GLASS ROOMS, VELVET DRESSES
903 Words
VELVET HOURS
CHAPTER 6: GLASS ROOMS, VELVET DRESSES
“Some truths wear velvet. Others shatter glass.”
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The penthouse shimmered like a scene from a forgotten dream.
Jibraan had curated everything with quiet precision—low lighting, polished wood floors, Bordeaux wine breathing in crystal decanters. His dining room was a glass cube suspended in sky, the city glittering beneath it like broken jewelry.
Only three names had been written on the place cards.
But a fourth shadow would arrive.
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The Guests
ReTaaj walked in like sin wrapped in silk.
Her dress was crushed burgundy velvet, clinging to her curves, slit to the thigh like a whispered threat. Her lips were wine-stained, her hair twisted high, exposing the long line of her throat.
She kissed Jibraan on the cheek, her eyes scanning the empty room.
“She’s not here yet?” she asked, already knowing who she was.
“She’ll come,” Jibraan said simply.
And she did.
Haya entered quietly, almost spectral in black. A soft blouse, high collar, her long sleeves shielding secrets. She looked like someone still learning how to occupy her own skin.
ReTaaj stared. A beat too long.
“You’re looking... better,” she offered, false sweetness in every syllable.
Haya nodded. “I’m trying.”
It wasn’t meant as a victory.
Just survival.
---
The Dinner
They dined on saffron risotto, roasted duck, and silence.
Jibraan tried. He floated conversation. Asked about galleries, music, ReTaaj’s latest campaign shoot.
But the air was thick.
Not with tension—
With anticipation.
Like someone had left a door open and something had slipped in.
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The Uninvited Guest
The elevator chimed.
Haya flinched so hard her fork clattered against porcelain.
Jibraan stood. “I didn’t invite anyone else.”
ReTaaj’s spine stiffened.
But only one man walked in with the arrogance of ownership.
Zarar.
Perfect in his charcoal suit. Smiling like the devil who knew your safe word.
He scanned the table. “I hope I’m not late.”
“You weren’t invited,” Jibraan said, his tone flat steel.
Zarar shrugged. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist seeing such... exquisite company.”
His eyes landed on Haya—
Then drifted, lazily, to ReTaaj’s bare shoulder.
---
The Fracture
The room cracked in a hundred invisible ways.
Haya couldn’t move. Her breath lodged in her throat. Her skin crawled beneath her sleeves.
Zarar approached her with the smoothness of someone who’d done this before.
She backed away without a word, without a sound.
But her eyes—wide, glassy—screamed.
“Relax,” he said softly. “We’re all friends here.”
“Don’t,” Jibraan warned, stepping between them.
Zarar’s smile widened.
But he didn’t push.
Instead, he turned—toward ReTaaj.
---
Upstairs
She should’ve never followed him. But she did.
Maybe to end it. Maybe to remind him that she wasn’t the same girl anymore.
He closed the door behind them.
She stood against the balcony window, city lights swimming below.
“You always did look best in velvet,” he said.
ReTaaj didn’t answer. Her arms crossed tight.
Zarar moved closer. “I’ve been remembering things lately. You. That summer. Your mouth... God, your mouth.”
“Stop it.”
“I think about you when I touch other women.”
Her stomach turned.
“You loved it. You begged for it.”
She slapped him again.
But this time, he didn’t laugh.
This time, he grabbed her wrist. Hard.
She gasped.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t want it, ReTaaj. You were wild for me. You still are.”
His other hand touched the hem of her dress.
She went still. Frozen. Seventeen again.
“I could ruin you,” he whispered. “Or I could remind you how you used to whimper.”
A sound broke behind them.
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The Witness
Jibraan stood in the doorway.
Silent.
Eyes on ReTaaj’s wrist still in Zarar’s grip.
Zarar let go slowly, straightening his cuffs. “We were just catching up.”
ReTaaj stared at Jibraan, eyes wide, mouth open.
But he said nothing.
Just turned—
And walked away.
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The Confession
Haya was sitting on the stairs, knees to her chest.
When Jibraan passed her, she looked up—and saw.
Not rage.
Not confusion.
Devastation.
And something inside her snapped.
She stood. Shaking. Walked to the center of the glass dining room.
Zarar returned, smirking like nothing happened.
ReTaaj followed behind him, pale, trembling, mascara smudged.
Haya looked at them both.
Then at Jibraan.
And said:
> “He r***d me.”
The words hung in the air like shattered glass.
Jibraan froze. ReTaaj stopped breathing.
Zarar... blinked.
Haya’s voice cracked as she spoke again.
> “At his clinic. He drugged me. I woke up bleeding in a strange room. He told me no one would believe me.”
Tears streamed down her face, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
> “My parents kicked me out when I came home. I lost two days of my life. And I’ve been trying to pretend it didn’t happen, because I thought if I said it out loud, it would destroy me.”
She turned to Jibraan.
> “But silence was already destroying me.”
No one moved.
Until Jibraan stepped forward.
He looked at Zarar.
And for the first time, his voice broke.
> “Get out.”
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END OF CHAPTER 6
- Writer
