The scream was creepy, desperate. It scared and at the same time sobering up. And came from the side of the exit to the roof. Everyone, as if on command, turned their heads there. A woman screamed. Pain and disgust distorted her face and it lost its age.

- Mother! - Mert rushed to her, but she stopped him with a movement of her hand and went to Talat standing on all fours. Her eyes burned with fierce anger.

"Stand up," she ordered, and he staggered to his feet. The woman looked into his swimming, crazy eyes and asked: - Where do you come such monsters? Where from? You do want women available for your perverted fantasies! Need to tarnish and cripple a worthy life? For what? Why did you stain her? What is her fault? For her purity and beauty?

- Yes! - Kivanc yelled and from rage, his eyes popped out of their sockets. Blood spray flew from his mouth, and the woman staggered back. - Yes! - He jabbed a finger at Omer. - He, so correct and principled, loved her - purely untouchable. And now, when my fingerprints are on her, can he love her?

Behind Omer, Defne sobbed and moaned. His reaction was lightning fast. He rushed from Denise's hands and grabbed Kivanc by the throat with one hand. Fingers tightened strongly. The bastard began to turn blue and gasp for air.

- Your fingerprints ?! - Omer scornfully threw to his face distorted by fear. - They are not and never will be! Not a single speck of dust touches Defne. You can't stain an angel. And you will choke in your mud.

Long beautiful fingers that knew how to be gentle and create beauty, and now squeezed the throat of a bastard, turned white. Kivanc's eyes rolled back and he began to wheeze. Denise jerked to drag Omer, but Defne was ahead of him. She darted to her husband, and with a trembling palm touched his shoulder.

- Beloved...

He unclenched his hands and turned quickly to her. Small, frightened, fragile, with her hair tousled and a tuxedo thrown over the dress, she looked pleadingly and with such piercing despair that Omer could not stand this look. With a groan, he hugged her and pressed her to his chest. Defne closed her eyes and grabbed the lapels of his jacket. She shook her head and, swallowing the words, she spoke frantically:

"Don't ... don't soil your hands ... he's not worth ... our lives ...

Omer breathed short and hoarse. His hands wandered chaotically across Defne's back. He pressed her to him with force, as if he wanted to absorb her, hide, warm ... and those standing around looked at them with a mixture of feelings tearing the soul. In men, eyes burned with anger and nerves pulsing on their cheeks. Mert and his mother stood in a tight hug. Tears flowed from the woman's eyes in an endless stream, and the boy, quite as an adult, stroked her head and spoke quietly in her ear.

Iz and Seda, who came running later, they watched the ugly scene with horror and keen sympathy for Defne.

Talat, holding his throat, lay on the gray concrete. He wheezed and spit upon curses. Sinan came closer and, scornfully kicking him in the side, asked:

- What will we do with this one? Call the police?

Defne started up. She raised her head and looked imploringly at Sinan, then at Tranba, and finally at Omer.

"Don't need the police," she pleaded. - Please!

- Defne?! Omer looked blankly into her face. - What do you mean do not need? Attempting rape is a crime. This bastard should answer for it.

- Omer, this is Turkey! Turkey! In half an hour, the whole press of Istanbul will be here. How so! Such a scandal. But they will not condemn him, but me! My name will be mixed with mud! I will be branded with shame. They will make fun of my relatives! They will say - a sluttish girl! The morning after the wedding she returned home ... seduced men ... grandmother will not survive this ... - Defne covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

Omer wrapped her nape with his palm and spoke with feverish conviction:

- Darling, what are you saying? I will not allow this. No one will say a single bad word about you...

"They will say," as if on command, all heads turned to the woman who screamed so desperately a few minutes ago. She spoke with bitter confidence and looked at Omer. "You cannot shut everyone's mouths." Defne is right. This is Turkey. Here, the man is always right, and she is to blame for the violence against the woman. She looked wrong, dressed incorrectly, behaved improperly ... So she is guilty - and not the monster in a masculine guise, which ..., - she closed her eyes and inhaled frantically.

"Omer," Tranba spoke up, "publicity is unnecessary." It will harm primarily Defne herself. And the punishment should be harsher than a couple of years in prison," he squatted in front of a whining Talat and pulled his head by the hair. - Choose you to go to army service or.....

"There is a war," Kivanc whined. "So there will be something to do, instead of harassing women," Denise grinned wryly. "Although ... after castration ..."

Horror was reflected in Talat's eyes.

- Not!!! He screamed and crawled to Defne's feet. She stepped back squeamishly, and Omer slid her behind his back and covered her with herself. Kivanc was lying at his feet and, smearing tears and blood on his face, begged: - No, you don't! I will leave Turkey! Forever and ever. My feet will not stop here. Just not castration ... and not in the army. I am white ... blond ... I won't survive there for a week!

Omer silently hugged Defne's shoulders and led her to the door and inside the building. Mert and his mother followed. Tranba dialed his security service on the phone and ordered them to immediately drive up to the Raffles Istanbul and climb to the roof. Then he nodded to Sinan to take the girls away and made a couple more calls.

- Denise! Denise! After all, you are a man! You should understand me. I wanted her, but she pushed me away. Also this Omer Iplikci. I hate him. I wanted to destroy him ... so he wouldn't stand up anymore! - Kivanc crawled on his knees and grabbed his legs. - Let me go. I swear I'll leave. No one will know anything. I didn't do anything to her. Didn't even kiss her! Why you doing this to me!!!

- For what? - Denise looked down at him. The fire of hatred and fierce rage burned in his gaze. - You still ask for what? Fates and lives of beautiful women break down because of villains like you. They are going away. First, depressed, and then to the other world. So don't try to make me feel pity for you. You deserve your punishment.

Several black-clad men went onto the roof and walked over to Tranba and the whining Talat. One of them, tall, muscular with a thick beard and an impenetrable gaze of steel eyes, turned to Denise:

"What will be the order, boss?

"Tranba pointed to Talat and ordered:

- Take him. You will bring to the Doctor, and then along the usual route.

Kivanc cried out and knelt:

- I beg you! Just not the army. For the sake of my mother! She can't stand it ... I will fly to her in Athens and will never appear in Turkey again, I promise!

Denise looked at the man with steel eyes and nodded.

***

Mert led Omer and the trembling Defne out into the street through the back door. Fortunately, they did not meet anyone along the road and Defne, who was dying from humiliation and shame, did not receive an additional dose of curious glances. Omer called Sukru from the elevator, and the car was already waiting at the door. The faithful driver looked at Defne with compassion and silently opened the back door. She just as silently climbed into the seat. Omer shook hands with Mеrt, and when he held out his hand, he shook it tightly and thanked:

- Thank you, brother! I will never forget what you did today for Defne. If it weren't for you ..., he didn't finish, but both understood WHAT would happen if Omer was late even for a few minutes.

"Take care of her," Mert answered earnestly.

Omer nodded his head and got into the car. Defne, crouching down, huddled into a corner and stared blankly out the window. He caught her and pulled her to him. He hugged and laid her bent head on his shoulder. She did not cry. She only trembled and clenched her teeth tightly. And this trembling pain sounded in his chest. He scolded himself: why did he go down? Why did he leave her alone in this damned, luxurious hall among such a seemingly worthy public? Why didn't he save her? What kind of man is he if he cannot protect his beloved from evil? Powerlessness and guilt burned with fire and did not allow him to breathe. The air was bitter and there was a taste of metal in his mouth. He had never felt so sick in his life as now...

He brought her into the house in his arms. Sukru obligingly opened the door, and then closed it behind and lock it with a key. Fencing off from the cruel world. Leaving them together. To consol ... reassure ...to heal abrasions on bodies and pain in souls.

Omer, with his precious burden, went up to their room and put her on the edge of the bed. Dropping to one knee in front of her, he took her hands in his and wanted to kiss, but Defne did not allow. Shivering with her whole body, she removed them and hid them between her knees.

"I need a shower," she said in a choked voice.

"Yes, of course," Omer rose to his feet. - And while I change clothes and make tea. Do you want some tea?

Tea? After this, one can drink tea?

- I want. Black, strong and sugar-free.

Omer's eyes filled with tears.

Defne closed the bathroom door with a latch and began frenziedly pulling off her clothes. The Tuxedo of Sinan. The small black dress with a satin insert on her chest, which she wore with such joy and anticipation of a miracle a few hours ago. The lace underwear. Everything flew into the basket.

She needs to ask Zehra to take the tuxedo to dry cleaning tomorrow and throw out the rest. She will never wear this dress again. Never.

Shoes were the last to fall on the floor. The gift from Omer. So precious ... put on for the first time ... Do not think! Do not think about it! She rushed into the shower and hooked her shoulder on the door. A burning pain caused her to sharply breathe in the air. Defne looked at her hand. A long abrasion began at the shoulder and stretched to the elbow itself. It burned between the shoulder blades. Probably there, too, was skin stripped. Wincing, she closed the door and turned on the burning hot water. Tight jets hit the abrasions and caused severe pain. But Defne was glad of it. She wanted it. She wanted the physical pain to drown out the mental and ease the sickening disgust. She was cold. Space the size of the universe gaped in her soul, and Defne thought she would never fill it, she would never warm.

Traces remained on her. Sticky, dirty traces of a vile, disgusting person. She rubbed and rubbed her skin with a hard washcloth, trying to wash them off, tear off with the skin. But they were not washed off either from the body or from the soul. There, in her chest, it remained just as dirty and dreary.

Omer changed clothes and went downstairs. He thoroughly washed his hands under the kitchen faucet and started making tea. Pulling the sleeves of the home sweater, he concentrated on measuring tea leaves into a teapot, poured boiling water over them, and he repeated again and again, like a mantra:

"Black, strong, sugar-free. Black, strong, sugar-free... "

A door slammed upstairs and footsteps were heard. Omer left the kettle and went out to the stairs. Defne went down. In gray trousers and a gray, big sweater that wrapped her from her neck almost to her knees. Like armor...

She cаme and sat at the table. Omer silently poured tea into a large, white cup and set it in front of her. Defne clasped the cup in hands and closed her eyes. And then she took a sip.

Black, strong, sugar-free...

Allah, how she wants to cry...

She swallowed the strong, tart liquid until the cup was empty. Then she silently went to the sink and turned on the water. The cup fell out of her hand and Defne covered her face with her hands. Omer suddenly stood by and hugged her. Gently and carefully pressed to his chest and began to rock her, like a child.

"Let it be a bad dream," Defne whispered. - Just a dream. I will wake up, and everything is in order... " she lowered her hands and raised her face to him. Her gaze, pure and pleading, hurt his heart like a blade. "It won't be okay, right?" I am not dreaming.

She cried. Omer grabbed her in his arms and carried her to the sofa in the living room. He sat down and set her shivering, slim body on his lap. He stroked her hair, back, hands and whispered incoherent words of comfort. Defne, wiping her tears with her palms, asked:

- Why me? What did I do wrong? Why did he choose me among all the other women?

Omer pressed his cheek to her temple and closed his eyes. He was looking for words. The most needed. The most correct. Those who can fix the broken world inside his beloved, precious girl. He spoke abruptly, choked. The velvet notes disappeared and from the hoarse sounds of his voice, Defne became even more painful.

"You are an angel, my soul ... a pure, flawless angel." Dirty people hate cleanliness ... because against its background their dirt looks even more vile and repulsive. And they are trying to tarnish ... but it is useless," Omer swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke louder: "You are the purest, brightest woman in the world, beloved. " It is my fault that I did not save you from this creature."

Defne shook her head in protest, but Omer did not allow her to object. He touched a finger to her lips and ordered: - Do not argue. It's my fault. But I swear it won't happen again. I will protect you every minute of your life. I keep my eyes on you. No one will ever harm you again.

Defne bit her lower lip painfully. She believed Omer, but ... even he could not erase the vile, sticky cobwebs, which entangled her from the inside and prevented the heat from penetrating to the heart. No one can do it. She will always be cold now ... She sobbed frantically and Omer impulsively squeezed his hands. Defne jerked and, groaning from a sharp pain, pressed her hand to her shoulder.

- What is there? He scared scrambled and took the edge of her sweater.

She clung to his wrist and stopped his hand.

- It's nothing. Just a scratch.

"Defne, let me see." He persistently pulled the sweater up.

- Omer, do not! - she cringed, but could not ignore the anxiety and crazy fear in his eyes. She released her hand from her sleeve and showed an abrasion. Omer turned pale and gritted his teeth. He gently touched the torn skin, and then ordered firmly and imperiously:

- Take off your sweater.

Defne obeyed. She pulled coarse wool over her head and remained in a thin white T-shirt on which Omer noticed bloody droplets just above the shoulder blades. The fury swept over him. The desire to strangle the bastard rose in a wave and became uncontrollable. Defne is so tender and fragile. How could someone want to hurt her?

Pain! Rage gave way to pangs of compassion. His Defne hurts! He carefully put her onto the sofa and asked:

- Sit down. I'm coming now.

In a cabinet in the kitchen, he found a first-aid kit and took out antiseptic and sterile wipes from it. Grabbing another patch, he returned to Defne.

"Darling, let's take off your t-shirt," he asked gently and Defne nodded. Mechanically, as а robot, took the edge and pulled up. Omer helped her. He gently pulled the fabric so that it would not injure the wound once again and threw the t-shirt into the corner of the sofa. Defne covered her breasts with her hands and lowered her head. Omer carefully examined her body and again began to boil with anger.

Wound on the arm and, slightly smaller, on the back below the neck. On the ribs and forearms, there are red marks that will become hematomas tomorrow. He touched them carefully, gently. First with fingers, then with lips. Trying to take the pain and soothe. But Defne stretched out like a string and froze in tension. Omer's heart ached. He understood why Defne was not pleased by his touch, but it was not easier for him from this.

"I will burn with an antiseptic," he said hoarsely and added: "It will hurt."

"I will bear it," Defne answered choked.

The pain that burned her heart now is much stronger. She felt dirty. Neither hot water nor shower gel washed away the vile touch of Talat. When Omer touched her, it seemed to her that he, too, was getting dirty. But he should not. Never.

Omer pressed an antiseptic sprayer and the liquid coated evenly her back. Her shoulder blades came together and Defne sucked in air through her teeth. Omer began to blow on the wound. And Defne became easier. As if he blew not on her back, but a burnt soul.

Omer sealed the scratches on her back and treated the one on her hand in the same way. It burned again. Again he blows. And again she felt better.

When the scratch on her arm was sealed, Defne reached for the t-shirt, but Omer intercepted her.

- It's dirty. "I'll bring another one," he said, and jumping over two steps, he rushed upstairs for a clean T-shirt.

As soon as he disappeared, Defne groaned and buried her face in her hands. His care healed, but at the same time tore her soul. What is it for him? For what? He is the best man in the world! And he did not deserve a wife to whom other people's hands touched.

***

Iz and Denise Tranba, the two of them returned from the reception, which began so merrily and joyfully, but ended in disaster. Denise let the driver go and sat behind the wheel. He concentratedly drove the car and his face remained gloomy and impenetrable.

Iz was looking out the window. The car flew like an arrow and night lights behind glass merged into a shining strip. So bright and festive. Not at all in the mood. On her soul was dreary. Like film footage of the recent incident was changing before her eyes in terrible pictures. Defne looking like a broken doll. Distraught with fury, Omer. Shocked Sinan. An unfamiliar woman who screamed so that frost ran down her skin. And Denise ... Cold and collected externally, but there is such pain and hatred in his eyes that the heart of Iz itself was torn from compassion.

"Let's sit on the promenade," he said suddenly, and Iz shuddered. And then she nodded her head in agreement.

Denise stopped the car at the curb and together they slowly wandered to a bench by the water. A wind came from the strait and blew coldly on Iz's naked arms. She cringed. Denise took off his tuxedo and threw it over her shoulders. It immediately became warm. Both hands and heart.

Silently, they sat on a bench and stared with unseeing eyes at the lights of the Bosphorus Bridge reflecting in the dark water.

"Will you do what you said with Talat?" - asked Iz.

- Yes. He deserved, - not a single muscle flinched on Denise's face.

"That is so," she agreed. "But castration ... the medieval method ... without trial and ... I don't know ... it looks wild. And this deportation to the border ... where the war is ... and, as I understand it, without documents ... it's almost a death sentence.

Denise grinned crookedly with his lips and closed his eyes. When opened, pain splashed in them.