His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 149: Zane's Pov

The punching bag swung back and hit me in the chest.

I didn't move. Just let it bounce off me before slamming my fist into it again, hard enough that the chain holding it rattled.

Again.

And again.

And again.

My knuckles were screaming. Blood had seeped through the tape on my right hand from where I'd split the skin open twenty minutes ago. Sweat dripped down my face, my bare chest, soaking through the waistband of my gym shorts.

But I didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Because if I stopped hitting this bag, I'd have to think about the fact that it had been almost seven days since I'd seen Olive Monroe in that conference room.

Seven days since I'd given her that presentation feedback, practically begging her to confront me, to yell at me, to do something other than sit there looking at me like I was a stranger.

Seven days since I’d walked out of that meeting without saying a word to me.

Seven days of silence.

Seven days of me pretending I didn't care while simultaneously destroying everything in my path because I couldn't handle the fact that I'd saved her step father and she wouldn't even look at me.

Not that I did it for her, but still…

The gym was empty at this hour. Just me and the punching bag and the fluorescent lights overhead that made everything look stark and cold.

I preferred it this way. No trainers trying to correct my form. No other fighters trying to make conversation. Just the sound of my fists hitting leather and my ragged breathing and the voice in my head that wouldn't shut the fuck up about her.

‘Call her. Just call her.’

No.

I wasn't calling her.

I'd bought her stepfather's company. Paid over a billion dollars for it and handed it back like it was nothing. Destroyed my own father in the process. Publicly humiliated him. Set his empire on fire.

All for her.

And she couldn't even look at me in that conference room. Couldn't acknowledge what I'd done. Just sat there taking notes while I tore apart her presentation, hoping—praying—that she'd snap. That she'd confront me after the meeting. That she'd demand to know why I was being such an asshole.

But she hadn't.

She'd just gathered her materials and walked out like I meant nothing to her.

Like everything I'd sacrificed meant nothing.

My fist connected with the bag so hard the chain snapped.

The bag crashed to the floor with a heavy thud that echoed through the empty gym.

"Fuck," I muttered, staring at the broken chain still swinging from the ceiling.

That was the third bag this week.

I grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped the sweat from my face, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

My phone sat on the bench next to my water bottle.

The screen was dark. No missed calls. No new messages.

Nothing.

She hadn't reached out once since that meeting. Hadn't texted to maybe send a report for her strategy. Hadn't called to ask why I'd been such a dick during her presentation. Hadn't done anything except avoid me like I was a disease she was trying not to catch.

And I couldn't figure out why.

Was she scared? Angry? Did she regret everything we'd done together? Did saving her step father’s company make her realize how dangerous I actually was?

Or did she just not care?

That last thought made me want to destroy something else.

The phone rang.

I grabbed it so fast I almost dropped it, my heart slamming against my ribs as I looked at the screen.

Nikolai.

Not her.

Disappointment crashed through me so hard.

Get it together, Mercer. You're losing your goddamn mind over a woman who clearly doesn't want you.

I answered the call, pressing the phone to my ear.

"What."

"Good evening to you too," Nikolai's rough voice came through the speaker, that Russian accent thicker than usual. "You sound like shit."

"What do you want, Nikolai?"

"I have information."

I waited. Nikolai never called unless it was important. Never wasted my time with small talk or pleasantries.

"About?" I prompted when he didn't continue.

"Your girl."

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

"She's not my girl," I said automatically, but the words tasted like a lie.

"Right," Nikolai said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "The woman you destroyed your father for, the woman you bought a billion-dollar company for, the woman whose name you have punched into three separate punching bags this week alone—she is not your girl."

"Get to the point."

"I saw her tonight."

My hand tightened around the phone. "Where."

"Luiz de Vont. Downtown. Very fancy restaurant. Very expensive."

Something cold settled in my chest. "And?"

"And she was on a date."

The world stopped.

Everything—my breathing, my heartbeat, the rational part of my brain that knew how to process information—all of it just stopped.

"What did you just say?"

"A date," Nikolai repeated, his voice careful now. Like he was talking to something dangerous that might explode. "With a man. I did not recognize him, but he was well-dressed. Looked wealthy. They had a private room."

White noise filled my head.

A date.

Olive was on a date.

With another man.

While I'd been here destroying myself, she'd been out with someone else. Moving on. Replacing me like I was nothing.

Like I hadn't burned my entire world down for her.

Like that moment in the conference room—when I'd practically begged her with my eyes to say something, anything—meant nothing.

She wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't acknowledge what I'd done. Wouldn't even look at me properly.

But she'd go on a date with some random man or whosoever the fuck he was.

"Zane," Nikolai's voice cut through the static. "Are you still there?"

"Who was he." My voice came out flat. Dead.

"I do not know. I saw her leaving the restaurant. She looked upset. I followed her to the parking garage to make sure she was safe, and we spoke briefly."

"What did she say."

"That her mother set her up on a blind date. That it did not mean anything."

A blind date.

Her mother had set her up on a blind date and she'd gone.