Page 78 of Oliver
Zahra finally looked up at me, her gaze still suspicious but softer than before.
"That's a start," she said, still not smiling, but at least her voice wasn’t icy anymore. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Then she shut the door. A reprimand. A second chance.
I exhaled. Not forgiveness. Not acceptance.
But maybe—just maybe—redemption.
Tomorrow. No more screwing up, no more letting her down. This was my only chance to keep her.
Twenty-Three
ZAHRA
I checkedthe table settings one last time, adjusting a misaligned fork before stepping back to assess the overall layout. The wedding rehearsal was scheduled for later this evening, and I wanted everything perfect before the wedding party arrived.
The space was blessedly quiet, a welcome calm after the chaos of setting everything up. There was just the occasional sounds from kitchen staff preparing for the rehearsal dinner that would follow.
I moved to a secluded section of the venue, checking that we had enough backup supplies for anything that could go wrong, making notes on my tablet that live-synced with the venue’s event coordinator’s device.
"Hey, babe."
My spine stiffened at Ryan's voice, a visceral response I couldn't control. I hadn't heard him approach, but that was nothing new. He'd always been good at appearing when I was alone, vulnerable.
I turned slowly, finding him leaning against a marble pillar that conveniently blocked the most direct exit path. His posture was deliberately casual, hands in pockets, one ankle crossed over the other.
"How're you holding up with all the chaos?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at my tablet and the event space. His tone was friendly, concerned. Anyone walking in would see a thoughtful groomsman checking on the wedding planner.
I frowned, not gracing him with an answer as I added another note to my tablet.
Ryan sighed, pushing off the pillar to step closer. "Look, I get it, we have...history. But I still care about you, Zahra."
"You only ever cared about yourself," I retorted, unable to maintain complete silence in the face of such blatant manipulation. "I'm not interested in your company, Ryan."
His expression darkened momentarily, a flash of anger coming and going so quickly that anyone else might have missed it. But I'd spent years cataloging those micro-expressions, learning which ones preceded storms.
"I'm sorry for whatever I did to upset you," he said, the artificial contrition nearly making me laugh. "But I'm here because I'm worried about you."
He stepped closer, further blocking my path. I could still leave through the kitchen, but that would mean turning my back on him. I’d learned early on toneverturn my back on Ryan Calloway.
"Your aunt told me something troubling about Oliver's employment situation." His voice dropped, intimate and concerned. "I'm just looking out for you, you know?"
I maintained my neutral expression, though my pulse quickened. What did Aunt Maryam know about Oliver? What had she told Ryan?
"I'm sure you are," I replied, keeping my voice professionally neutral. "But I fail to see how his work at the university is so troublesome."
"He has a side gig, babe."
The endearment made my skin crawl, but I sighed, bracing for whatever bullshit was coming next. He’s secretly married? Running a Ponzi scheme? A Russian spy?
"As an escort.”
I stared at Ryan, waiting for the rest of it. The part that made this arealrevelation. But nothing came.
I blinked.
That was it? That was his bombshell? His big scandal? His Hail Mary to make me question Oliver?
