His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 221: Olive's Pov

She turned to look at me then, and something in her expression softened.

"It's not your fault," she said quietly. "None of this is your fault, Olive. You didn't know. You couldn't have stopped it."

We sat in silence for another moment before I forced myself to ask the question that needed asking.

"So you're not ready to go back," I said. "To your matrimonial home. Not yet."

It wasn't really a question, but she answered anyway.

"No," she whispered. "I can't. Not right now."

I took a deep breath.

"Do you want to come to my apartment?" I offered. "You can stay with me. For as long as you need."

She looked at me with surprise written all over her face.

"Your apartment?" she repeated. "Olive, I don't want to impose—"

"You're not imposing," I interrupted. "You're my mother. And you need somewhere safe to be right now. So come stay with me."

She nodded slowly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'm sorry for ignoring your calls this past week. For blaming you. For pushing you away when I should have—"

"It's fine," I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "It's all fine, Mom. We'll figure this out together. Like we always do."

I pulled away from Walter's house and started driving toward my apartment, and for the first time since this whole disaster started, I felt like maybe we'd actually survive it.

***********

The drive to my apartment took about twenty minutes.

I'd moved out of my mother's house about three months ago—well, technically, Grayson had kicked me out after the charity gala disaster, but I'd turned it into independence.

And in all that time, my mother had never visited.

Not once.

She'd offered, of course. Had suggested coming over for dinner or just stopping by to see the place.

But I'd always made excuses. Always found reasons to meet her somewhere else instead.

Because having her in my space felt too intimate. Too vulnerable. Too much like opening up parts of my life I wasn't ready to share.

But now, as I pulled into the parking garage of my building and killed the engine, none of that mattered.

"Come on," I said gently. "Let's get you upstairs."

We took the elevator up to my floor, and I unlocked my door, pushing it open and flipping on the lights.

Diane stepped inside and stopped completely, her eyes going wide as she took in the space.

It wasn't a shoebox apartment. Wasn't some cramped studio I'd had to settle for.

It was actually nice.

Open-concept living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in tons of natural light. Modern kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Hardwood floors throughout. Crown molding. A balcony with a view of the city skyline.

Zane had helped me find it.

Well—more accurately, Zane had insisted on helping me find it after Grayson kicked me out, and when I'd tried to look at cheaper places that I could actually afford on my own, he'd basically vetoed everything and dragged me to this building instead.

I'd used the hundred thousand dollars from the bet to cover the deposit and first few months' rent, but even with that money, this place was a stretch for my budget.

Zane had offered to help with rent. Multiple times.

I'd refused. Multiple times.

Because accepting money from him felt wrong somehow, like I was becoming exactly what people already thought I was—a girl using him for his wealth.

"Olive," my mother breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This place is—it's beautiful. How much did you spend on this? The rent alone must be—"

"I can afford it," I said quickly, feeling defensive even though she hadn't accused me of anything.

She walked over to the windows, looking out at the view with something like wonder on her face.

"This is nothing like the garage apartment you had at our place," she said quietly. "This is a real home. A grown-up home."

I shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say to that.

"Yeah, well," I managed finally. "I'm a grown-up now. Had to figure it out eventually."

She turned to look at me, and I saw tears gathering in her eyes again—but these ones looked different. Less devastated. More emotional.

"I'm proud of you," she said softly. "I know I don't say it enough. I know I've been—God, I've been so wrapped up in my own life, my own marriage, that I haven't paid attention to yours. But look at you. Look at what you've built for yourself."

Something in my chest tightened.

"Thanks, Mom," I managed.

She turned back to face me, and for a moment we just looked at each other—two women who'd been through hell together, who'd survived my father leaving and rebuilt our lives from scratch, who were now facing another devastating betrayal and somehow still standing.

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked gently. "I can call in sick to work. Stay here with you for the rest of the day."

She shook her head slowly.

"No," she said. "I need to be alone right now. Need to figure out what to do next. What are my options? Maybe I can bake some muffins."

My eyes instantly snapped towards hers,

“Ummm, sure… definitely.”

I whispered, my voice suddenly turning husky and Mom gave me a questioning look before she turned her focus somewhere else.

"Ummm…But call me if you need anything. Anything at all. I'll come right back."

She turned back towards me again, and pulled me into a hug—tight and desperate and full of all the things neither of us could say out loud.

"I love you," she whispered against my hair.

"I love you too," I whispered back.

And then I left, closing the door softly behind me and heading back to my car.

Back to the office.

Back to the meeting I was already late for.

Back to whatever new disaster was waiting for me there.