Page 93 of Oliver
My pulse roared in my ears, oxygen burned down my trachea, the thoughts flooding my head in a jumble of unbearable noise.
She was lying.
She had to be lying.
Because what we had wasn't a transaction. Not anymore.
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
"The contract is fulfilled," she pushed on, steamrolling over me like she hadn’t heard a word. "There’s no need for further?—"
"For fuck’s sake, stop pretending this is just business!"
That got her.
For the briefest second, something flickered in her eyes.
Hesitation, fear, regret. It was all there. And then it clicked.
"What did that bastard say to you?"
Zahra blinked, startled. "What?"
"Ryan. Or was it your aunt? Or my mother?" My voice was sharp, almost accusing. "Someone got in your head. Tell me what they said."
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, confirming that I was right, and then she shook her head. "It's not?—"
"Don't lie to me, Zahra." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I know he spoke to you, threatened you. Did he dare speak to you again?"
She flinched, and that was all the confirmation I needed.
My jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"You don't need to be scared of him, Lumina." I knelt before her, gripping her hands, trying to tether her back to me. "I took care of it. He won't come near you ever again."
I expected her to relax, to let me in, to tell me what was wrong so I could fix it.
But she didn't.
She pulled her hands free, deliberately.
"This isn't about Ryan, Oliver," she said, voice too steady, too controlled. "This is about our arrangement running its course."
My stomach dropped, reality became skewed, and I shook my head, refusing to accept her excuses.
Zahra didn't react. Instead, she reached for her phone. A few swipes, a couple of clicks, then a ping in my pocket.
I recognized this. The moment before impact. The fraction of a second between seeing the crash coming and feeling the wreckage shatter through you.
I was watching it happen and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
My fingers shook as I pulled my phone out and unlocked it.
My name. My account. The final fucking payment.
I stared at the screen, something sharp catching in my throat.
For a second, I thought I’d misread it. That it was a joke. That she’d say something—anything—that made this make sense.
