Page 49 of Oliver
"For exactly one semester." His hand tightened slightly as he steadied me. "I was in a student exchange, and my lab partner insisted it would improve my spatial awareness and coordination."
"Did it?"
"No idea. But it did provide excellent data on social dynamics and non-verbal communication patterns."
I laughed despite myself. "Only you would turn dancing into a research project."
His smile softened, something wistful crossing his features. "Not my proudest moment. But the skills proved useful, evidently."
The teasing banter helped me to forget—just briefly—why we were here, the danger lurking at the edges of the night. I found myself relaxing into Oliver's lead, letting my hand slide from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the short hairs there.
A mistake. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me, his skin warm beneath mine. I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes darkening behind his glasses, a barely suppressed shiver vibrating at my fingertips.
"Zahra." His voice pitched lower, a slight tremor in it that shot awareness through my body and settled into a warm hum at the pit of my stomach.
The music changed into something loud with a thumping bass that had the crowd cheering. The moment shattered as bodies pressed in around us, and the dance floor was suddenly packed with jumping, swaying people.
I took an abrupt step away from him. “I need a drink.”
Oliver nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He’d put his mask back on, but I could see the curling of his fingers behind the dark denim, the tick in his jaw, and the way his pupils dilated.
As I navigated to the bar, a hand closed around my wrist. Not Oliver's.
"Dance with me, Zahra," Ryan's voice rumbled in my ear, too close, his fingers too tight.
I pulled away instinctively. "No, thanks."
His grip tightened, just enough to make me wince. "Come on, babe. For old times' sake."
My eyes darted around the shifting crowd, the bodies moving like a tide, making it impossible for me to spot Oliver. And even worse, making it impossible for him to spot me.
"Let go," I said firmly, fighting through the panic triggering my freeze response. “Or I’ll start screaming.”
Ryan's fingers flexed on my wrist. “You would? You’d cause a scene and ruin Parisa’s night? Maybe even her whole wedding?” His smile was all teeth, all menace. “All because I’m being friendly?” He tugged me toward him with enough force toalmost make me stumble. “No need to get hysterical, babe, it’s just a dance.”
And there it was—the flip. He wasn’t overstepping. I was being hysterical. I was ruining the big event. Master level gaslighting.
“Or do I need to take you out for ice cream at the park first?”
I stopped breathing.
Ryan had been blocked on all my private socials for years. Either someone was showing him my posts, or he somehow managed to sneak into my follower list. Whichever one, it didn’t matter. The question was a thinly veiled threat—he’d been watching me, collecting information to use against me, and no matter how hard I tried, I would never fully block him from my life.
However many battles I won, Ryan was going to make sure I never managed to end the war.
A whistle cut through the crowd. "Shots!" Darryl bellowed from the bar, waving everyone over. "Groomsmen, assemble!”
Ryan's eye ticked, his vicious gaze lingering on me for a moment longer, a silent promise that he’d be back to finish what he started, before releasing my wrist and disappearing into the crush of bodies heading for the group.
I exhaled shakily, my wrist tingling where his fingers had dug in.
The bar provided temporary refuge. I ordered another daiquiri, the cold glass soothing against my palm as I tried to steady my nerves.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Ryan, inching away from his group and slowly progressing in my direction.
I abandoned my drink on the bar, turning to escape into the crowd, only to collide with a solid chest. Oliver. His hands werein his pockets, stance casual, but his eyes held something darker, more intense.
He removed one hand, reaching toward my waist. My breath caught, lips parting instinctively as he leaned in. But instead of kissing me, he reached past me to grab my abandoned drink, bringing the straw to my lips with deliberate slowness.
