Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
ZAHRA
I checked the table settings one last time, adjusting a misaligned fork before stepping back to assess the overall layout. The wedding rehearsal was scheduled for later this evening, and I wanted everything perfect before the wedding party arrived.
The space was blessedly quiet, a welcome calm after the chaos of setting everything up. There was just the occasional sounds from kitchen staff preparing for the rehearsal dinner that would follow.
I moved to a secluded section of the venue, checking that we had enough backup supplies for anything that could go wrong, making notes on my tablet that live-synced with the venue’s event coordinator’s device.
"Hey, babe."
My spine stiffened at Ryan's voice, a visceral response I couldn't control. I hadn't heard him approach, but that was nothing new. He'd always been good at appearing when I was alone, vulnerable.
I turned slowly, finding him leaning against a marble pillar that conveniently blocked the most direct exit path. His posture was deliberately casual, hands in pockets, one ankle crossed over the other.
"How're you holding up with all the chaos?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at my tablet and the event space. His tone was friendly, concerned. Anyone walking in would see a thoughtful groomsman checking on the wedding planner.
I frowned, not gracing him with an answer as I added another note to my tablet.
Ryan sighed, pushing off the pillar to step closer. "Look, I get it, we have...history. But I still care about you, Zahra."
"You only ever cared about yourself," I retorted, unable to maintain complete silence in the face of such blatant manipulation. "I'm not interested in your company, Ryan."
His expression darkened momentarily, a flash of anger coming and going so quickly that anyone else might have missed it. But I'd spent years cataloging those micro-expressions, learning which ones preceded storms.
"I'm sorry for whatever I did to upset you," he said, the artificial contrition nearly making me laugh. "But I'm here because I'm worried about you."
He stepped closer, further blocking my path. I could still leave through the kitchen, but that would mean turning my back on him. I’d learned early on to never turn my back on Ryan Calloway.
"Your aunt told me something troubling about Oliver's employment situation." His voice dropped, intimate and concerned. "I'm just looking out for you, you know?"
I maintained my neutral expression, though my pulse quickened. What did Aunt Maryam know about Oliver? What had she told Ryan?
"I'm sure you are," I replied, keeping my voice professionally neutral. "But I fail to see how his work at the university is so troublesome."
"He has a side gig, babe."
The endearment made my skin crawl, but I sighed, bracing for whatever bullshit was coming next. He’s secretly married? Running a Ponzi scheme? A Russian spy?
"As an escort.”
I stared at Ryan, waiting for the rest of it. The part that made this a real revelation. But nothing came.
I blinked.
That was it? That was his bombshell? His big scandal? His Hail Mary to make me question Oliver?
"Foxy's isn't an escort service, Ryan." I sighed, massaging my temples as if he was giving me a headache. "They’re hired for companionship, not for sex. You of all people should know the difference."
His eyes widened. "You know?"
The genuine shock in his expression actually made me laugh. Did he think he’d blindside me into taking him back?
"I know everything there is to know about Oliver," I replied coolly.
"And you're still with him?" Ryan's feigned concern shifted to condescension. "Could you imagine what this would do to your reputation?" He stepped even closer, invading my personal space with practiced precision. "Get ahead of it, babe. Save your career while you still can."
"My career is none of your concern." I stepped sideways, maintaining distance while positioning myself for a clearer exit path. “And neither is my personal life, for that matter.”
"I'm worried about your lack of judgment on this." His voice hardened, the mask of concern slipping.
I rolled my eyes, tired of the charade. "The only thing that should worry anyone is how quickly you're running out of friends at this wedding."
It was a calculated risk, reminding him that he wasn't as universally beloved as he pretended. His jaw tightened, confirming I'd hit a nerve.
I moved to leave, but his hand shot out, closing around my upper arm with bruising force. I'd anticipated it—Ryan always got physical when verbal tactics failed—but preparation didn't stop the flash of adrenaline, the instinctive fear response.
"You've changed," he said, his grip painful, his voice cold steel that sent shivers down my spine.
“Let go,” I snarled, trying to wrench my arm out of his grasp.
The old Zahra would have froze, would have apologized, would have done anything to de-escalate. She would have waited for Oliver to magically appear out of thin air and save her.
But that Zahra was gone.
I was sick of waiting for a knight in shining armor who had more secrets than a CIA agent.
The new Zahra? She had zero patience left, and it was high time Ryan learned that. The hard way.
“Make me.” He shrugged, smiling like this was all a big game. Like he wasn't hurting me. Like this was normal.
“This room is monitored for security purposes.” My eyes flicked to the red dot blinking over the shelves behind us. “The very spot we’re standing in is in direct line to the camera.” I flashed him with a million-dollar grin. “Say cheese to hotel security, babe .”
Ryan’s cocky attitude slipped, his jaw clenching hard enough for me to hear his teeth grinding.
I kept my cool, smirk still plastered on my face, a cocked eyebrow added for effect, but inside I was a fucking mess, praying Ryan would believe me.
His fingers tightened briefly, a warning, and then he let go, taking an abrupt step back.
"You used to know your place."
"My place is at Oliver's side," I said, my voice steady despite the thundering of my heart. "It always has been."
"If that piece of shit dares to show his face at the wedding, I'll not only ruin his reputation, I'll rearrange his face." Ryan’s smile returned, the same toothy grin that used to terrify me in high school. "Then we'll see how many friends he really has."
I kept my gaze steady, refusing to show the weakness he expected as I watched him back away slowly toward the exit, straightening his jacket with exaggerated care.
Then, a wink. "See you at the reception, babe."
His footsteps grew fainter until they faded completely.
I exhaled, but the relief was temporary, a shallow breath that barely reached my lungs. My arm throbbed where Ryan had grabbed me, the bruises already threatening to bloom.
I turned in a slow circle, checking the room as if Ryan might still be lurking in some shadowed corner. Empty. Just the polished tables, the hushed clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
The half-assed security camera blinked.
It was a useless piece of garbage. No connection to the main security system, no live feed, and the quality was shit. If I had to guess, anyone caught on this camera would be blurred beyond recognition.
But this morning, that crappy camera was the sole witness of the moment my fear turned into something else.
Determination. Grit.
Because if Ryan thought he could walk in here, throw threats around like confetti, and leave me shaking in my heels, he’d severely underestimated the woman I’d become.
My arm pulsed, but it wasn’t the pain that sent a shiver down my spine.
It was the certainty. The absolute fucking certainty that he meant it.
I knew that tone, that promise laced with cruelty. He’d wait until the moment he could do the most damage—maybe in front of my entire family, maybe when Oliver least expected it.
A toast?
A dance?
A well-timed whisper in the right ear?
I had hours, not days, to figure out how to stop him.
I gathered my tablet and notes, double-checking my work purely from professional habit before heading back to the hotel. I needed to talk to Oliver, to warn him about Ryan's escalating behavior.
With the rehearsal dinner later today, I didn't have time to properly process everything, but the conversation couldn't wait until after tonight's events were over.
I found Oliver in our room, sitting at the desk with his laptop open, surrounded by papers. He didn't look up when I entered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Hey," I said, setting down my things. "We need to talk."
"Hmm?" He glanced up, distracted, his eyes not quite focusing on me. "What's up?"
I hesitated, studying him. Something was wrong. He looked haunted. The shadows under his eyes seemed deeper, his posture more rigid.
I started to reach for him, to place a hand on his shoulder, then stopped, hesitated, and pulled my hand back.
Oliver’s gaze followed my movements, a flash of pain crossing his features when my fingers recoiled.
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Fine," he said automatically, already looking back at his laptop. "Just working on something."
His laptop screen glowed in the dim hotel lighting, lines of text and numbers scrolling too fast for me to track. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white where they pressed against the edge of the desk.
I opened my mouth—to say what, I wasn’t sure. Something to make him really look at me, to break through the wall he’d built between us.
But the words never came.
Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled, long and slow. He still wasn’t looking at me, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.
Because the Oliver I’d fallen for, the one who smiled at me in the dark and threaded his fingers through mine as if we were meant to be linked, wasn’t here right now.
And I had no idea how to reach him.
I stood there for a moment, uncertain. I should tell him about Ryan's threat, warn him about what might happen at the wedding. But Oliver was clearly preoccupied, barely present.
Whatever battle he was fighting, he'd chosen to fight it alone, as always.
"I'm going to shower," I said finally.
He nodded absently, already lost in whatever was on his screen.
Under the hot water, I examined the red marks on my arm, already darkening into bruises. A black and blue armlet in the perfect imprint of Ryan's fingers. A brand. A reminder.
I pressed my forehead against the shower tiles, letting the water drum against my spine. My fingers clenched against my arms, nails biting into my skin.
I thought I was past this. Past him .
But no matter how much time had passed, how much I had changed, my body still reacted the way he’d trained it to. The tension, the instinct to flinch, the way my breath had caught the second his fingers had dug in.
He wanted me to remember what it felt like to be small.
I lifted my head, blinking against the steam. Too bad for Ryan. I’d outgrown him.
The water washed away the lingering sensation of his touch, his presence, his threat. But it couldn’t wash away my concern.
Tonight was Parisa's rehearsal, tomorrow was her bachelorette, and then the wedding. Whatever Ryan was planning, whatever Oliver was hiding, whatever was happening between us—it would have to wait. I had a job to do, a cousin to support, a wedding to coordinate.
As I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself, my resolve hardened. I wouldn't let Ryan intimidate me. Not again. Not ever again.
But Ryan? He was coming for Oliver, and it was more than romantic rivalry.
It was personal in a way I couldn’t understand.
Oliver, though? He had no idea.
And if he kept shutting me out, he wouldn’t see it coming until it was too late.