His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 44: Olive's Pov

How do you describe the look on someone's face when their entire world is about to collapse?

Because that's what I saw on Walter's face the second Zane's car pulled into the driveway.

"God. Fuck. He's here." My father's voice cracked, and suddenly he was clawing at the bandage on his knee, trying to rip it off.

"What are you doing?" Annie grabbed his hands. "Walter, stop! You're going to hurt yourself—"

"I need to appear strong," he muttered, still fighting her grip. "Can't let him see me like this."

I stared at them, my brain trying to process what I was watching. For the past twenty minutes since I'd called Zane, Walter had been stress-baking—his go-to whenever something was seriously wrong. The kitchen smelled like vanilla and impending disaster.

"That's not appearing strong," I said, already moving toward the door. "That's appearing insane. And he's here."

"Don't you dare open that door," Walter hissed behind me.

"Too late."

I pulled the door open.

Zane Mercer stood on my father's porch like he'd materialized from every dark romance novel I'd ever read and refused to admit I'd enjoyed.

Gray suit pants that fit him like a sin, paired with a black button-down that he'd rolled up to his forearms. His tattoos were on full display—those foreign words I still hadn't figured out, inked into his skin in elegant script. A gold watch caught the light on his wrist. And in his hands, he held a massive bouquet of red roses that looked almost obscene in how beautiful they were.

He stood there, tall and dangerous and completely at ease, like he owned not just this porch but the entire street.

"Hello, Muffin." His voice was low, intimate, despite Annie and Walter probably hearing every word. "Say the word and I'll take you out of here right now. We can disappear. Just you and me."

My stomach flipped. "You wish."

His mouth curved into that insufferable smirk, and I forced myself to look down at the flowers instead of at his face.

"These are for you," he said, offering them.

"For me?" I took them, surprised by how heavy they were. How many roses were in this thing?

"I don't see anyone else here worthy of them."

I tried not to smile. Failed miserably. "Come in."

The second we stepped inside, Annie practically launched herself at us.

"Oh my god, you're Zane Mercer!" She was vibrating with excitement. "I've watched all your games. You're incredible at what you do!"

She stuck out her hand and Zane shook it—polite, brief—then pulled away like she'd burned him.

That's when I noticed it.

Zane wasn't looking at Annie. Wasn't looking at the house or the pretentious décor or anything except one thing.

Walter.

And Walter was staring back.

The air between them felt thick, charged with something I couldn't name. Recognition? Fear? Both?

"Hello, Zane." Walter's voice came out rough.

Zane's expression went dark for just a second—something dangerous flickering behind his eyes—before smoothing back into that controlled mask he wore so well.

"Hello, Walter."

My brain stuttered. "Walter? You two know each other?"

The answer was obvious from the way they were looking at each other. Some silent conversation happening that I wasn't part of.

Walter glanced around, checking if Annie was still in the room. She was, completely oblivious, still grinning like she'd met a celebrity.

Then he dropped it.

"Peach, he's my boss."

The world tilted.

"Boss?" My voice came out too loud, too high. "As in you work for Zane Mercer?"

"Keep your voice down," Walter hissed. "I don't want Annie knowing—"

"Knowing what?" I could feel my pulse in my throat. "What are you doing for him? Are you in some illegal shit? Is that what this is?"

Zane stood there, expression completely unreadable, while I was actively losing my mind.

"He works for me, Muffin," Zane said calmly.

"Muffin?" Walter snapped his attention to Zane, face hardening. "That's what you're calling my daughter?"

Zane's eyes cut to him—sharp, cold—and Walter immediately backed down. Actually stepped back like he'd been physically pushed.

I dropped the flowers on the side table, my hands shaking too much to hold them anymore.

"So neither of you wants to explain?" I walked towards my bag from where I'd left it by the couch. "Fine."

I walked toward them, bag in one hand, staring between both men like I could force the truth out through sheer willpower.

"Are you ready to talk now?" I reached for the flowers again, needing something to hold onto.

"I'm his delivery man," Walter said quickly.

"He runs my racing club," Zane said at the exact same time.

My head snapped between them so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

"What?"

"A racing club?" I glared at Walter, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.

"What did you just say?" I turned to Zane, who looked completely unfazed by the fact that my entire world was currently imploding.

God, I wanted that kind of emotional stability. That ability to stand in the middle of chaos and look bored.

"Tell her, Walter." Zane's hands slid into his pockets, casual, like we were discussing the weather. "She was always going to find out. One way or another."

"Boss, please." Walter's voice cracked. "Not here. Annie—"

"What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?" I cut him off.

"We can't talk about this here," Walter pleaded. "I don't want Annie hearing. Pretty please, Peach."

Pretty please?

I looked between them—my father, who was practically begging, and Zane, who looked like he was enjoying watching Walter squirm.

"Fine," I said. "Outside. Now."

I walked out the front door, and both men followed.

As much as I wanted to explode, as much as I wanted to scream and demand answers in front of Annie and the neighbors and anyone who would listen, I couldn't do that to Walter's perfect family. Even if that perfect family was apparently built on a foundation of lies.

And honestly? Knowing their life wasn't as perfect as it looked from the outside felt a little satisfying.

The door clicked shut behind us.

"So," I turned to face Walter, arms crossed. "What work do you do for Zane? Why is he your boss?"

Walter looked at Zane desperately. "Boss, you're not going to help me here?"

Zane's mouth curved slightly. He was definitely enjoying this.

"Fuck." Walter ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. I work as Zane's manager. For his racing club."

"Racing club," I repeated slowly. "Like... street racing?"