His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 39: Olive's Pov

Zane got me the apartment in less than twenty-four hours.

I still didn't know how he'd pulled it off—called in favors, threw money around, threatened someone, probably all three—but here I was. Standing in my first real apartment. My space. My name on the lease.

The cleaning crew had left two hours ago and the place still smelled like soap fragrance and some fancy new carpet. I walked through the rooms again, running my fingers along the kitchen counter, the windowsill, the doorframe. Mine. All of it.

My mother wasn't happy. She'd called three times today, voice tight with that particular blend of disappointment and worry only mothers could master. "Just apologize to Grayson," she kept saying. "Work this out. Come home."

But I couldn't.

Grayson had made it clear: break up with Zane, or don't come back. And even though this thing with Zane had an expiration date, even though I knew it wasn't real, I wouldn't let my stepfather's hatred decide my future.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Zane: How are you liking the new place?

A smile pulled at my lips before I could stop it.

Me: You did quite a thing. I'm impressed.

I hesitated, finger hovering over send. Was that too much? Too... something? But I hit send anyway, watched it change to 'read' almost immediately.

Had he been waiting for my text?

The doorbell chimed.

I checked the time. Just past seven. Probably the pizza I'd ordered twenty minutes ago. Or maybe Brenda coming back because she'd forgotten to interrogate me about something. She'd left an hour ago after making me spill every detail about Zane, already demanding lunch tomorrow for round two.

It couldn't be Zane. He'd been swamped with practice, games, whatever hockey players did when they weren't turning my life upside down.

I walked to the door, hand hovering over the knob.

Something felt wrong.

I turned the knob anyway. Pulled the door open.

Cole.

He stood in my doorway like he had every right to be there, blonde hair slicked back the way I used to love, gray eyes locked on mine. But this time, looking at him didn't make my stomach flip. Didn't make me feel anything except tired.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" His voice was smooth, casual, like we were old friends catching up.

I stayed in the doorway, blocking the entrance. "Why the hell would I do that? And how the hell do you know where I live now?"

He laughed—loud, sharp. His eyes swept past me into the apartment. "Hahaha, I know how to find things Olive and what… is he here? Zane Mercer hiding in your bedroom? Or do you have someone else already?"

Before I could respond, he shoved me.

Not hard enough to make me fall, but hard enough to move me out of the way. He walked into my apartment like he owned it, looking around with that expression I used to think was thoughtful but now recognized as calculating.

"What the fuck, Cole!" My voice came out shrill, panicked. "You can't just come to my home—"

"Home?" He spun around, eyebrows raised. "This is what you call home? Let me guess—he paid for it. Zane Mercer. This is how low you've sunk? Playing sugar baby for some—"

"For your idol," I cut him off, hands clenched into fists. "The guy you're obsessed with. The same man you dated his sister to get close to. And now you're what, angry? Jealous that I actually got him?"

His eyes went wide. Just for a second, but I saw it. The shock. The rage underneath.

Good. I wanted him to feel every word.

"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice dropped, went cold. "You think you landed some prize? You think you can just move on from me like I'm nothing? That's not how this works, Olive."

He stepped closer. I stepped back.

"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."

"Or what?" Another step. "You'll call your fake boyfriend? Your little publicity stunt?"

"Aren't you getting engaged?" The words came out desperate, trying to find anything to make him stop advancing. "To Sophia? Why are you even here?"

Something shifted in his face. Something dark and satisfied.

"Yeah, I am." He smiled. "That's actually why I'm here. To invite you to the engagement party."

He took another step. Then another. Until he was maybe two inches away, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the cologne that used to make me feel safe and now made my skin crawl.

My hand found the edge of the kitchen island, fingers brushing against something solid. The knife block.

"Great," I whispered. "Then leave."

"Why?" His voice was mocking now. "Are you jealous? You haven't even accepted my invitation yet."

He reached into his pocket and I wrapped my fingers around a knife handle, pulling it silently from the block behind my back.