His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 151: Olive's Pov

I'd barely had time to process Nikolai's text when the knock came.

Three sharp raps that made my heart jump into my throat.

He was here.

Zane was here, standing outside my door, and I had maybe five seconds to decide what the hell I was going to do about it.

I'd spent the last thirty minutes pacing my apartment, still in the dress I'd worn for Judy, trying to figure out what to say when this moment came.

Trying to figure out how to explain why I'd been avoiding him for God knows how long. Why I hadn't called to thank him for saving Grayson's company. Why I'd sat through that entire presentation while he tore me apart and hadn't said a single word.

Why I'd gone on a date with another man when I couldn't stop thinking about him.

And about whatever lie Judy had pulled off, because it was impossible to believe.

But now that he was actually here, every coherent thought I'd managed to string together evaporated.

My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob.

Maybe I shouldn't open it. Maybe I should pretend I wasn't home, let him knock until he gave up and left.

Except Zane Mercer didn't give up. Ever.

And avoiding him would only make this worse.

I took a breath and opened the door.

Just a crack at first, enough to see him but not enough to let him in.

And oh god.

He looked like hell.

His hair was damp, pushed back from his face in a way that suggested he'd run his hands through it about a hundred times. He was wearing a black t-shirt that clung to his chest, dark jeans, and nothing else—no jacket despite the cold, no concern for looking put together.

But it was his face that made my breath catch.

Cold. Furious. Those blue eyes I'd been trying not to think about for almost two weeks now locked on mine with an intensity that made me want to step back.

Except I couldn't step back because I was frozen, trapped between the desperate urge to throw myself at him and the survival instinct screaming at me to slam the door in his face and run.

"Zane—" I started, but I didn't get to finish.

He pushed the door open—not violently, not aggressively, just with enough force that I had to stumble backward to avoid getting hit—and stepped inside my apartment like he owned it.

Like he owned me.

The door clicked shut behind him with a controlled precision that was somehow more terrifying than if he'd slammed it.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, and my voice came out shakier than I wanted it to.

He didn't answer right away.

Just stood there, taking up all the space in my tiny entryway, looking at me like he was trying to decide whether to kiss me or destroy me.

Maybe both.

"We need to talk," he said finally, and his voice was low. Dangerous.

"It's late—"

"I don't give a fuck what time it is." The words came out sharp enough to cut. "You've been ignoring me for how long now…two weeks. You don't get to use 'it's late' as an excuse now."

He was right. I knew he was right.

But having him here, in my space, looking at me like that—it was too much too fast and I couldn't think straight.

"How did you even know I was home?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Nikolai."

Of course.

"He had no right—"

"He had every right." Zane took a step closer and I automatically took a step back. "He works for me. His loyalty is to me. And when he sees the woman I destroyed my father for on a date with another man, he tells me."

The way he said 'destroyed my father for' made my chest tight.

"It wasn't—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Wasn't what, Olive? Wasn't a date? Because Nikolai said you were at Luiz de Vont. In a private room. With a man who pulled out your chair and poured your wine and probably made you smile."

His voice was getting harder with each word, the control he was famous for starting to crack at the edges.

"It was just dinner," I said, hating how defensive I sounded. "My mother set it up. I didn't even want to go."

"But you went anyway."

"Yes."

"Why."

The question hung between us, sharp and accusing.

Why had I gone? Because my mother had guilt-tripped me? Because I'd needed a distraction from thinking about Zane every second of every day? Because I didn't know how to handle what he'd done for me and going on a date with someone normal felt safer than confronting him?

"Because I needed to," I said finally.

"You needed to." He repeated the words like they physically hurt him. "You needed to go on a date with another man while I've been here tearing myself apart trying to figure out why you won't even look at me."

"You didn't look at me either," I shot back, anger flaring. "In that conference room. You stood there and tore apart my presentation like I was nothing. Like what you did for my family meant nothing. Like we meant nothing."

"I was trying to get you to talk to me!" His voice rose, echoing in my small apartment. "I was harsh because I thought—I hoped—you'd confront me after. That you'd demand to know why I was being such an asshole. That you'd acknowledge what I did for you."

My breath caught.

"But you didn't," he continued, his voice getting rough. "You just gathered your things and walked out like I was a stranger. Like I hadn't just spent a billion dollars to save your family. Like I hadn't destroyed my own father to protect you."

"I wasn't replacing you—"

"Yes, you were." He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell his scent—clean and masculine and so familiar it made my chest ache. "That's exactly what you were doing. You were seeing if you could find someone easier. Someone who doesn't come with all my baggage. Someone safe."

"That's not—"

"Did you fuck him?"

The question hit me like a slap.

"What?"

"Did. You. Fuck. Him." Each word was bitten off, sharp and furious.

"No!" The word came out louder than I intended. "Of course not. I barely know him. It was just—"

"Just dinner," Zane finished for me. "Right. Just dinner in the most expensive restaurant in the city. Just dinner in a private room where no one could see you. Just dinner while wearing that dress."

His eyes raked over me, and I was suddenly very aware that I was still in the outfit I'd worn for Judy.

The black dress that hugged every curve. The heels that made my legs look longer. The makeup I'd spent an hour perfecting.

I'd dressed up for another man.

And Zane knew it.

"I should change—" I started to move toward my bedroom but his hand shot out, catching my wrist.

Not hard. Not painful. But firm enough that I stopped.

"Don't," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Don't you dare walk away from me right now."

I looked up at him, at the fury and hurt warring in his eyes, and something inside me cracked.