# Episode 11 — The Revenge I Promised Myself
*Narrated by Dilara*
> "They buried me like a shameful secret. Now, I rise as a beautiful curse."
Istanbul has many faces.
There's the Istanbul of postcards—blue mosques, bustling bazaars, golden sunsets over the Bosphorus.
And then there's my Istanbul—the one where legacies rot in locked vaults, and girls like me are taught to smile while they're erased.
They called me "Dilara Demir," daughter, heiress, princess-to-be.
But when the night fell, and my secrets came out, they stripped my name like armor—and left me bleeding in the dark.
***
I watched her from the shadows.
Aylin Kaya Demir—every headline's darling: "Orphaned Heiress, Beacon of Hope."
She wore her new life like a crown. I saw her step onto that stage, and I remembered the girl I once was:
– Smiling as she accepted crumbs of my power.
– Whispering "I love you" while I cried alone in my room.
– Letting her claim the life I'd built in broken pieces.
I swore I would come back.
Not as the broken girl.
But as the reckoning.
***
My ally in this darkness is Kadir Esendemir—the ghost from the old family scandal.
They said he died in that fire twenty years ago. But fires don't always kill secrets.
He met me in a crumbling library on Istanbul's outskirts.
His eyes held the cold promise of vengeance.
"You're brave to come here," he said, voice low as a tombstone.
"I'm not brave," I replied, fingertips trailing across dusty ledgers. "I'm hungry."
He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For the thing they stole first: my name."
***
I laid out my dossier on the table—photos of Aylin's grand opening, blueprints of her Foundation's vault, transcripts of her sympathy interviews.
"Consider this my opening move," I said.
He leaned forward, candlelight dancing in his eyes. "Then let the game begin."
He gave me a key—one that fit the old Demir estate.
"Go on," he whispered. "Take what's yours."
***
Aliha, my shadow, trembled at the edge of my plan.
"You're sure you want to do this?" she asked as we drove through deserted streets.
I glanced at her in the rearview: dyed hair, fresh lipstick—still too innocent.
"Innocence is a luxury," I told her. "Wake up or get out of my way."
She stayed, but her eyes said she regretted it.
***
First strike: the Foundation's finances.
I hacked into their ledger—transferred small amounts to ghost accounts, froze key dates.
By morning, Aylin's assistant was in tears. The press leaked rumors: "Heiress's Charity in Crisis."
I watched Aylin's face on the news, lip quivering.
This was only the beginning.
***
Next, I resurfaced at the old Demir gates. They were padlocked, covered in dust.
I used Kadir's key to slip inside.
There, behind a false panel in the study, I found it—my father's letter, sealed red and gold.
I didn't read it all. I tucked it into my coat as my trophy.
Some weapons are best kept hidden—ready for the final blow.
***
That night, I spotted Yaman on a terrace—laughing with Aylin under string lights.
He brushed her hair back. He called her "luminous."
A pang of something—regret? No.
I raised my camera, zoomed in, and captured every moment.
I sent the photo to Kadir with one message:
> "They think they're safe. We begin tomorrow."
And he replied:
> "Her world will crumble."
***
End of Episode 11