessly gathered at the back of her head and it seemed that her features were sharpened. She looked distant and sad. The lawyer was sitting opposite and was intently explaining something to her. Defne listened carefully and nodded her head occasionally. Omer stopped. He stepped back into the shade of wild grapes wrapping around the cafe wall and leaned his shoulder against its sun-heated, rough vine.

Defne didn't understand anything. Omer didn't sign the divorce papers. Why? What does he want to prove with his stubbornness? His male superiority? That only he has the right to make such decisions? Or simply doesn't want gossip and the close attention of others? But she doesn't care about these reasons. She made a decision and will not step back from it.

- Defne! - Kerem's voice burst into her thoughts. - Do you hear me?

She shook off her stupor and looked at him guiltily.

- Sorry, I thought. What were you talking about?

He smiled and gently touched her hand.

"In the morning, before I came here, I registered your application for divorce in court." The hearing's in a week.

Defne didn't have time to answer. A cold, metal-clanging voice made her startle.

- Immediately remove your hand from my wife!

Defne looked around. Her fears came true. Omer stood a step away from the table. One glance was enough to understand that he was angry as hell. His eyes threw lightning and threatened to burn and destroy everything around. She hastily removed her hands to her knees and turned to the lawyer:

"Kerem, thank you."

- It's my pleasure. This is my job, "he answered, and got up from the table. - I have to go. See you, Mrs. Defne.

"See you," she said, and everything inside screamed and demanded that he not leave her alone with Omer. The angry husband himself looked with dislike at the lawyer's receding and sat in the vacant seat.

"What a clever man," he muttered sarcastically and looked into her wary, but so beloved golden-brown eyes.

Defne was sitting on the edge of the chair and looked like a bird, which at any moment is ready to fly away. But Omer wasn't going to give her such a chance. Together with the chair, he moved close and put his hand on the table, thereby closing the circle and not allowing her to escape.

"What are you doing, Defne?" He asked in the stern voice of boss Omer.

Previously, from such a tone, Defne's soul would have gone to heels. And now she felt only anger and bitterness. But to show the means to admit her weakness and dependence on him. She will never allow this again.

Defne managed. Looking in front of her, she calmly answered:

- I'm trying to build my life.

- Without me?

- Without you.

Omer touched her cheek and turned her beloved face to himself. Burning her with his eyes, he asked:

- Why?

Defne removed his hand, turned away, looked down at the amber liquid in her cup and asked a counter-question:

- Did she come back? Iz?

Omer exploded. Six days of fear, despair, futile searches and prayers. Six days of hell. For six days he lived in the hope of finding her, talking about the most important, and she asked about Iz?

- What does it matter? He cried, and immediately bent down, looking into her face. The voice became affectionate, pleading. - Beloved, to hell with everyone! Let's talk about us.

Defne slowly turned her head and stared in amazement at such sincere, such honest eyes. Is he kidding me? Or loyalty to him is an empty phrase?

- Us? She pushed back her chair and stood up. Brown eyes sparkled with anger. - Iz come back, Omer! Iz !!! What kind of "us" can we talk about?

Omer rose after her and tried to take her hand, but Defne didn't allow it. She moved her hand aside and burned him with a warning look.

- Let me pass!

She didn't ask she ordered it, but Omer was solid as a rock. Without moving, he stubbornly objected:

"No, I don't think so.

"My break is over," Defne hissed through his teeth. I have to get back to work. If you don't get out of the way, I'll scream.

Omer glanced sideways. Visitors set aside their tea and desserts and watched with curiosity the scene unfolding in front of them. The waiter boy froze nearby. His alert gaze read alarm. Omer beckoned with his finger. When the boy came up, put some money in his hand and grabbed the angry Defne under the elbow and brought her out of the cafe. She resisted and tried to free her hand, but Omer held it tightly. Pointing his wife to a bench near the office building, he asked:

"So you found a job?"

"Imagine," Defne quipped.

- And where? - not paying attention to her tone, he asked.

- It does not concern you!

- You are mistaken, my love! It affects me a lot. You are my wife! - reminded her Omer.

Defne stamped her heels on the asphalt and stopped. Pursing her lips, she pulled her hand violently out of the steel grip of his palm, and, pointing her index finger into Omera's chest, she said in syllables:

"Don't you dare call me that!" We are strangers and will soon get a divorce. So nothing prevents you from continuing your relationship with Iz. Run to her, as you always did before. Leave me alone !!!

She spun in heels and ran to the tallest skyscraper. Omer looked stunned at her. What did she say? When did he has run to Is? Where did such stupid thoughts and conclusions come from?

Defne ran into the building and the door automatically closed behind her. Omer threw back his head and looked sadly at the skyscraper. Fifty floors and hundreds of offices. Which of them does his wife work in and how can he find her now?

Allah was merciful to Defne and she was alone in the elevator. By the time it stopped on the thirty-seventh floor, she managed to calm down the tears and to put on her face a mask of indifference.

She almost reached the office allotted to her, when her supervisor — the creative director Mr. Kivanc Talat — blocked her path. Мr.Tranba introduced them to each other yesterday. Defne didn't like this smug blonde man with faded blue eyes and an untidy stubble on his obese face. When he looked at her with his lustful, wet look, a chill ran down her spine and nausea rolled up to her throat. And now it became bitter in her mouth and the stomach squeezed. She stopped and looked expectantly into his unpleasant face. The boss's mouth twisted in an unpleasant grimace.

"Defne, aren't you acting too freely?" The first working day - and you are already leaving work.

"I coordinated this question with Mr. Tranba," the girl answered coldly and tried to avoid him, but the man grabbed her hand above the elbow and squeezed her thin shoulder.

"Your immediate boss is me, not Mr. Tranba, and it is with me that you should coordinate such issues," he hissed into her face.

"Next time I will do so," Defne answered calmly and looked expressively at his hand, although everything inside was trembling with fear and disgust.

Mr. Talat let her go, but his face took on a predatory expression. With his index finger, he lifted Defne's chin and, looking into her eyes, said menacingly:

- I do not advise quarreling with me, baby. You will be an affectionate kitty - and your career will go like clockwork. Otherwise, even the protection of Tranba will not help you.

Defne defiantly removed his hand. Her look was firm and decisive.

- Mr. Talat, I don't play backroom games. My job is to draw shoe models. That is exactly what I am going to do. I apologize, but work awaits me.

Defne walked around him and went straight to her office.

"Let's see, we'll see," an evil voice hissed behind her.

Closing the door behind her, Defne, holding her hand over her mouth, rushed to the window and open it wide. She eagerly and deeply inhaled the fresh air, and nausea slowly began to recede.

When it became a little easier, she took out a wet napkin from the packaging and frantically began to rub her chin. Then she wrapped up the sleeve of the jacket and looked at her arm. Crimson marks appeared on fine, snow-white skin. Later they will turn purple, which means that for a couple of weeks she will have to forget about blouses and dresses with short sleeves. But this will pass. The problem is different - how to work with a boss which from one look at him makes you sick?

With a sigh, she sat down at the drawings for the Competition models. Seven were ready. There were the last, eighth - boots with stylish embroidery on knee-high leather, with wide, stable heels and rounded tips. Beautiful and comfortable. Omer once criticized the convenience of women's shoes, but she doesn't care about this criticism. He should try walking on stilettos all day. From now on, she will not blindly follow his views but will defend her own. Because no matter how brilliant a designer Omer Iplikci was, what the woman wants he did not understand.

***

Omer returned to Passionis at the end of the meeting. With an impenetrable face, he went to his place and, ignoring the curious looks, sat down at the table.

- Omer, we approved the concept and chose a place for the presentation of the autumn collection. See if you like it, "Sinan addressed him. The conviction was heard in his voice.

But Omer didn't care. The days have passed when he was only interested in work. Now life has a different meaning. Defne. Without her, nothing else is important or necessary.

He opened the file on his laptop and skimmed through the results of the work done by Iz and Korai.

"It suits me," he briefly voiced his verdict and closed the laptop.

- And it's that all? I! I, Korai Sargin, did such an excellent job, and you, nasty, say: satisfied? - Korai grabbed his heart and began, howling, to swing in the chair. It creaked menacingly and threatened to crumble under the overweight body of the photographer.

"Korai, stop the performance," Omer answered tiredly and looked at him with a look from which he immediately closed his mouth and only sniffed with an offense and sobbed. Paying no more attention to him, the boss turned to the laughing Iz, - After the meeting, go to my office.

"Omer, there is still a competition issue," Sinan intervened. - I sent the committee drawings. Tomorrow is the last day of acceptance of work. They will consider them for three days, and on Friday they will gather a round table and announce the result.

Omer nodded indifferently. Amazed, Iz could not stand it and was indignant:

- Omer! Are you so sure of the result or you don't care?

"I'm sure," he answered firmly. "Iz, Korai, on Friday, be prepared to attend the meeting." You come with me and Sinan. And now is time for work.

The people stirred and headed towards the exit. Omer detained Sinan.

- We have to talk.

He nodded his head at the door.

- Let's go to my place.

In the office, Sinan sat in his chair and nodded to Omer the opposite, but he only shook his head. With his hands in his trouser pockets, he stood in the middle of the room. Tall, strong, gloomy. And in his eyes, there was such excruciating anguish that Sinan's heart sank painfully. The anger that his partner did not give a damn about an important meeting and left about his business evaporated without a trace.

- Derya said - did Defne's lawyer come to you? He asked with mild sympathy in his voice.

Omer nodded. Tiredly ran a hand over his face and answered:

- Defne filed for divorce.

Sinan's jaw dropped and his eyebrows went up to his forehead.

- How? He sighed heavily. - What about you?

"And I replied that she would get a divorce only over my dead body," Omer declared evilly.

- Do not joke so! - his friend was indignant.

- I'm not kidding. I will not give her a divorce. Let her not even dream ... Okay, I will not burden you with my problems. I wanted to ask you to set aside for Iz a car. At rush hour it's difficult to get a taxi.

"No problem," Sinan agreed easily. - Let her take the car which Yasemin had driven. Or the small red one.

"Small Red Baby" ... The car that Defne had driven ... Omer shook his head and objected:

- Just not the red. Let her pick up the Yasemin' car.

Iz was waiting for him near the Derya desk. Both girls chatted enthusiastically about something, but, seeing the gloomy boss, they fell silent. Iz was looking at him expectantly, Derya wary.

Opening the office door and letting his childhood friend inside, Omer turned to the assistant:

- Derya, find out which companies rent offices in the nearby skyscraper.

The girl's perfectly plucked eyebrows climbed onto her forehead, and her eyes turned into saucers.

- Mr. Omer! There are hundreds of them! And I have so much work, "she said whiningly.

"No problem," the boss told her. - Reduce the time for idle chatter and you will manage.

He closed the door behind him and went into the office. But instead of sitting at the table, he stopped at the window. Iz approached and stood next. Looking at the panorama of the city in front of him, he asked:

- A week ago, you called me from Marseille and Defne answered?

- It was like that. You went away and disappeared. I was worried.

"Can you tell me your conversation in detail?"

Iz deeply inhaled and exhaled noisily, she was indignant: