Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
ZAHRA
I smoothed the front of my purple cocktail dress, checking my reflection in the mirror one last time.
Professional. Composed. Unflappable.
The dress's sleeves were long enough to conceal Ryan's fingerprints on my arm, and the neckline hid Oliver's marks on my collarbone. Perfect for maintaining appearances while my world threatened to collapse beneath my feet.
The rehearsal dinner was set to begin in twenty minutes. Most of the wedding party was already gathering in the hotel’s private dining room, their excited chatter spilling into the hallway where I stood.
I took one more steadying breath, then plastered on my event planner smile and pushed through the double doors.
The room was beautifully arranged, tables adorned with tasteful floral centerpieces, candlelight casting a soft glow over white linens. Under different circumstances, I would have been proud of how perfectly everything had come together.
Instead, I was focused on making it through the night, trying not to misstep in the minefield I was navigating.
Oliver stood near the bar, deep in conversation with Darryl. His hair was still damp from our joint shower, his blue button-down bringing out the intensity of his eyes behind his glasses. He glanced up as I entered, and the radiant smile that twinkled in his gaze made my stomach flutter.
I started toward him, but before I could take three steps, one of Parisa's bridesmaids intercepted me with questions about tomorrow's transportation schedule.
By the time I'd answered, another wedding guest needed clarification about the ceremony seating.
Then the venue coordinator pulled me aside with an issue about the flower delivery.
Each time I tried to make my way to Oliver, someone else appeared with a wedding emergency that only I could solve. It was as if the universe itself was conspiring to keep us apart.
Ryan, meanwhile, seemed to be everywhere at once.
Each time I turned around, he was there, watching me with those calculating eyes.
He wasn’t bothering with fake smiles tonight, just leering with a simmering anger.
His casual comments about "trouble in paradise" and asking others loud enough for me to hear if they thought Oliver and I would "make it past the wedding" were always made within earshot.
His voice carried across the room as he told some groomsmen, "You can always tell when the honeymoon phase is over. They can barely look at each other now."
I gritted my teeth, focusing on the clipboard in my hands, on being the consummate professional everyone expected. But with each passing minute, the tension in my shoulders wound tighter, my smile becoming increasingly brittle.
After an hour, I excused myself and headed for the powder room, desperate for a moment's peace to gather my thoughts. Inside, several bridesmaids were touching up their makeup, their laughter a jarring contrast to the storm brewing inside me.
I'd just finished reapplying my lipstick when the door opened, and the reflection in the mirror made my blood run cold.
Aunt Maryam.
Her expression was unreadable as she surveyed the room, then her eyes landed on me. Her nostrils flared, and a sliver of fear settled in my gut.
"Everyone, out," she commanded, and the room instantly fell silent.
I dropped my lipstick back into my purse, turning to leave only to be stopped by my aunt’s stony gaze.
"Not you."
The girls exchanged confused glances, a few shooting me sympathetic looks as they gathered their things and filed out. I forced a reassuring smile, as if this were just another wedding detail to handle.
As soon as the door closed behind the last bridesmaid, I turned to face my aunt. After what she told Ryan about Oliver, after the bruises that were still fresh on my arm, I wasn't about to let her dictate this conversation.
"How could you tell Ryan my private affairs?" I demanded, not waiting to hear what she had to say. "I obviously don't want him around me, let alone in my business."
Her eyebrows rose slightly, the only indication that I'd surprised her with my directness.
"You mean the business you have with an escort?"
The word hung in the air between us, dripping with disdain.
"Oliver is not?—"
"Don't lie to me, child!" She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a fierce whisper. "I won't let you embarrass this family, and at my daughter's wedding no less. Bringing your... paid companion to a family event? What were you thinking?"
"That's not?—"
"The Becks told me everything, Zahra." The interruption was smooth, practiced. "How you hired him, how much you’re paying him, and how many women have paid him over the past seven years.”
Each word hit like a slap. I'd expected her disapproval, but not this level of knowledge about my arrangement with Oliver.
“Though, from what I hear from your neighboring rooms, at least you got your money's worth."
Humiliation burned hot in my cheeks. The thought of my aunt discussing my intimate moments with Oliver's parents made me want to sink through the floor.
But beneath the embarrassment, alarm bells were ringing.
The Becks. They'd sought out my aunt, had deliberately shared information that should have been private.
"And to make things worse," she continued, voice dripping with false sympathy. "He attacked Ryan this morning."
I scoffed, thinking of the bruises on my arm. "Ryan probably had it coming."
"He almost killed him, Zahra!"
"Oh, come on." I threw my hands in the air, frustration mounting. "Ryan is a lying, manipulative bastard. Stop believing everything he tells you."
My aunt's eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening.
"I saw it with my own eyes." She took another step forward, her voice dropping even lower. "And if you don't believe me, believe this."
She pulled out her phone, tapping the screen before holding it up for me to see. The video was slightly shaky but unmistakable.
My stomach twisted into knots, my hands clammy as I stared at the scene unfolding.
Oliver and Ryan in a hidden corner near the terrace.
Oliver's hand around Ryan's throat, pinning him against a wall.
Ryan's face changing colors as he struggled for air.
The clinical precision with which Oliver finally released him, calmly cleaning his glasses without so much as a glance at the gasping figure crumpled at his feet.
I searched for signs of manipulation, of editing, of anything that would let me dismiss what I was seeing. But it was real.
What chilled me most wasn't the violence itself. It was Oliver's expression—cold, calculated, utterly in control. This wasn't a moment driven by protective fury. This was methodical. Deliberate. As if he'd measured exactly how much pressure to apply, how long to hold, when to release.
"He is a ticking time bomb, khoshgelam ," my aunt said, her voice softening with what sounded like genuine concern. "And I won't let him ruin Parisa's wedding."
"He wouldn't..." I began, but the words died in my throat. I couldn’t vouch for the man I'd just witnessed on that screen. The man who mere minutes after calmly choking person half to death, declared he should have killed him when he had the chance.
How was that the same Oliver who'd held me so tenderly just hours ago? Who'd bound his own hands to give me control? Who'd whispered that he needed me?
"If he shows up tomorrow, I'll have no choice but to protect this family and send the video to the police."
My eyes snapped up to her face, horror settling in my chest as I comprehended the full scope of consequences that would follow the execution of her threat.
"You'll ruin him." His academic career, his work at Rent-A-Date, and Emmet's future which seemed so tied to Oliver's stability. Everything he’d worked for, all his sacrifices, gone.
Because of me.
"It's the better alternative to him ruining us." Something in her emphasis made me look up sharply. The way she said "us" suggested something larger, something beyond just a potential wedding disaster.
"What did you do?" I asked, sudden clarity cutting through my shock.
"I'm just the messenger, Zahra." She shrugged, the gesture too casual to be genuine. "I'm also a concerned aunt." Her hand came up to cup my chin, the touch gentle but her eyes hard. "Think carefully about your choices. Some scandals, you can't come back from."
She let the warning hang in the air as she turned and left, the door swinging shut behind her with finality.
I gripped the edge of the marble counter, trying to process everything. The video. The threat. The clear coordination between my aunt and Ryan. The suggestion that there was something bigger at stake than I realized.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the door opened again. I thought my aunt had doubled back for another round, or maybe a guest coming to use the restroom, but never the woman who actually walked in.
"Zahra, it's been so long." Mrs. Beck's voice carried the same false warmth I remembered from high school, when she'd smile at parent-teacher conferences while her eyes remained cold.
"You aren't part of the rehearsal dinner," I said flatly, beyond politeness at this point.
Her smile didn't waver. "Your aunt asked me to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say to you." I grabbed my clutch, attempting to walk past her to the door.
Her hand caught my arm, the grip firm.
"Then listen," she said, all pretense of warmth dropping from her tone.
"I know you care about him, maybe even love him.
But he didn't come here for you. He didn't even come here for your money.
He's using you to get his filthy hands on his grandparents' estate.
You're nothing but a cover story, and he’ll gladly sacrifice you to get what he wants. "
"You're lying," I snapped, a wave of fury replacing the dread that had settled in my chest, and I yanked my arm free.
I was almost at the door when her next words stopped me cold.
"Blessed Heritage LLC."
I froze, my hand on the door handle. The name triggered an immediate flash of memory—the document I'd glimpsed in the church records while finalizing wedding details, the property deed for the abandoned house that drove Oliver to drown himself in bourbon.
I slowly turned to face her, my heart hammering against my ribs, and Mrs. Beck's smile morphed into a triumphant one.
"He’s already used your name to try and get into the church records, Zahra.
Your professional name." She stepped closer, her voice softening, her gaze suddenly full of understanding and sympathy.
"You think this is real, and that's not your fault, Zahra.
He's had seven years to perfect his act.
" She sighed, pursing her lips and placing a hand over her heart as if the ordeal was paining her as much as it pained me.
"He needed an excuse to come back to town and dig, which I guess isn't that bad considering you needed him to pretend to be your boyfriend.
But then he dug, and he found something. "
She took my hand, giving it a small squeeze of commiseration. "He needs that deed, Zahra. And you're his way in."
"No," I tried to make the denial forceful, but it came out broken, uncertain.
"How long has he known about the LLC?"
The question hit a nerve, triggering the memory of Oliver's reaction when I'd mentioned the deed. The sudden focus in his eyes, the way he'd withdrawn immediately afterward. The research I'd glimpsed on his laptop.
"No," I repeated, smaller this time. I pulled my hand out of hers and turned to face the wall, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “He wouldn’t.”
"Wouldn't he?" Mrs. Beck asked, her tone almost pitying. "In that case, how long have you known about his real reason for agreeing to your offer, despite hating you for what you did to him in high school?"
"I..." The words wouldn't come, the tears threatened to spill. The pieces were aligning too neatly, filling in gaps I hadn't realized existed.
"Oh, sweetheart, he never told you, did he?
" Her voice had softened to something that might have passed for kindness in another context.
I found myself shaking my head, a silent admission that felt like betrayal.
"This must be so hard for you. After all, you thought you knew everything there was to know about Oliver Beck. "
The air rushed out of my lungs.
Those were the exact words I'd said to Ryan earlier today.
"You're all in on it," I whispered, the full scope of the conspiracy finally becoming clear.
Mrs. Beck's heels clicked on the tiled floor as she came to stand in front of me, meeting my gaze with a cold smile.
"Does it matter?" she asked. "You're only as good to Oliver as he can use you, Zahra. Are you really going to join a fight that isn't yours, and risk losing everything you've worked so hard to achieve, for a man like that?"
She didn’t wait for my reaction, just patted my cheek before walking away, leaving me alone with the devastating possibility that everything—from accepting my booking to the way he'd looked at me just hours ago, whispering that he needed me—might have been calculated manipulation.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman who looked back at me. Professional mask cracked, eyes bright with unshed tears, lips slightly parted in shock.
Had it all been a lie? The tenderness, the vulnerability, the way he'd surrendered control to me—was it just another tactic to keep me compliant, to maintain his access to whatever he was really after?
I can’t do this now .
This was Parisa's night, and I wouldn't let family drama—or a boyfriend who was never supposed to be real—ruin it for her.
I wiped at my eyes, pulled my professional veneer back into place, straightened my shoulders, and returned to the dining room.
The moment I stepped out, Oliver’s gaze found me. His brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong. Like he could see the cracks forming.
How much had he calculated? How much had he planned?
I wanted to turn away. Instead, I walked toward him. His features softened, and he excused himself, closing the distance between us and wrapping me in his arms where it was warm and safe.
For a fraction of a second, I allowed myself to hope that Mrs. Beck was lying, that my aunt was manipulating me, and that there was an explanation for everything.
Then I remembered the video, and the cold precision in Oliver's eyes as he choked Ryan. The effortless calm as he watched a man slowly die.
I remembered the way he'd gone distant the moment I mentioned the church records.
I remembered how he'd stormed into our room just when I was starting to doubt everything, saying all the right words and doing all the right things.
And I realized that I couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake anymore.