Chapter 14
Fourteen
ZAHRA
I tapped through the schedule on my tablet, focusing on the screen with laser precision.
The wedding timeline glowed back at me, each item meticulously organized, color-coded, and assigned.
Tomorrow was dedicated to final dress fittings for Parisa and the bridesmaids, hair and makeup test runs, and a special facial and mud bath treatment for the ladies.
Simple. Safe.
But the day after… Brunch at 10:30 AM, a tour of the gardens at 2:00 PM, dinner at 7:00 PM, followed by a joint night at Norman’s local beer garden turned outdoor nightclub.
More opportunities for Ryan to get to me.
I inhaled deeply through my nose and held, slowly releasing the breath through my mouth. As long as I kept moving, kept planning, kept controlling what I could control, I would be fine.
My gaze darted across the terrace against my will, scanning for Ryan's tall frame among the guests. I spotted him by the bar, laughing too loudly with Darryl's cousin. The sound carried across the space, setting my nerves on edge.
I dropped my gaze back on the tablet. Three more event confirmations needed, then I could justify leaving early.
A warm presence materialized at my side, and I knew without looking that it was Oliver. He'd been doing this all evening—hovering close enough that I felt his protective presence but far enough that an outsider wouldn't catch on that he was shadowing me.
He leaned in to point at something on my tablet, his body subtly positioned between me and the rest of the room.
Between me and Ryan.
I should tell him to stop. This level of protection wasn't part of our arrangement. But his presence steadied me in a way I hadn't expected and desperately needed.
Ryan's laughter boomed again, and my head snapped up instinctively, heart rate spiking. He was closer now, working his way through the crowd toward the center of the terrace. Toward us.
Oliver’s palm found the small of my back, a solid, steady warmth cutting through the ice that climbed up my spine. His voice was low, a quiet command that sent a shiver down my neck.
"Breathe," he murmured, his lips a breath away from my ear, his words smoothing over the jagged edges inside me. "I've got you."
The simple words washed over me like a balm, and I exhaled, slow and uneven.
At some point during the evening, I lost track of Parisa and Darryl. It was the worst timing possible. I was desperate to get away from Ryan’s looming presence, but I couldn’t until they approved the revised floral arrangement.
Then, I spotted Darryl sneaking onto the terrace, a few of his shirt buttons undone, followed shortly by Parisa, her cheeks flushed and dress crumpled. I rolled my eyes and cut through the crowd straight to her.
"Having fun?" Parisa asked when I appeared beside her.
“Not as much fun as you, apparently,” I said, scanning our surroundings before moving to discreetly smooth out her outfit.
“Whoopsie, busted.” She snorted as if she’d said the funniest thing in the world. “LOL.”
I froze, gawking at her. “Did you legit say LOL right now?”
Parisa shrugged. “I’m tipsy and taken care of. You should try it sometime. In fact—” she spun full circle, bleary eyes scanning the room. “Ollie!”
“Pari, shush!” I tried to stop her, I did. But Parisa wasn’t one to give up on a chance to wreak havoc.
“Oliver Beck!”
He materialized out of nowhere, an amused smirk I was starting to know well on his handsome face. It was in his eyes, too, but I still wasn’t sure if he was truly enjoying the mayhem that was my cousin, or if he was that good of an actor.
“Reporting for duty, Your Brideness.” He dipped his head in a mini-bow, and Parisa burst into gleeful giggles.
“Don’t humor her,” I hissed, hoping Oliver’s appearance was enough to make Parisa forget whatever embarrassing thing she wanted to say. No such luck.
“Zazi here is wound too tight.” Parisa grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face Oliver, shoving me at him.
His arms wrapped around me, securing me to his chest, and I was too mortified to look up at his face, knowing what the next words out of Parisa’s mouth were going to be.
“All work and no play. That just won’t do.
” The taps on my head were supposed to be petting, I was sure, but they felt like a hammer pounding the final nail into the coffin I’d need when I died from embarrassment in exactly three seconds.
“As her boyfriend, your duty is to…take care of her, if you know what I mean. Make sure she’s enjoying herself.
” I peeked up at her from my hideout in Oliver’s shirt just in time to see her wink at him, then scuttle off.
“Dead,” I murmured, still refusing to lift my head. “I want to be dead.”
“Is she always this straightforward, or is it especially for me?” Oliver asked, the cheerful notes dropping now that we were alone.
“She dialed it down for you.” I let out a small huff and straightened, daring to meet his gaze. He looked as shellshocked as I felt. “The alcohol just makes it worse.”
Oliver nodded with a furrow in his brow, as if he were still having trouble reconciling the entire event.
"Hey, Beck!" Ryan's voice carried across the terrace, and this time the fake smile was visibly absent from his gaze. "Remember that time under the bleachers? When you caught me and Zahra?" He winked at the bridesmaids clustered around him. "Talk about awkward timing."
The memory hit me like a punch to the ribs—sharp, breath-stealing.
Junior year. The cold metal of the bleachers at my back. Ryan’s hand on my wrist, his voice a low snarl in my ear.
"You're a tease, Zahra." His grip tightened, his breath hot and sour against my skin. "You think I don’t see the way you lead other guys on? You think I won’t remind them who you belong to?"
I had let him kiss me because it was easier than what would have happened if I didn’t.
I had let him, and all I did was cry in silence.
Oliver’s hand slipping into mine cut through the memory, but I could see it in his eyes—the pain, the anger. The betrayal.
Despite everything I’d done, everything Ryan made me do, Oliver still tried to help me. And he paid for it.
One shove sent him to the dirt. One stomp shattered his glasses. One lie—Peeping Tom—followed him for the rest of the year, whispered behind hands, scrawled on bathroom stalls. Ryan made sure of it. Just like he made sure I knew what would happen if Oliver so much as looked at his property again.
Yet here he was, unshaken, standing as a shield between me and the monster who had torn me down. The same monster I’d let abuse him. I had stood by. I had let it happen. And despite that, despite everything, Oliver was still choosing to protect me.
I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve him . And I hated myself for clinging to him anyway.
“I remember,” Oliver answered, his voice carrying a casual tone, as if none of this bothered him.
"Who knows?" Ryan grinned, raising his mimosa. "Maybe it's my turn to walk in on you two."
The threat wrapped in nostalgia made my stomach turn. My hand tightened on the tablet, knuckles white.
Oliver went completely still beside me, then his arm settled casually around my shoulders, and he laughed along, though it was a cold laughter that raised goosebumps on my arms.
"Well, Ryan, Zahra and I aren't rowdy teenagers, so we keep our PDA behind locked doors.
" With a pointed look that couldn't be mistaken for anything but threatening, despite his casual smile, he continued.
"If you somehow do end up in our honeymoon suite, I'm going to have to wonder if that whole peeping tom rumor wasn’t you projecting. "
The room burst into loud laughter, and Ryan was forced to play along, though I could see his eye twitching—a telltale sign of his barely contained fury that I recognized all too well.
Even now, after everything, Oliver was more concerned with protecting me than any threat to his own reputation. Or was this just another box he ticked off his contract to-do list?
"You know, that makes me think about the photoshoot on Sunday?" Ryan asked, directing the question to Parisa but looking straight at me. "Why don’t we do it at the old football field for nostalgia's sake?"
The implication was clear—if words wouldn't do the trick, he'd take us back to the scene of the crime, conjure memories to drive a wedge between us.
"Actually," I said, my professional voice firmly in place despite the tremor I could feel building inside me.
"We've confirmed the rose garden at the historical society.
Better lighting, and the groundskeeper has agreed to delay his pruning schedule.
" I turned to Parisa. "I was going to surprise you, but the climbing roses on the south trellis are in full bloom. They'll make a stunning backdrop."
Parisa squealed with delight. "You're a miracle worker!"
"Just doing my job," I replied, fingers flying over the tablet as I updated the shared schedule. My hands trembled slightly as I typed, but I kept my expression neutral, my posture perfect.
Ryan's eyes narrowed, but he recovered quickly. "I've got some great stories about our high school sweethearts over here," he said, gesturing to Oliver and me as he turned to the bridesmaids. "Did you know they were the original couple before Zahra and I got together?"
For a moment, I stopped breathing. This was new territory.
Ryan was a manipulator of reality, but a blatant lie designed to rewrite history in a way that painted Oliver as my cast-off, someone Ryan had "won" me from? The calculated cruelty of it made my chest tight, but, at the same time, made me wonder how rattled Ryan was from Oliver’s unwavering confidence that he’d stoop that low.
"Zahra and I were always just friends." Oliver smiled at me, warm and genuine, his voice deceptively light. "It’s our foundation. Everything else is built around our friendship."
"Friends," Ryan repeated, his tone making the word sound dirty. "Right. That's why you followed her around like a lost puppy."
The familiar accusation hung in the air, and I felt Oliver tense beside me. This had been Ryan's favorite ammunition: implying Oliver was obsessed with me and turning any genuine concern or acts of friendship into something creepy and unwanted.
"I don’t remember it that way,” Parisa suddenly chimed in, scratching her cheek in thought, and my former annoyance at her lack of filters morphed into gratitude. “I vividly remember asking you guys if you’re in love when we were freshmen and you both made gag noises.”
“Now that,” I pointed at Parisa, “is a true story.” Then I turned my gaze to Ryan.
He was glaring, almost sneering at me for daring to break his word, but I wasn’t done.
I plucked a flute of champagne off a passing tray and lifted it high in the air.
“To love based on mutual respect and genuine connection. To Parisa and Darryl.”
There was a collective roar of the bride and groom’s names, followed by an uptick in the room’s energy. Ryan had lost his crowd, and my job for the night was done.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered to Oliver, and he nodded, relief evident in his eyes.
"You okay?" Oliver asked once we were in the elevator, and I nodded, not trusting my voice. I wasn't okay, not even close. But I couldn't afford to fall apart. Not here, not now. There were schedules to maintain, vendors to confirm, a bride to support.
Too many emotions swirled inside my chest, my head, my stomach. But most of all self-loathing and shame. I had let it happen. For years, I let it continue. I spun a beautiful tale of friendship and respect, but when it truly mattered, I chose self-preservation.
“I’m proud of you,” Oliver said softly, catching me by surprise. “The way you stood up to Ryan tonight? I know that wasn’t easy, and I’m proud of you.”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak, to thank him. Not without spilling every secret I’d been fighting so hard to keep. But with every story Ryan told, I could sense Oliver putting the pieces together, and I didn't know how to protect us both.
“I’m so tired,” I whispered, the only emotion I could afford to articulate.
Without a word, Oliver scooped me up from the floor.
One second, I was standing. The next, the world tilted—Oliver’s arms locked around me, lifting me like I weighed nothing at all. A startled gasp slipped out, the beginning of an objection, but exhaustion swallowed it whole. My limbs were too drained to resist, my pride too frayed to protest.
My cheek pressed against his chest, the rhythmic thud of his heart steady beneath my ear, and fatigue settled deep in my bones, making everything heavy.
Oliver held me tighter, like he knew. Like he understood the tremble working its way through my body, the silent shatter I refused to let anyone see.
I should tell him to put me down. I should remind him this wasn’t part of our arrangement.
But I let him hold me. Just this once.
Whatever the situation, Oliver was always in control.
It wasn’t the same as Ryan’s, though. Oliver’s control was quiet, a serene lap of waves that washed over me in his presence.
It was safe. Unlike Ryan, who was volatile.
He asserted his control through manipulation and aggression.
He didn’t naturally command his surroundings like Oliver.
Ryan had to bend it with underhanded tactics.
“He could never stand that you were everything he wanted to be,” I muttered with a bitter laugh, my eyelids too heavy to keep open. “That’s why he tormented you. It’s why he made me ignore you. He knew you were better, and he couldn’t stand it.”
Oliver didn’t respond; the only indication that he’d heard me was the flex of his fingers against my knees.
He lay me gently on the bed— when had we gotten to our room? —and removed my shoes.
“Get some rest, Zahra.” His voice was quieter now, but firm.
Oliver tucked the blankets around me with precise, careful hands—the same hands that had blocked Ryan tonight, that had held me together, that had kept me from shattering under the weight of it all.
I cracked my eyes open, watching his calculated care.
He noticed my gaze, and his fingers brushed loose strands of hair out of my face, gentle despite the dark clouds in his eyes. My lashes fluttered, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming.
But I wasn’t.
His jaw was tight, his whole body wound like a wire pulled too taut. And his voice—when it came—cut through the air with its sharpness.
“He won’t touch you again.” A pause. A heartbeat. “So long as I’m breathing.”
I wanted to believe him, but deep down, there was a seed of doubt.
Tonight was the tip of the iceberg. I knew what Ryan was capable of, and I had no doubt the worst was yet to come.