Page 43 of Oliver
Ryan Calloway stood before us, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked much the same as he had in high school, just older, more polished. The same arrogant aura, the same calculated charm that had teachers overlooking his behavior and parents inviting him to dinner. But there was something sharper now—a predatory undertone that set me on high alert.
Or maybe now I was experienced enough to finally see what was there all along.
His gaze slid over Zahra in a way that made my jaw clench. "Looking good, babe, as always." The last two words felt too much like a threat, and my jaw ticked. Then he turned his attention to me. "And Ollie Beck! Finally managed to get the girl, huh?"
"Ryan." I kept my voice pleasant while something primal stirred beneath my carefully constructed composure.
"Man, this is wild." Ryan's toothy grin widened. "Gotta say, though, I never took you for a sloppy seconds kind of guy, Beck."
I maintained my expression, but a cold wave of anger crashed through me. Not the mild irritation I was accustomed to. This was deeper, darker, a protective fury that made my pulse quicken and my muscles tense.
My fingers twitched with the urge to do something reckless.
I didn't.
"But I guess when she looks this good..." Ryan let the implication hang.
Zahra tensed against me. Every word was perfectly crafted to seem like "guy talk" to outsiders while carrying darker intentions—the way Ryan kept edging into our personal space, his eyes constantly on Zahra, and treating my presence as an amusing obstacle rather than a deterrent.
I instinctively slid my arm around her waist, pulling her body flush against mine. No leeway, no gaps, no way for Ryan to slither his way between us. His step faltered. A miniscule pause that he was quick to cover up, but I saw. Ryan didn’t think I’d stand up to him. He had no idea...
"Save a dance for your first love at the reception, won't you?" When Ryan reached toward Zahra, I smoothly shifted our stance, blocking his access.
"That isn’t going to happen, Ryan," I said, maintaining my pleasant expression while making it clear that was the end of the discussion.
Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly at the block. "Scared I'll steal her away from you, Beck?" His smirk turned sinister. "Can't blame you. She was mine first, after all, and you know what they say—you never truly get over your first love."
Something in Zahra's breathing changed—too controlled, too measured. Her nails pressed into my arm, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold onto something solid. My grip on her waist tightened, grounding her.
"We should continue our rounds," I said firmly, guiding Zahra away. But Ryan's behavior had set off every warning bell in my head. This wasn't just an obnoxious ex; there was something darker here that Zahra hadn't told me.
"Lovely to see you," Ryan called after us, his tone suggesting this was just the beginning.
I led Zahra inside to a secluded part of the hotel lobby, checking her expression with growing concern. Her face was composed, professional, but I felt the tremor in her hand where it pressed against mine.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
She nodded, too quickly, taking a step back, smiling and smoothing out her dress.
I studied her, noting the rapid pulse visible at her throat, the too-bright quality of her smile. Not fear, but something adjacent to it. Apprehension. Dread.
"Zahra," I began carefully. "What aren't you telling me about him?"
Her eyes met mine, then skittered away. "Nothing. He's just...Ryan."
The evasion was obvious, but before I could press further, Parisa appeared, grabbing Zahra's arm.
"There you are! Darryl's mother wants to talk about the flowers. Again." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Save me."
Zahra hesitated, glancing at me.
"Go," I said. "I'll mingle."
As she walked away with Parisa, I stepped back outside and scanned the terrace, locating Ryan by the bar. He was watching Zahra, his expression calculating. When he noticed my attention, he raised his glass in a mocking toast.
A waiter passed with champagne, and I took a glass, using it as cover to observe. Ryan worked the room with practiced ease, his charm obvious to everyone except me. Perhaps because I was looking for the cracks.
They were there in the possessive way his eyes followed Zahra, in the too-tight grip he had on his glass when he saw her laugh at something Parisa said, in the way he inserted himself into conversations just to maintain proximity to her.
