His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 55: Zane's Pov

The second I stepped out of my private garage, I tossed the keys to the valet without looking at him.

The company building loomed ahead—another constructed part of my life I didn't give a damn about. Sometimes I wondered if anything about my existence was real, or if I'd just become so good at playing roles that I'd forgotten which one was actually me.

But the flash of cameras, the noise of staff scrambling as I walked past, the weight of eyes watching my every move—that told me it was real.

I was stuck in it.

"Mr. Mercer, the board is waiting in the conference room." My assistant appeared at my elbow, tablet clutched to her chest. "But before that, your father wants to see you in his office."

I didn't slow down. "Tell him I have a meeting to attend."

I kept walking toward the private elevator that led directly to the executive floor, swiping my key card.

"Your father insisted, sir. He said if you didn't come, I should—"

"You're fired."

I stepped into the elevator without looking back at her.

The doors began to close and I caught a glimpse of her face—shock, confusion, that moment of realization that she'd just lost her job. But I didn't care. However long it took her to process that she was done here wasn't my problem.

The elevator opened directly into my office lounge.

My secretary was already there, coffee in hand, extending it to me before I'd fully stepped out.

"You have a visitor," she said quietly. "In your office."

My head snapped toward her. "A visitor? In my office? Before I even arrive?"

It wasn't a question. I already knew who it was.

My jaw tightened.

The office doors slid open automatically.

Standing there, back to me, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, was my brother.

Antonio.

He turned slowly, arms spread wide, that infuriating smile already plastered across his face. Those glasses he wore—the ones I was convinced were fake, just another prop in whatever performance he was giving today.

"Hello, brother."

He started walking toward me like he owned the place. Like he hadn't just broken into my private office without permission.

I walked past him to my desk, sitting down and taking a long gulp of scalding coffee. I enjoyed the burn on my lips, the way it grounded me.

"Come on, Zane." Antonio leaned against the chair across from me, arms crossed. "You should be excited to see me."

He looked the same as always. Same arrogant posture. Same need for attention. The baby of the family who'd followed me into hockey, who'd joined the company because I had, who'd spent his entire life trying to prove he was better than me while never quite managing it.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" He was grinning now, that competitive edge sharpening his voice. "The Boston Vipers just won against the Seattle Thunder. And the NHL is considering us for the international playoffs. First time in franchise history." He leaned forward, hands bracing on the edge of my desk. "You know what that means, Zane?"

I said nothing. Just watched him.

"It means I finally get to compete against your indestructible Chicago Wolves. I get to have a real game with you. Not practice. Not scrimmages. A real fucking game where everyone's watching."

I could hear it underneath the bravado—the anger he tried to hide. The resentment that I'd always been better, always been first, always been the one Father paid attention to even when he hated me.

Antonio had joined hockey because I did. Had pushed his way into the company because I was here. Had spent twenty-six years of his life chasing my shadow and pretending he didn't care.

"Okay," I said simply.

His smile faltered. "Okay? That's it? After everything I just said?" He groaned, dropping into the chair and grabbing my coffee cup, draining what was left. "God, you're such a party blooper."

I let the silence stretch. Let him stew in it.

Because I knew exactly what my silence did to Antonio. It provoked him. Made him desperate to fill the space, to get a reaction, to prove he could get under my skin.

He never could.

"What game are you playing now, Zane?"

He was studying me, eyes narrowed behind those stupid glasses, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't quite see.

I looked down at my phone instead. Olive's name was still in my recent messages. I'd been debating whether to text her, maybe show up at her place tonight, take her to dinner. Did she even like fancy restaurants? Or would she prefer something simple, quiet, where we could actually talk?

It was a surprisingly difficult decision.

"Don't you have a meeting to attend?" I asked, not looking up.

"Zane." His voice shifted, got quieter. More dangerous. "What's your deal with the new girl? Is she a game? Because you never bring your relationships public. Not even—"

"Shut the fuck up, Antonio." I looked at him then, letting him see exactly how serious I was. "Or I'll shut it for you. Now don't you have a meeting to attend?"

His eyes widened slightly.

Then that smile crept back across his face. Slow. Knowing.

"Oh, she's really important, huh?" He stood, straightening his jacket. "But I don't believe that. You stopped caring about anything important after Mom died."

The words hit exactly where he meant them to.

I hated when anyone mentioned her. Especially him.

"Trust me, Zane." He walked toward the door, each step deliberate. "I will find out what your deal is with this girl. I know you're playing some twisted game—you always are—and I will figure it out. And when I do?" He paused at the door, hand on the handle. "I'll make sure she understands exactly who you are. And she'll never be able to choose you over herself."

He opened the door, then turned back like he'd forgotten something.

"Oh, and don't take it to heart, brother." That smile again—sharp, cruel. "Remember, this is what we do. Ruin each other's lives. A game, you called it once. Your rules."

The door closed behind him.

I sat there, staring at where he'd been standing, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

Then I laughed.

A low, dark sound that would've scared anyone who heard it.

Because I knew exactly what this was about. Antonio never stopped until he found what he was looking for. He'd dig and dig until he uncovered every secret, every weakness, every vulnerability.

And I'd let him find exactly what I wanted him to find.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Let him think he was winning.

Let him think he had the upper hand.

By the time he realized the game had changed, it would be too late.