Black Silk

CHAPTER 1

NADA'S POV

CHAPTER ONE

"Nadia! Nadia! Get your ass up — you're gonna be late for work!"

My mum's voice crashed through my sleep like thunder, followed by the door slamming open and light flooding into my room. I bolted upright, blinking against the brightness, my heart racing. Reaching for my phone, I saw the time and groaned.
Late.

Still half-asleep, I dragged myself into the bathroom and stood under a steaming hot shower until the world started making sense again. Afterward, I pulled on a pair of plaid trousers, a white turtleneck, a cropped burnt orange cardigan, and my well-worn black Converse. I wrapped my nude jersey scarf around my head, grabbed my bag, and rushed downstairs.

There was no time to eat — not even toast. I shouted a quick goodbye to Mum and dashed out the door, hopping into my car and starting the engine.

"Let me treat myself. I deserve it," I muttered as I pulled out of the garage in my black Mercedes. "Starbucks it is."

⸻

I arrived at the office just in time and let out a breath of relief. Mr. Hassan wasn't here yet. He was the founder and CEO of the company — beloved, respected, kind-hearted. The kind of boss who actually remembered birthdays and asked about your family. People didn't just work for him — they liked him.

But lately, whispers of his retirement had been floating around, and no one quite knew if it was just talk or the real deal.

As I made my way to my desk, Malik — our team manager — spotted me. He had light brown hair, almost blond, light blue eyes, and the sort of face that always looked like it was mid-joke.

"Hey! Salaam, Nadia. How are you today?"

"Wa alaikum salaam," I replied, tucking a stray hair into my scarf. "I'm good. You?"

"You look good today."

I raised a brow. "So I don't look good every day?"

His face twisted into panic. "No! I mean—yes! You look great every day—uh—never mind." He spun around and walked off, mumbling something under his breath.

I shook my head, laughing quietly. "Weirdo."

I slipped into my seat, set my coffee on the desk, and opened my planner. The day looked light — no stressful meetings, no deadlines. I leaned back and took a long sip of my coffee, grateful for a slow start.

⸻

A little while later, I stepped into the lift headed to the third floor. Just as the doors were closing, Lisa squeezed in. Tall, blonde, and always in heels, Lisa had the energy of someone who never missed a single detail — or piece of drama.

"Hey," I greeted her with a smile.

"Oh, Nadia," she said, grinning wide. "I've got tea."

I rolled my eyes, amused. "You never waste time, do you?"

"You know me. Why pretend otherwise?"

We both laughed.

"I heard Mr. Hassan is retiring," she said, eyes gleaming.

I tilted my head. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "He's been hinting at it for a while, but it sounds official now."

Mr. Hassan was in his late sixties, but he didn't carry himself like it. He was sharp, kind, full of energy. Always made time for everyone. He felt more like an uncle than a CEO sometimes.