Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
ZAHRA
I pressed my fingertips to my temples, trying to ward off the looming headache as I surveyed the reception.
Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a warm glow across the garden venue.
The string quartet played softly in the background, their melodies weaving between clusters of elegantly dressed guests.
Everything was on point—the flower arrangements, the table settings, the timing of the catering staff.
Perfect, except for the hollow ache pulsing beneath my ribs since Oliver left.
I adjusted a slightly off-center centerpiece, more for something to do with my hands than from any real need.
The wedding had gone off without a hitch—Parisa radiant in her gown, Darryl's face glowing with bliss and adoration as she glided down the aisle.
I'd orchestrated a fairytale ceremony worthy of their love, down to the last peony petal.
My parents formed a protective barrier between me and the rest of the wedding party, particularly Ryan.
He'd been hovering like a vulture all evening, smiling that toothy smile, circling me like I was vulnerable prey.
It was getting tired, fast.
Mom fussed with my hair, smoothing invisible flyways, while Dad kept a watchful eye on Ryan's movements, his posture tensing whenever Ryan drifted too close. But my parents were never the type to rock the boat. They did things quietly, behind the scenes. Like tricking Ryan into thinking he had their blessing so he’d feel comfortable letting loose, passing out drunk, giving them a window to help me escape somewhere he couldn’t reach.
I, on the other hand, was fed up with being docile and keeping the peace.
And the manipulators who counted on my conscience getting the better of me? Yeah, they could all fuck off to the jail cell they deserved to be in.
I shot Ryan a look, daring him to act on his thoughts, and he faltered, his hand unconsciously lifting to his neck. I smirked, then did something I knew would rattle his perception of me for good.
I turned my back on him.
"You did a beautiful job, sweetheart," Mom said, her eyes soft with concern. She'd noticed something was wrong the moment she arrived this morning but thankfully hadn't pressed for details.
"Thanks, Mom." I managed a faint smile that didn't reach my eyes.
I adjusted table settings, checked the time, and nodded along to conversations I barely registered.
Breathe .
Smile .
Keep moving .
Because if I stopped—if I let myself feel even a fraction of the loss gnawing at my insides—I might irreparably shatter.
Oliver was probably in the empty hotel room, packing his bags, and booking his flight back to Seattle. Back to his life, his brother, his rules. And I'd be here, picking up the pieces, wondering if I'd made the worst mistake of my life sending him away.
Or maybe I'd saved us both from an even greater heartbreak down the road. Maybe?—
"The fuck?" Ryan's angry exclamation cut through my thoughts.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table. A fork clattered to the ground. I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears.
No .
I followed Ryan’s glare across the garden, my breath locking in my throat.
Oliver .
He stood at the entrance, scanning the crowd, his tall frame impossibly handsome in his beige suit and maroon shirt. His hair was neatly combed, his glasses reflecting the twinkle of fairy lights, lending him an ethereal quality that made my chest constrict painfully.
Our eyes locked across the space, and the world around me blurred.
He moved toward me with purposeful strides, shoulders back, chin raised, but I could see the tension in his jaw, and the slight tremble in his hands as he stretched his arms to invite me into his embrace.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when I'd finally convinced myself I was doing the right thing by letting him go.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Oliver said once he reached me, his voice low and intimate, his arms wrapping around me. I allowed myself to sink into the hug, if only for one precious moment, and Oliver’s posture relaxed instantly.
He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my head that sent electricity racing along my skin.
"I had something urgent to take care of before I came. "
He took a step back, and his fingers found mine, warm and secure, tugging gently. "Come with me?"
A request, not a demand.
I stared at our joined hands, forcing myself not to react to the comforting weight of his palm against mine. The same hand that had traced patterns on my skin just yesterday. The same hand that had kept secrets, had hidden truths.
My aunt's threat echoed in my mind, jolting me back to reality.
"You can't be here," I whispered urgently, looking around for my aunt. I pulled him toward the exit, away from prying eyes. "My aunt has a video of you attacking Ryan. She said if you showed up, she'd send it to the police."
Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, but instead of panicking, his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.
"Oh," he murmured, adjusting his glasses in that infuriatingly calm and controlled motion. "So that’s their play."
My pulse spiked. "Oliver, this isn’t funny. My aunt will?—"
"She’ll do nothing," he cut in smoothly. Then, softer, meant only for me, "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t already know I’d win."
A chill ran down my spine. "And if she does send it?"
Oliver’s expression hardened, something dark flickering across his features. "Then she loses more than I do."
I wanted to ask what he meant, but Oliver was already tugging me after him, back into the thick of the wedding party, weaving through clusters of guests who watched us with barely concealed curiosity.
I noticed Ryan start toward us, then scramble back at Oliver's quick glare, his hand rubbing his neck in a gesture of remembered pain.
We stopped abruptly, and I realized we were standing in front of Oliver's parents. Mrs. Beck's mouth twisted with familiar disgust, her husband's features hardening at the sight of his son.
"You keep trying to take away the things I love," Oliver said quietly, his voice steady despite the tremor I felt in his hand.
His father practically spat his response. "Everything you love is a disgrace to our family name. You know what happens next."
"Well, that depends on whether you want to keep your house of cards standing or not." Oliver's voice was calm, collected, but there was an edge to it I'd never heard before.
I watched in shock as his parents' faces transformed from disdain to confusion.
Oliver reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a neatly folded document, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable.
"This is an affidavit." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over them before continuing.
"It says I give up all legal claims to the inheritance, and in return, you contractually bind yourselves from defaming me or anyone in my circle.
" His gaze flicked to Aunt Maryam, who had materialized beside Mrs. Beck, her face a mask of controlled neutrality.
"That includes erasing certain videos taken for the purpose of leverage and blackmail. "
His parents studied the paper suspiciously.
"What's the catch?" his father demanded.
"I want the house."
His mother laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "That worthless piece of trash? That's it?"
Oliver nodded, his expression serene. "I came here thinking that was the only thing in Gammy and Pop-pop's Will. I came here willing to fight just to get that house."
A house that, from what I’d seen, was barely standing. A house that, if he wanted money or power, was worth nothing.
A house that, for some reason, still meant everything to him.
Why?
"That's really all you want? And everything else is legally ours, no threat of contention?" his father pressed, suspicion written across his features.
"I was named trustee with the stipulation I do what's best for mine and Emmet's future.
Fully breaking ties with you is in our best interest." He gestured behind him to where Thomas Davidson stood, watching the exchange with solemn eyes.
"He can either notarize it now with both our signatures, ending this tonight, or tomorrow we file suit with his testimony and blow the lid wide open on your church embezzlement, along with your co-conspirators. "
My eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. Ryan. My aunt. Oliver's parents. I knew they were all connected, all working together, but I never realized the depths their deception ran.
“Is that why you kept pushing Ryan on me?” I asked my aunt, my anger flaring. “Because you didn’t want me to give Oliver access to incriminating evidence?”
Aunt Maryam scoffed, her gaze full of disapproval.
“You always were na?ve, Zahra. Never understood how the world really worked, just like your parents.” She crossed her arms, condescension radiating from her.
“I’ve been running this family for decades, and you were never a particularly useful member, but at least you weren’t a threat.
Until you decided to shove him back into our lives.
” Her hate-filled eyes turned to Oliver.
“At least one of you nuisances has a smidgen of sense not to fight a losing battle.”
Her words cut through me. It dawned on me that I'd been ambushed, set up, all my weaknesses and insecurities leveraged to drive a wedge between Oliver and me.
And it had worked.
They'd managed to make me doubt him, doubt us, by using truths wrapped in manipulative packaging. Oliver had come to Norman for his inheritance. He had been keeping secrets. There was more to this trip than just being my date.
But they'd twisted everything into something ugly, making me believe Oliver had only been using me, when reality seemed far more complicated.
I watched, numb, as Oliver's parents exchanged hesitant glances.