The Al-Salim and Al-Farouq families had long stood as pillars of power, their names carrying weight in every circle of influence. Their friendship spanned generations, a bond so deep that it was only natural for their heirs to be together. Yaseen and Leila had known each other since childhood, their lives intertwined from the very start. It was never a question of if they would be together—only when.

Now, with both of them on the verge of adulthood, their families had arranged a grand masquerade ball, an extravagant celebration of their legacy. Beneath the golden chandeliers, among the elite of the Arab world, Yaseen searched for her. He didn’t need to see her face to know where she was—his body recognized her presence before his eyes ever could.

Leila stood at the balcony, dressed in an opulent crimson gown, her mask adorned with delicate gold patterns. The moment he saw her, everything else faded. He approached, his tall frame exuding quiet confidence. Without hesitation, he reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“Habibti,” he murmured against her skin, his voice deep, teasing. “Hiding from me?”

Leila smirked behind her mask, tilting her head up at him. “I don’t hide, Yaseen. Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I always find you.”

She sighed, turning back to the view. “It’s a spectacle, isn’t it? All this, for us.”

Yaseen stepped closer, his warmth pressing against her. “Let them watch. Let them celebrate. None of it matters as long as I have you.”

Leila’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed along her jawline. “And what if I ran?” she whispered.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Then I’d chase you.”

He lowered his mask, just enough for her to see the fire in his dark eyes. “But we both know,” he murmured, “you belong right here—with me.”

The night blurred into golden lights and whispered laughter. In the center of the hall, Yaseen held Leila close, guiding her in a slow, effortless dance.

“Still with me, habibti?” he murmured.