His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 72: Olive's Pov

I followed Zane out of the conference room, my heels clicking against the polished floor, my heart hammering in my chest because I had no idea if he was about to thank me or tear me apart for speaking up.

But honestly? I didn't care.

I was probably going to be the one tearing him apart anyway for being Zane Fucking Mercer, king of arrogant assholes who thought they could steamroll everyone in their path.

He led me down the hallway, past curious stares from employees who were pretending not to watch but absolutely were. I could feel their eyes burning into my back, could practically hear the whispers that would start the second we were out of earshot.

‘Did you see that? Olive Monroe and Zane Mercer. Together. After everything.’

We reached one of the smaller meeting rooms—the kind Hopkins used for private calls and confidential discussions—and Zane held the door open for me with that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips.

The second the door closed behind us, cutting us off from prying eyes and curious ears, he turned to face me.

"That was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," he said, his voice low and controlled but I could hear something else beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or respect. Hard to tell with him.

I crossed my arms over my chest, partly defensive, partly to stop myself from reaching for him. "Which do you think it was?"

His lips curved into that familiar smirk, the one that made me want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure. "Both."

Then, before I could respond with something appropriately sarcastic, he closed the space between us and kissed me.

Not gentle. Not sweet. Hard and claiming and possessive in a way that made my knees go weak and my brain short-circuit.

His hands gripped my waist, fingers digging in just hard enough to leave an impression, pulling me flush against him until there wasn't a molecule of space between our bodies.

And I melted into it.

Despite every rational thought screaming that we were in my stepfather's office building. Despite knowing anyone could walk in. Despite the fact that I was supposed to be mad at him for the power play he'd just pulled in that conference room.

None of it mattered when he kissed me like this—like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, my lips swollen, my heart racing.

"You defended Hopkins," he said, his voice rough now, unsteady in a way I'd never heard before. "Defended Grayson. Even after everything he's said about me. About us."

"He's still my stepfather," I said, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remember why I'd been annoyed at Zane in the first place. "And he's been good to me. I wasn't going to let you steamroll him just to prove a point about power dynamics or whatever alpha male bullshit you were going for in there."

Zane's expression shifted—something almost like respect flickering across his face, softening those sharp edges I'd gotten so used to, and he chuckled, really good.

"You're stronger than I gave you credit for," he said quietly, his thumb tracing my jawline with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with how he'd just kissed me.

"You're learning," I said, unable to keep the smirk off my face.

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. "I removed the video," he said, shifting topics so fast I almost got confused. "All traces of it. Every platform, every website, every cached version, every screenshot someone tried to save. It's like it never existed."

I stared at him, my brain trying to process what he was saying. "How?" I whispered. "How is that even possible?"

"Money," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Lawyers. Connections. A few well-placed threats to the right people." He paused, something flickering in his eyes. "And a few favors I'll probably regret calling in later. But it's done."

I tried to wrap my head around the sheer amount of power it would take to scrub something that viral from the internet so completely. The resources. The connections. The willingness to burn bridges and call in debts just to protect me.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Why would you do all that?"

"Because you're mine," he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like there was no other possible answer. "And no one gets to destroy what's mine. Not Sophia. Not your psychotic ex-boyfreind. Not the entire fucking internet. No one."

My chest tightened, something warm and terrifying spreading through me.

"Your sister did this," I said, needing to confirm what we both already knew. "You know that, right?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I know."

The acceptance in his voice shocked me. I'd expected denial, or at least deflection. But he just stood there, acknowledging the truth without trying to soften it.

"And you're protecting her," I said, not quite a question, not quite an accusation.

"I'm protecting my family," he corrected, his voice firm. "There's a difference. Sophia will face consequences. Just not public ones. Not the kind that would destroy her life the way she tried to destroy yours."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand that she be held accountable the same way anyone else would be—publicly, humiliatingly, completely.

But I also understood family loyalty. Understood the complicated, messy reality of loving someone even when they hurt you. Even when they proved they didn't deserve it.

God knows I'd done it with Cole for two years.