His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 228: Olive's Pov

"An accident," I repeated, and my voice was shaking now, control slipping. "A car tried to hit me. Black Range Rover. Ran a red light going full speed right at my door. I reversed and it—it hit someone else. There's smoke. The person's trapped. I think it might explode. I don't—I don't know what to do."

"Where are you?" Zane's voice had shifted completely now, all the desperation gone, replaced by something hard and commanding and focused. "Olive, where are you right now?"

I looked around through the windshield, trying to focus past the panic and the shaking and the image of Alonso's face burned into my brain.

A billboard on the corner advertising insurance.

A street sign barely visible in the darkness.

"Pike and Fifth," I managed. "The intersection. I'm still in my car. I can't—my hands won't—"

"Stay in the car," Zane said, and his voice was steady now, grounding, the kind of calm authority that cut through my panic. "Keep your doors locked. Don't get out. Don't try to help. The ambulance is coming—I can hear the sirens. You stay exactly where you are until I get there. Do you understand me?"

"There's someone in the other car," I said. "They're trapped and the smoke—"

"The first responders will handle it," Zane interrupted. "Your job is to stay fucking safe. Stay in your fucking car with the doors locked. I'm already in my car. I'm coming to you right now. Five minutes. Maybe less. Just stay on the phone with me."

But I couldn't.

Couldn't focus on his voice when my eyes kept darting to the corner where Alonso had been standing.

Where he'd watched me with those cold, calculating eyes.

Where he'd vanished like smoke the second I'd looked away.

"Olive?" Zane's voice pulled at me. "Talk to me. Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"No," I whispered. "I'm not hurt. I just—I need to move my car."

"Olive, don't hang up—"

I ended the call.

Started my car with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, the engine turning over on the second try.

Pulled forward slowly, carefully navigating around the wreckage, giving the crushed sedan wide berth as emergency vehicles came screaming down the street with lights flashing red and blue.

Found a parking spot half a block away where I could still see what was happening but wasn't in the middle of it anymore.

And I sat there.

Watching in my rearview mirror as firefighters swarmed the scene.

As EMTs worked to extract the driver from the crumpled sedan.

As the smoke was brought under control before it could ignite.

As the person was pulled free—alive, thank god, moving and talking and being loaded onto a stretcher.

My phone started ringing again.

Zane.

I let it ring.

I couldn't talk to him yet.

I couldn't explain what I'd seen.

Neither could I process any of it.

Headlights flooded my car from behind.

A black Aston Martin pulled up fast, tires squealing slightly as it came to a stop.

Zane was out before the engine shut off.

Moving toward my car with long, purposeful strides.

He yanked my door open.

"Olive—"

And then his hands were on me, pulling me out of the car and into his arms, holding me so tight I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't do anything except stand there while he held me like he was afraid I might disappear.

"What the hell happened?" His breath was ragged against my hair, his heart pounding so hard I could feel it through his chest. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they—fuck, Olive, talk to me."

"I'm okay," I said.

But my voice broke on the words.

And suddenly I wasn't okay at all.

Wasn't holding it together.

Wasn't anything except terrified and exhausted and so fucking relieved to have someone holding me that I couldn't stop the tears anymore.

I started crying.

Full-body sobs that shook my entire frame, all the fear and panic and accumulated trauma of the worst night of my life pouring out while Zane held me and didn't say anything, just let me fall apart against him.

When I could finally breathe again, he pulled back just enough to frame my face with his hands, tilting my head up so he could look at me properly.