His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 62: Olive's Pov

I couldn't breathe.

The hallway was spinning, walls closing in, and my heels were too high, dress too tight, everything was wrong.

Behind me I could still hear them even from this distance. Their voices. Their phone shutters clicking. The video probably still playing on loop while everyone watched, judged, recorded, never once thinking to pull it down.

Proof. They all thought they had proof.

"Olive!" Hunter's voice boomed down the hallway. "Olive, stop!"

But I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I'd collapse. If I collapsed, they'd find me. Photograph me. Turn me into a meme, a cautionary tale, another girl who thought she could play in their world and got destroyed for it.

I hit the stairwell door so hard it slammed against the wall.

Down. Just go down.

One floor. Two. My ankle rolled in these stupid heels but I caught myself on the railing, kept going.

Three floors. Four.

My phone was buzzing nonstop in my clutch. Probably Mom. Probably Brenda. Probably everyone who'd already seen it, already believed it, and already decided I was exactly what that video said I was.

Because right now, it was probably trending.

A user. A gold digger. A liar.

I reached the ground floor and burst through the exit into the night air.

The sharp cold hit my skin but I didn’t cared at this point

I just needed to get away. Needed to find my car, get home, lock the door, and figure out how to prove that wasn't me, that someone had framed me, that—

"Olive, Jesus Christ, wait!"

Hunter caught up to me in the parking lot, breathing hard. He grabbed my arm and I spun around, yanking free.

"Don't touch me!"

"I'm trying to help—"

"By asking if it was real?" My voice cracked. "You actually thought that was me?"

"I—" He looked miserable. Guilty. Confused. "It looked like you. The hair, the body—okay, God, Olive—"

"But it wasn't my face!" I was crying now, fully crying, mascara probably running, everything falling apart. "If you actually looked, if anyone actually looked instead of just assuming—"

"I know." His voice was quiet. "I know it wasn't you. But Olive, that video—whoever made it knew what they were doing. It's going to be everywhere by tomorrow. Every news site, every gossip blog—"

"I know!" I screamed it. Didn't care who heard. "I know, Hunter! I know my life is over!"

He stepped closer, hands up like I was something fragile that might shatter. "It's not over. We'll figure this out. We'll prove it's fake—"

"How?" I laughed and it sounded unhinged. "How do we prove it? Nobody's going to believe me. They all saw what they wanted to see. The poor girl who landed the rich hockey player and turned out to be exactly what everyone expected."

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing makeup everywhere.

"Grayson's going to lose the partnership," I said, the realization hitting me like a punch. "The stock's going to crash again. Everything I did—everything Zane did—it's all gone because someone made a fake video and everyone believed it."

"Olive—"

"And Zane." My voice broke completely. "Did you see his face? He didn't even—he just stood there like—"

I couldn't finish. Couldn't say that he'd looked at me like I was nothing. Like maybe he'd expected this all along.

Like maybe he'd never trusted me in the first place.

"I need to go." I started walking toward where I thought I'd parked, but the lot was huge and dark and I couldn't remember, couldn't think—

"Let me drive you," Hunter said. "You can't drive like this—"

"I'm fine—"

"You're not fine! You're shaking and crying and—"

Headlights.

Bright, sudden, cutting through the darkness.

A car pulled up beside us. Sleek. Black. Expensive.

I knew that car. Or at least, I knew cars like that. The kind that cost more than most people made in a year.

The driver's side door opened and a man stepped out.

Older than me by far, enough to be my father. Maybe early fifties. But he was hot.

Hot in that dangerous way that made your brain scream warning even as your body paid attention. Tattoos covered his arms, disappearing under a black tank top that showed off a chest built like he spent his life fi;ghting or fucking or both.

There was something familiar about him. Something I couldn't pinpoint but felt in my gut.

He looked dangerous. Screamed it, actually. Every inch of him radiated threat.

But there was something in his gaze—something soft underneath all that danger. Something almost like Zane.

Like he was safe and not safe at the same time.

Hunter immediately stepped in front of me, hands up. "Who the hell are you? Back off before I break your limbs."

On a normal day, I would've laughed at Hunter trying to threaten someone who looked like he could snap him in half. But today wasn't normal.

"I'm not here for trouble." The man's voice was rough, accented slightly. "I'm here to take Miss Olive home. To her apartment."

My heart lurched.

This stranger knew my name. Knew where I lived.

"And you are?" Hunter's voice was sharp. "Her personal driver?"

The man chuckled, and the sound rumbled deep in his chest. Dangerous.

"Zane sent me to pick her up. He knows something terrible happened and he doesn't want her driving herself home."

He wasn't even looking at Hunter. Just staring directly at me.

And something in me wanted to trust him. Maybe because Zane sent him.

But Zane had looked at me like I was nothing. Had given me that hollow, empty stare. And now he'd sent his driver to pick me up? Or was this another con? Another setup?

"Sorry, but I can't let you take her anywhere." Hunter moved closer to me. "And if Zane really sent you, show us proof. Otherwise, back off."

The man shook his head slowly, pulled out his phone, and tapped something. It rang once before he lifted it to his ear.

"She doesn't believe me," he said into the phone.

He nodded a few times, then held the phone out to me.

I stared at it like it might explode.

"Olive."

Zane's voice came through the speaker and for a second, I didn't know if this was real or another nightmare.

"Olive. You can get in the car. Nikolai will take you home."

"Did you believe the video?" That was the only thing I could ask. The only thing that mattered.

Silence.

"Get in the car, Olive," he said instead.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. "I can't—"

"That wasn't a request." His voice boomed through the speaker, loud enough for Hunter to hear. "Get. In. The car."

Hunter grabbed the phone from my hand, pressing the volume up. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with you—"

"You're the one who sold her to me in the first place." Zane's voice cut through sharp and cold. "So unless you want me to remind your father exactly how you got your NHL slot, I suggest you get the fuck out of my way."

Hunter went pale but didn't back down. "Great. Perfect fucking timing. So did you believe the video?"

The line went silent.

I thought he wasn't going to answer.

Then: "I know every sound she makes when I'm inside her." His voice was low, dangerous. "Every expression. Every way her body responds to mine. That woman on the screen wasn't Olive."

My lips parted in shock.

Hunter's face went red, looking between me and the phone like he'd just heard way too much.

I grabbed the phone back, hands shaking.

"So get in the car, Olive," Zane said, quieter now. "Please."

I stood there, tears still running down my face, dress ruined, life breaking apart in pieces.

But Zane had just told me he believed me.

"Go with him," Zane said. "I'll meet you at your apartment."

I didn't know if I could trust him. Didn't know if this would make everything worse.

But staying here, going home alone, facing tomorrow by myself—

I couldn't do that either.

So I walked toward the car.

Toward this stranger named Nikolai who Zane trusted enough to send.

And hoped I wasn't making the biggest mistake of my life.