His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 208: Olive's Pov

The funeral service passed with a blur of tears and eulogies and hymns that felt like they were being sung underwater, muffled and distant, while I stood near the back trying to make myself as invisible as possible.

I watched as Michelle stood at the front, her posture perfect despite the grief clearly destroying her from the inside, accepting condolences from people who filed past her one by one with practiced expressions.

When the casket was finally lowered into the ground, when that final moment of goodbye happened and Michelle threw the first handful of dirt onto her son's coffin, I had to look away because the sound of that earth hitting the wood felt too final, too real, too much like watching my own family bury Klaus thirteen years ago.

The crowd began to disperse slowly after that, people lingering in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, and I was about to make my way back to my car when I felt a presence beside me.

"Oh my," Michelle's voice cut through my thoughts. "My son can be quite something. Ignore Simone. He loves staying on his own, always has. Prefers solitude to crowds."

I turned to see who she was talking about and caught a glimpse of a tall figure in the distance, standing alone near a cluster of trees at the far edge of the cemetery, his back to the gathering.

Even from here I could tell there was something about him…something in the way he held himself, the way he seemed deliberately separate from everyone else—that sent a small shiver down my spine.

But before I could ask about him, Michelle was already turning back to me with that determined expression on her face.

"Come on," she said, linking her arm through mine in a way that felt both maternal and slightly possessive. "I told you I have something I want to show you. Let's not waste any more time here."

She led me back toward where my mother was standing, and I watched as Michelle threw mother a smile that was absolutely perfect in its execution, polite, gracious, but with an edge of something underneath that I couldn't quite fathom.

"Mrs. Mercer," Michelle said, her voice pitched to carry just the right amount of warmth. "I think I'll be taking your daughter with me for a bit. I need her to help me sort some things out at the house, and maybe we could bond a little. Judy spoke so fondly of Olive. I hope you don't mind."

The smile she gave my mother looked absolutely like the kind of expression my mother herself would deploy when she wanted to partake in some conspiracy or scheme some medieval revenge, and I had to suppress a smile because it was oddly satisfying to watch someone use my mother's own tactics against her.

My mother's face went through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, suspicion, calculation—before settling on forced politeness.

"Oh, um, I think that's... sure," she managed to say, clearly thrown off balance. "That would be fine."

I almost giggled at how thoroughly Michelle had outmaneuvered her, though part of me wondered if I should be scared that my mother was perhaps trying to save me from whatever Michelle actually wanted.

Michelle nodded, looking way too composed for someone who'd just buried her son, and for a second I found myself wondering if this was her first experience with child loss, but I shunned the thought immediately because that was way too absurd and awful to even consider.

In less than thirty minutes, we were pulling up to what I'd initially thought was just a large mansion but was actually something far more impressive—an estate settled on incredibly vast acres of land that made my jaw literally drop open.

Judy Byron's home was absolutely stunning in a way that spoke of old money, the kind of wealth that had been building for generations rather than acquired overnight.

But we weren't alone in arriving.

There were different cars parked at various points around the sprawling property—some clearly belonging to funeral guests who'd been invited back for the reception, others that looked like they might belong to family members or close friends.

I turned to look at Michelle who was already out of the car and attending to some of the arriving guests, her face looking absolutely flawless despite the tears she'd shed at the cemetery, like she'd perfected the art of public mourning while keeping her private grief carefully locked away.

Now I understood why my mother had been best friends with her—they were cut from the same cloth, both masters at maintaining appearances no matter what was falling apart behind the scenes.

The decorated grounds were filled with dignitaries and important-looking people, most of whom I assumed were Judy's business associates based on their expensive suits and the way they carried themselves with that particular confidence that came from power and influence.

A few of them threw glances in my direction, their expressions ranging from curious to openly suspicious, and I felt my skin crawl under the weight of their judgment.

When Michelle finally turned to look at me, she looked absolutely exhausted, her perfect exterior couldn't quite hide it, and I understood in that moment that it wasn't just about losing her son, it was also about having to stand there and accept condolences from people who'd barely known Judy, who were here more for appearances than genuine grief.

"Come on," she said, her voice tired but still carrying that note of determination. "I don't want to waste any more of your time. What I need to show you... it's important. More important than any of this."

She gestured vaguely at the gathering guests before leading me toward the main entrance of the house.

And fuck, I'd always known Judy came from money, I'd seen it the first time I met him at that summer camp years ago, noticed it in the way he dressed, the car he drove, the casual way he did things that would have gotten anyone else kicked out of the program.

Hell, he'd taken me to my first ever fun sports game, had paid for everything without even blinking, had treated it like it was nothing.

But this level of wealth? This was something else entirely.

The house itself was decorated with items that seemed to glow under the carefully positioned lighting, crystal chandeliers that looked outrageously expensive, artwork that looked like it belonged in museums.

For a second, I found myself wondering absurdly about how much energy was being consumed to keep all these lights running, but then I mentally shook myself because that was hardly what I should be focused on right now.

What I should be focused on was whatever Michelle was about to show me, and the increasingly urgent hope that it wouldn't make my already complicated life even more impossibly tangled than it already was.

She led me through a series of rooms, each more impressive than the last, until we reached a private elevator I hadn't even known was there.

"Judy wanted an elevator that led directly to his room," Michelle explained as we stepped inside. "Even as a child, he valued his privacy. Wanted his own space where he could be completely separate from the rest of the house when he needed to be."

The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss, and as we ascended I found myself studying Michelle's profile, trying to understand what she was thinking, what she was feeling beneath that carefully maintained composure.

"I know this is weird," Michelle said suddenly, not looking at me. "Having you here. Bringing you to the room of the man who I know must have haunted your thoughts lately. It's emotionally triggering, I'm sure. But I want you to understand that whatever I show you today might change something for you. About Judy. About your brother. About everything you thought you knew."

The elevator dinged softly and the doors opened to reveal a hallway with a single massive oakwood door at the end.

My heart was already racing as we approached it, as Michelle pressed a button on the side and the door swung open to reveal what looked like a complete luxury apartment rather than just a bedroom.

There was a living area, a bedroom visible through another doorway, a kitchenette, everything someone would need to live completely independently, and this was where Judy had grown up.

"I know this seems strange," Michelle continued, finally turning to look at me directly. "But I need you to promise me something before we go any further. Promise me you won't run. Promise me you'll stay and listen to everything I have to tell you, even if it's hard to hear."

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

"I promise," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I won't run away. I've... I've seen worse."

Michelle's expression softened slightly at that.

"I hope that's true," she said quietly. "Because what I'm about to show you... it's going to change how you see everything."

And with that ominous warning hanging in the air between us, she led me deeper into Judy's private sanctuary.