Velvet Hours

VELVET HOURS CHAPTER 1: CRIMSON VELVET “Not every hunger is for food. Not every kiss is for love.” ReTaaj Bint Hashim entered the rooftop event like a storm cloaked in satin. Her crimson velvet dress clung to her body like it had secrets to keep. Low-cut, backless, with a slit that whispered sin down her thigh — she was every inch a woman who didn’t wait to be noticed. She commanded it. The crowd parted. A dozen men looked. Three tried to approach. None mattered. Only him. Jibraan Bin Razan. He stood across the terrace, a flute of champagne in hand, dressed in a black-on-black suit that made his shoulders look criminal and his profile God-made. His eyes, dark and watchful, flicked toward her the moment she stepped near the bar. She tilted her head and smiled — just slightly. It wasn’t invitation. It was challenge. “You’re not from this world,” he said, stepping into her space. ReTaaj raised a brow. “Which one am I from?” He looked at her like he already knew. “The one men dream about but never deserve.” She laughed — low and deliberate. “Flattery makes liars of men.” “And truth makes monsters of women?” “I don’t mind monsters,” she replied, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “They tend to tell the truth when they’re hungry.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. He simply handed her his champagne glass and said, “Come with me.” *** The skyline blurred behind glass as they reached the penthouse. Music from the gala faded. Silence fell. But it wasn’t peaceful. It was pulsing. ReTaaj stepped out of her heels, her bare feet soundless on the marble floor. Jibraan loosened his tie and tossed it onto the sofa. His jacket hit the ground next. She turned to him — barebacked, breathless. “I know what this is,” she said. “Do you?” His voice was low, tight. “Yes.” Her eyes darkened. “You think it’s love.” “And for you?” he asked. “An audition.” She pulled him down by his collar, crushing her lips against his before he could ask more. It wasn’t gentle. It was a storm of possession masked as passion, a dangerous game where every touch felt like a claim and every breath felt like a trap. Jibraan held her as if anchoring himself to something he desperately feared losing, while ReTaaj played her part to perfection — whispering his name like a promise, even as her heart kept its distance. When the storm finally settled into the quiet depth of the night, Jibraan touched her cheek, his breath still ragged. “I think I’m falling for you Jude,” he murmured into the darkness. ReTaaj stared at the ceiling, her expression completely unreadable. 'Good,' she thought. 'Fall. Fall hard. I’ll be gone by winter.' But she didn’t say that. Instead, she curled into his side, tracing invisible circles on his chest. “I’m not easy to love, Jibraan.” He held her tighter. “That’s what makes you worth it.” She smiled in the dark. Not because she was touched, but because the game had officially begun. *** Later, as Jibraan slept soundly beside her, ReTaaj slipped out of bed without a sound. She pulled her phone from her purse, the cold screen illuminating her face. One message. One contact. Zarar Bin Saleh. She typed: “He’s obsessed. Just like you said.” She stared at the words for a second, then deleted the history before she could change her mind. Outside, the Dubai night stretched on — a vast, velvet curtain hiding the price of every single lie she was about to tell. --- END OF CHAPTER 1