His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 197: Olive's Pov

"Where are we?" I asked, even though part of me had already figured out the answer.

"One of my homes," he said simply, like owning multiple massive estates was the most normal thing in the world.

My head snapped toward him more forcefully than I'd intended.

"What?" I managed to whisper.

"You own more than one house here in Seattle?" The question came out before I could stop it, and I immediately realized how foolish it sounded, how unreasonable.

Because someone as wealthy as Zane Mercer, who owned racing clubs in different parts of the world, who came from a family with connections spanning multiple continents, could absolutely afford having more than one mansion in the state—probably in the country, probably scattered across multiple continents.

"Are you curious about my number of houses now?" he asked, and I could feel that smirk forming on his face without even looking at him, that particular expression that said he could afford whatever he wanted and had earned every bit of it.

And for a second I wanted to say something sharp to wipe that smirk off his face, wanted to remind him that not everything could be bought with money.

But thinking about it more carefully, I knew he deserved that confidence, had worked incredibly hard to afford all of this despite coming from money, had built his own empire separate from his father's influence.

'His father is the NHL VP,' a voice suddenly whispered in the back of my mind, reminding me that privilege had played at least some role in his success.

"Do you want us to stay here staring at the mansion all night?" Zane asked, pulling me from my thoughts. "Trust me, it's even more beautiful on the inside."

And he wasn't wrong—wasn't exaggerating even slightly—when he said it was beautiful on the inside, because the moment we stepped through those massive front doors, I felt like I'd been transported into a different world entirely.

The inside looked like its design had been inspired by a Greek god's mansion, something pulled straight from mythology and brought to life with modern luxury and impeccable taste.

The walls were painted in a unique color somewhere between ash gray and cream, creating an atmosphere that felt both ancient and contemporary at the same time.

Artifacts were displayed throughout the space—but these artifacts were completely different from the ones in his penthouse, different from the carefully curated collection he showed the public.

These ones screamed personality, screamed Zane Mercer in his rawest form, a place I believed truly suited his character, his attitude, the parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone else.

When I turned to look at him, I found him standing about two feet away from me, hands wrapped around his biceps in a casual stance, watching me with an expression that looked almost pleased, like he was glad to be watching a kid admire a candy shop for the first time.

"Why did you bring me here?" I suddenly asked, wondering if whatever secret he wanted to share with me was somehow connected to this apartment, to this private sanctuary he'd apparently never shown anyone else.

I saw something flash in his eyes—it came so fast I almost missed it, barely there for a fraction of a second before he controlled it.

Fear.

Real, genuine fear that he was trying desperately to hide.

I watched him walk toward me slowly, deliberately, and for some unknown reason—some instinct I couldn't quite name—I took a step backward.

And somehow that seemed to interest him, seemed to ignite something predatory in his gaze, because he kept walking slowly, measuring his steps to match mine, closing the distance between us until I felt the cool wall touch my back and realized I had nowhere left to go.

He stopped inches away from me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell his cologne mixing with something uniquely him.

"I have one rule, Olive," he whispered, his hand slowly coming up to touch my face, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with surprising gentleness.

And for a second, I closed my eyes the moment his hand made contact, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the gesture, by how vulnerable this moment felt despite the power dynamic between us.

When I reopened them, I was stunned by what I saw reflected in his eyes.

Raw honesty. Genuine fear. Something that looked almost like desperation.

"You don't get to run when you know even one percent of my secret," he said quietly, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Once I tell you what I'm about to tell you, once you see what I'm about to show you, you don't get to run away scared and pretend you never knew. You don't get to unsee what you're about to see. Do you understand?"

My heart was hammering so hard I could hear the pounding in my ears, could feel my pulse racing beneath my skin.

This was it.

This was the moment where I either committed to knowing the truth about Zane Mercer—whatever that truth might be—or I walked away right now and never looked back.

"I understand," I whispered, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.

"Good," Zane said, his hand dropping from my face to capture my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it firmly but not painfully. "Then follow me."

And as he led me deeper into the mansion, toward whatever secret he'd been hiding all this time, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was about to change in ways I couldn't possibly predict.

That whatever I was about to learn would either bring us closer together than I'd ever imagined.

Or tear us apart forever.