His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 27: Olive's Pov

Zane's voice drummed across the room, in a deep and controlled manner, the kind of voice that made people shut up and listen whether they wanted to or not. I kept my eyes on my phone, pretending I wasn't hanging on every word.

"...success isn't about talent," he was saying. "It's about knowing what you want and taking it. No apologies. No hesitation."

My throat went dry.

"Some people spend their whole lives waiting for permission to go after what they want. Waiting for someone to tell them they're good enough, strong enough, worthy enough." A pause. "Those people lose."

I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look up. Couldn't. If I looked at him now I'd either fall apart or do something stupid, and I couldn't afford either.

"The ones who win are the ones who stop asking and start taking. Who don't let anyone—not family, not rivals, not even themselves—stand in their way."

The room erupted in applause, and I finally glanced up. He was stepping away from the microphone, his expression neutral, but there was something in the set of his jaw that made my pulse spike. Like he'd just declared war and no one else had noticed.

My mom leaned over. "He's intense."

"Yeah." I shoved my phone back in my clutch. "Intense" was one word for it. “Terrifying” was another.

The music picked up again, something jazzy and forgettable, and people started moving toward the dance floor or the bar. I stayed in my seat, trying to make myself as small as possible, hoping Ryan would forget about me or get distracted by the blonde he'd been talking to earlier.

No such luck.

"Olive." My mom's voice was too bright, too hopeful. "Why don't you go mingle? You're just sitting here."

"I'm fine."

"You're hiding." She stood up, smoothing down her dress. "Come on. There are plenty of nice young men here. That one I pointed out earlier—"

"Mom, I really don't—"

But she was already walking away, heading toward Grayson at another table, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts and the very real possibility that I was about to become Ryan's prize.

I needed air. Or a drink. Or both.

I stood up, scanning the room for the quickest exit, and that's when I saw him.

Ryan.

He was moving through the crowd toward me, that cocky smirk plastered on his face, and every instinct I had screamed at me to run. But I couldn't. Not without causing a scene, not without everyone asking questions I didn't want to answer.

He reached me before I could move. "There she is. Thought you might try to skip out on me."

"I'm here, aren't I?" My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

"You are." His eyes dragged down my body, slow and deliberate. "And you look good enough to eat."

My stomach turned. "Ryan—"

"Time's up, sweetheart." He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You didn't get Zane to kiss you. Which means you're mine now."

"That bet was bullshit and you know it."

"A bet's a bet." He reached out, his fingers brushing my waist, and I jerked back. "Come on, don't be like that. We're going to have fun together."

"Get your hand off me."

"Or what?" He grinned. "You'll tell someone? Who's going to believe you over me? I'm family. You're just some girl who chased my cousin across the country."

The words hit like a slap. Because he was right. Who would believe me? Zane hadn't spoken to me in days. My own family thought I was here to support Hunter. And Ryan—Ryan had connections, money, a last name that opened doors.

I was nothing.

His hand found my waist again, fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress, and I was about to shove him off when a voice cut through the noise.

"Move. Your. Hand."

Everything stopped.

Ryan's smirk faltered. He turned, and I followed his gaze to find Zane standing three feet away, his expression calm but his eyes absolutely lethal.

"Zane." Ryan didn't move his hand. "Just having a conversation with—"

"I don't care what you're having. Move your hand before I break it."

The threat was delivered so casually that it took a second to register. But Ryan heard it. His hand dropped, and he stepped back, laughing like this was all some joke. "Relax, cousin. We had a deal. She lost the bet. She's mine."

"She's not yours." Zane's voice was ice. "She's not anyone's."

A pause. The room was watching now, people turning to stare, conversations dying mid-sentence.

Zane's eyes found mine. "Except mine."

The floor dropped out from under me.

Ryan's face twisted. "That's not how this works. You don't get to just—"

"I don't?" Zane took a step forward, and Ryan actually backed up. "You made a bet with something that didn't belong to you. She was already mine."

"That's bullshit—"

"Is it?" Zane looked at me, his gaze holding mine hostage. "Tell him, Muffin."

Oh god. Oh god, he did not just call me that in front of everyone.

My brain short-circuited. I couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stand there like an idiot while the entire room waited.

Zane stepped closer, so close I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. His hand came up, fingers curling under my chin, and I stopped breathing.

"Tell him who you belong to."

I should've said something clever. Should've told him to go to hell, should've walked away, should've done literally anything except what I did.

But all I could manage was a whisper. "Ummmm."

"Muffin?" He said it like he was gently reprimanding me.

“You.” I managed to whisper

"Louder." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Everyone needs to hear it."