His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 141: Olive's Pov

Then Nina spoke.

"That was exceptionally thorough," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "Well done, Miss Monroe."

I gave her a small smile. "Thank you."

"Sophia?" Nina prompted. "Your turn."

Sophia stood, and I couldn't miss the pointed look she threw my way as she walked to the front.

"While Miss Monroe's strategy is... adequate," she began, and I could hear the condescension dripping from that word, "I believe it misses the mark on what truly makes a campaign memorable."

She clicked her remote, and her slides appeared.

They were beautiful. I had to admit that.

Artistic. Edgy. Dark and sensual in a way that would definitely capture attention.

"I've known Zane Mercer my entire life," Sophia said, and there was something almost possessive in how she said his name. "I understand his brand. His aesthetic. What resonates with his audience."

She walked through her concepts—art installations that couldn't be fully understood, campaigns that felt more like gallery exhibits than advertisements.

"Zane doesn't do simple," she said, looking directly at me when she said it. "He does complex. Risky. Provocative. Old school meets new school in ways that make people uncomfortable."

Stephanie nodded enthusiastically from her seat, like Sophia had just delivered the Sermon on the Mount.

"My approach focuses on the artistic merger of human form and technological innovation," Sophia continued. "We're not just selling performance enhancement. We're selling art. Mystery. The kind of campaign people can't stop talking about because they can't quite figure it out."

She showed mock-ups that were admittedly stunning. Moody lighting. Unexpected angles. The kind of aesthetic that would dominate Instagram and TikTok.

"This is what Quantum needs," Sophia finished. "Not calculations and data points. But something that feels alive. Unpredictable. Dangerous."

She walked back to her seat with a self-satisfied smile.

Nina looked impressed despite herself.

"Both presentations were exceptional," she said. "Very different approaches, but each with clear merit."

Then she turned to Zane, who had remained completely silent through both presentations.

"Mr. Mercer," she said. "What are your thoughts? This is just the beginning, of course. You're free to provide feedback now or we can schedule additional strategy sessions to refine the concepts."

The room went quiet.

Everyone waited for Zane to speak.

I watched him, my heart in my throat, as his eyes moved from the projection screen to Sophia, then finally to me.

And when he spoke, his voice was cold. Detached.

Professional.

"Strategy means nothing if you can't adapt when it fails," he said.

The words hit me like a slap.

I felt my face flush, my hands clench in my lap.

Was he talking about the campaign? Or about something else?

"You can have the best plan in the world," Zane continued, his eyes still on me. "The most thorough data. The most calculated approach. The most perfect save me theory. But if you can't pivot when circumstances change—when people don't react the way you expected—then your strategy is worthless."

Silence.

"Miss Mercer's approach," he said, finally looking at Sophia, "understands that unpredictability is part of the appeal. That sometimes the best campaigns are the ones that don't follow the rules."

Sophia's face lit up triumphantly.

And something inside me cracked.

"That said," Zane added, and his eyes came back to me, "Miss Monroe's framework provides the structure necessary for sustained success. Without data-driven strategy, you're just creating art for art's sake. Which is fine for a gallery. But not for a billion-dollar brand partnership."

He leaned back in his chair.

"I want to see how Miss Monroe's strategy adapts under pressure," he said. "Give her one week to refine her approach. Show me she can think on her feet. That she can handle complications when they arise."

My throat was tight. My eyes burned.

This wasn't about business.

This was about us.

About me avoiding him. About him feeling abandoned. About both of us being too stubborn and scared to just fucking talk to each other.

"We'll reconvene next week," Zane said, standing. "I expect to see evolution. Not just more of the same."

And with that, he walked out of the conference room.

Leaving me sitting there, feeling like I'd just been professionally gutted.

Nina cleared her throat.

"Well," she said. "That was... direct. But constructive. Both of you have a week to refine your concepts. Incorporate Mr. Mercer's feedback. And prepare for a deeper dive into implementation strategies."

She stood, gathering her materials.

"Also, Antonio Mercer will be arriving in four days," she added. "He'll need to be assessed as well. So please coordinate schedules accordingly. And finalize the third candidate selection—we need that decision by end of week."

She looked at both Sophia and me.

"Good work today, ladies. Keep pushing."

And then she left.

The second the door closed behind her, Sophia turned to face me.

Her smile was razor-sharp.

"You know you don't belong here," she said, her voice sweet as poison. "You never have. And my brother just made that very clear."

She stood, smoothing down her designer skirt.

"Zane doesn't play about his business," she continued. "One mistake and you'll lose this collaboration with Hopkins. Maybe even cost you your precious VP position."

She walked toward the door, then stopped.

Like she'd forgotten to twist the knife one more time.

"And I want you to know," she said, looking back at me with those cold Mercer eyes, "you're not the only one who exists in Zane's world. You should know that from the way he just spoke to you."

She walked out, Stephanie trailing after her like a loyal puppy.

I sat there alone in the conference room.

Staring at my presentation on the screen.

And all I could hear were his words.

"Strategy means nothing if you can't adapt when it fails."

He wasn't talking about the campaign.

He was talking about us.

About how I'd run instead of facing what we'd become.

About how I'd avoided him instead of dealing with the terrifying reality that he'd destroyed his own father for me.

And I had no idea how to fix it.