Page 101 of Oliver
"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 naïve, 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 shovehimback 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. Oliverhadcome to Norman for his inheritance. Hehadbeen keeping secrets. Therewasmore 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.
I couldn’t understand why they weren’t rushing to sign. The old house was derelict, practically worthless.
“Frida, Joseph.” Aunt Maryam turned to the Becks, her voice full of foreboding. “Think of the bigger picture.”
"Fine," his father finally spat. "You can have the fucking house."
Oliver smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Excellent.”
He motioned for Davidson, who walked over slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. And then it was over.
Less than a minute, and years of deception came to an end.
But at what cost?
“Now, if you'll excuse us." Oliver’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me away from the tense tableau, through the reception, and toward a quiet corner of the garden where a stone bench sat nestled between flowering shrubs.
We sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the reception a distant murmur. Oliver's posture slumped slightly, fatigue etched into his handsome face.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, staring at his hands. "For all of it."
