Page 47 of Oliver
“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 naturallycommand 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.
Fifteen
ZAHRA
The iron tightnessin my chest hadn't loosened since we left the hotel. If anything, it had worsened as the night progressed.
The open-air expanse of Whiskey River Garden became increasingly suffocating with each passing hour. A beer garden turned nightclub during weekends had started reasonably empty when our group arrived, but now it bulged with bodies—a wild night out in Norman in full swing, combined with our increasingly rowdy wedding party.
Colorful LED beams painted the packed dance floor, and the sound of dozens of heels clicking against the wooden floor in beat with music pulsing through speakers mounted on posts filled the night air with electric energy that should have swept me into ecstatic elation.
Instead, I hid in plain sight, sipping on my second daiquiri, the sweetness a blessed distraction. It wasn’t nearly enough to make me drunk, but just enough to soften the edges of myanxiety. Enough to make me feel like I could breathe despite Ryan's presence across the room.
His laughter cracked through the music like a whip—sharp, overcompensating, designed to be heard. I stiffened before I even registered it, a full-body reaction I’d spent years unlearning. My skin prickled, the bar’s humid air suddenly suffocating.
"You good?" Parisa appeared beside me, her cheeks flushed, hair mussed from dancing. She was tipsy but not sloppy, that perfect sweet spot of alcohol-induced joy.
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Just pacing myself. Someone has to make sure we all get home."
"Always the responsible one." She nudged my shoulder affectionately. "But that's why we love you." She gestured toward the dance floor, where Darryl was attempting some complicated move with his groomsmen. "He's ridiculous and perfect, isn't he?"
