Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
OLIVER
The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on.
I stood at the window, watching city lights flicker across Norman's modest skyline. The view was nothing like Seattle's, but right now, I wasn't seeing either city. I was trying to ground myself, to stop the storm inside my head from tearing me apart.
I could feel her behind me, standing just inside the door like she didn't want to come any closer.
Something’s wrong.
No. She was stressed. The wedding was around the corner, Ryan was escalating, and our dynamic had shifted into new territory.
But the thought pulsed like a quasar—persistent, radiating unwanted energy that no amount of mental shielding could block.
No!
I was overthinking it, nothing more.
I held on to that illusion, staring at the skyline, grounding myself in the glow of streetlights, and the hum of distant traffic.
Each moment of silence stretched longer than the last, the tension building like a star system approaching critical mass, moments from collapsing into a black hole.
One more second.
And then?—
"We need to talk."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, because of course. Of course, this was happening now.
"Yeah, we do." My voice was rough, tired.
But before I could get a single damn word out—before I could tell her about my mother, about what I was up against, about how I didn't care about any of it if it meant losing her—she was already talking.
"I'll start." Her voice was clipped, professional. Distant.
"Okay," I said slowly, turning to face her.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"My parents will be at the wedding, so I won't need a buffer anymore."
I blinked. The words didn't make sense in my head, didn't fit inside the reality where only a few hours ago she was looking at me like I was an inseparable part of her. Where I let her tear through every boundary and barrier I ever had, and trusted that she wouldn’t crush me again.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing’s wrong," she continued, not answering my question. It was a rehearsed speech, I realized. This was well thought out. "I just don’t need?—"
A pause. A hesitation. A crack.
"Don't need what?" I asked, the squeeze in my chest unbearable. "Me?"
She still wouldn't look at me.
Still .
Time stood still.
My lungs, my heart, my brain. Everything stopped except for one word echoing through my head over and over again.
No. No, no, no, no, no .
"Your services."
Her words slammed into me like a sledgehammer, and all at once my entire body jolted back to action.
My pulse roared in my ears, oxygen burned down my trachea, the thoughts flooding my head in a jumble of unbearable noise.
She was lying.
She had to be lying.
Because what we had wasn't a transaction. Not anymore.
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
"The contract is fulfilled," she pushed on, steamrolling over me like she hadn’t heard a word. "There’s no need for further?—"
"For fuck’s sake, stop pretending this is just business!"
That got her.
For the briefest second, something flickered in her eyes.
Hesitation, fear, regret. It was all there. And then it clicked.
"What did that bastard say to you?"
Zahra blinked, startled. "What?"
"Ryan. Or was it your aunt? Or my mother?" My voice was sharp, almost accusing. "Someone got in your head. Tell me what they said."
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, confirming that I was right, and then she shook her head. "It's not?—"
"Don't lie to me, Zahra." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I know he spoke to you, threatened you. Did he dare speak to you again?"
She flinched, and that was all the confirmation I needed.
My jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"You don't need to be scared of him, Lumina." I knelt before her, gripping her hands, trying to tether her back to me. "I took care of it. He won't come near you ever again."
I expected her to relax, to let me in, to tell me what was wrong so I could fix it.
But she didn't.
She pulled her hands free, deliberately.
"This isn't about Ryan, Oliver," she said, voice too steady, too controlled. "This is about our arrangement running its course."
My stomach dropped, reality became skewed, and I shook my head, refusing to accept her excuses.
Zahra didn't react. Instead, she reached for her phone. A few swipes, a couple of clicks, then a ping in my pocket.
I recognized this. The moment before impact. The fraction of a second between seeing the crash coming and feeling the wreckage shatter through you.
I was watching it happen and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
My fingers shook as I pulled my phone out and unlocked it.
My name. My account. The final fucking payment.
I stared at the screen, something sharp catching in my throat.
For a second, I thought I’d misread it. That it was a joke. That she’d say something—anything—that made this make sense.
But she didn’t.
And then, I laughed.
A bitter, stunned sound—more breath than voice.
Because it was absurd.
A wire transfer. Like I was a contractor she was done with. Like this was just another business expense to be neatly crossed off her list.
"Thank you for your time and efforts," she said, like she was reading from a goddamn script. "They're greatly appreciated."
My grip tightened around my phone. My pulse slammed against my ribs, deafening.
I stared at the screen, on my knees in a goddamn hotel in fucking Norman, staring at a number, a fee she'd paid to make me disappear.
“These were your terms, Oliver,” Zahra said quietly as I got to my feet, already shutting down. Because what was left? What the fuck was left? “This was the contract.”
Her voice was so damn steady that, for a second, I almost believed she meant it, that this was just business, that she wasn’t tearing herself apart to say the words.
Then I saw the tremor in her hands. It was slight, barely there, but she shoved her hands into her pockets so fast it was almost aggressive. A measured inhale through her nose, a blink, a forced neutrality smoothing over her features.
The small betrayal of her body. The flicker of truth beneath the mask.
I knew she was breaking just as much as I was.
It should have been reassuring, but it only made things worse. Zahra was choosing to walk away, choosing to be manipulated into abandoning me. Again .
I was unraveling.
I needed her to look at me.
Just one look.
If she did—if she met my eyes—maybe I could pull us back from this. Maybe I could find the truth in her expression, something to fight for, something to hold on to.
“Zahra.”
I waited.
Please. Just look at me, Zahra.
But she didn’t.
The numbness crept in slowly. An old habit. A familiar instinct.
"Right.” I scratched the back of my head, eyes squeezing shut to get my act together. “You’re right.”
My whole body went still, my breathing even. My face blank.
I’d done this a thousand times before—shut down, shut out, shut up.
If this was how she wanted to play it, fine. It was absolutely fucking fine .
My fingers curled into a fist. Uncurled.
"It was just business, after all."
She flinched.
Good .
Because this fucking hurt. More than anything ever had.
"I was stupid," I muttered, shaking my head. The anger was building now, sharp and hot, trying to drown the wreckage. "To think you'd changed."
Her face snapped up, pain flickering in her eyes. I met her gaze one last time.
"Thank you for reminding me of that before I made the mistake of giving up everything for you."
Then, before she could say another word, I walked away.
My hand was on the doorknob, and I hesitated. I thought about turning around, seeing her face, catching her breaking. Receiving some proof that this wasn’t what she really wanted.
Instead, I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, and gripping the doorknob until my knuckles ached.
If Zahra wanted to act like this was nothing—like I was nothing—then she didn’t deserve my weakness.
She didn’t deserve to watch me fall apart.
Not again.
So, I walked out without looking back.
No more chances.