His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 230: Olive's Pov

Zane insisted on driving me home and I didn't argue because I couldn't argue when my hands were still shaking and my brain kept replaying the moment that Range Rover had come barreling toward me with what felt like deliberate, murderous intent that made my stomach turn.

The drive was quiet in that heavy way where neither of us knew what to say, and Zane kept glancing at me like he was checking to make sure I was still there, still breathing, still okay despite everything that had just happened, and his hand rested on my thigh the whole time, warm and steady and grounding in a way that made me feel like maybe I could survive this.

I let it stay there because I needed something solid to hold onto, something real that told me I'd survived and that I was safe even though I knew the worst probably wasn't over, not by a long shot.

When we pulled into my building's parking garage Zane killed the engine but didn't move to get out, just sat there for a moment before saying in that flat voice he used when he'd already made up his mind about something, "I'm staying tonight."

It wasn't a question and I knew better than to think it was.

"Zane—" I started.

"Someone tried to kill you," he interrupted, his voice getting harder, more insistent, "and Alonso was watching from the shadows like he was making sure it happened, so I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

"My mother is probably still at my apartment," I said quietly, and that stopped him because we both knew she hated him, blamed him for the scandal with his father that had nearly destroyed Grayson's company, saw him as dangerous because he owns a racing club, and despite the fact that he'd been the one to save Hopkins Enterprise in the end.

His jaw tightened in that way it did when he was forcing himself not to argue about something he wanted to fight about, and finally he just said, "Right, Diane."

"I'll walk you up," he said after a long pause, "make sure you get inside safely, and then I'll leave if that's what you want."

I nodded because what else could I do, and we took the elevator to my floor in silence with his hand finding mine in that small space, fingers interlacing like he needed the contact as much as I did, like maybe touching me was the only thing keeping him calm right now.

When I swiped the card at my apartment door and pushed it open I immediately heard the television playing some romantic comedy at low volume, and sitting on my couch curled up with a glass of wine and looking more relaxed than I'd seen her in weeks was my mother.

She looked up when she heard us come in and her eyes landed on me first, then shifted to Zane beside me, and her entire expression transformed from relaxed to furious in about half a second.

The relaxation disappeared and her eyes tightened with anger, her mouth pressing into a thin line, her body going rigid like she was preparing for battle, and she stood up and set her wine glass down with more force than necessary before demanding, "What is HE doing here?"

The words came out sharp and accusatory, like Zane had committed some crime by existing in proximity to her daughter, but then she actually looked at me, really looked at my face, and whatever she saw there—the exhaustion, the fear, the barely-controlled panic I'd been holding back all night—made her stop mid-breath.

"Olive?" Her voice changed completely, softened into that concerned mother tone I remembered from when I was little. "Baby, what happened?"

She crossed the room in three quick steps and her hands came up to cup my face, turning my head side to side like she was checking for injuries, and I said in a voice that came out smaller and more broken than I intended, "I had an accident."

Suddenly I was thirteen again, coming home after Klaus's funeral, needing my mother to tell me everything would be okay even though we both knew it wouldn't.

"An accident?" Diane's face went pale and her hands tightened on my face. "What kind of accident? Are you hurt? Did you go to the hospital?"

Her eyes snapped to Zane and all that softness evaporated as she demanded, "Was this YOUR fault? Did you—"

"It wasn't Zane," I interrupted quickly because I could see where this was going and I didn't have the energy for another fight between them. "It just happened. Someone ran a red light. I swerved. Hit another car. But I'm okay. I'm not hurt."

Diane stared at me for a long moment, then at Zane, then back at me, and finally asked, "You're sure? You're really okay?"

"I'm sure," I lied, and she pulled me into a hug, holding me tight the way she used to when I was little and the world felt too big and scary.

"Thank god," she whispered into my hair, "thank god you're okay."

Over her shoulder I could see Zane watching us with an expression I couldn't quite read, but there was something in his eyes that looked like relief mixed with guilt, like he was carrying the weight of knowing that someone had tried to hurt me and he couldn't stop it.

Diane pulled back with her hands still on my shoulders and said, "You should rest, get some sleep, we can talk about this in the morning."

"I want to stay," Zane said, and his voice was quiet but firm which meant he wasn't really asking. "Just for tonight. Make sure she's okay. Make sure—"

"Absolutely not," Diane interrupted, turning to face him fully with that expression that had terrified me as a kid. "I appreciate you bringing her home, but you need to leave. Now."

"Mrs. Sinclair—"

"It's Mrs. Jules now," Diane corrected coldly, "and I said no. My daughter has been through enough tonight without adding... complications."

The way she said "complications" made it clear she was talking about more than just his presence, and she’d use her father’s name now, and she was talking about everything at once—the scandal, the media attention, the fact that dating a Mercer had brought chaos into my life that I hadn't asked for and couldn't control.

Zane looked at me like he was asking without words if I wanted him to fight this, if I wanted him to stay despite my mother's objections, and I said quietly, "She's right. You should go. I'll be fine. My mom's here. I'm safe."

Something flickered across his face that looked like hurt mixed with resignation, and he said, "Okay. If that's what you want."

He turned toward the door and the room went quiet except for the sound of the television in the background and my mother's breathing and the pounding of my own heart that felt too loud in my chest.

And then Zane stopped, turned back around, crossed the space between us in three long strides, and his hand came up to cup the back of my neck with his fingers tangling in my hair.

And he kissed me.