His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 89: Olive's POV

The club was massive, with a tall glass building and lights and bodies pressed together at every corner, and Brenda was losing her mind the second we stepped out of the garage.

"This is insane," she said, practically bouncing on her heels as she stared at my new car. "This is very insane, Olive. This car is beautiful. Like, what the hell did you do to Zane to be able to get you this car?"

I rolled my eyes. "Brenda, do you want me to spend the entire night talking about this vehicle?"

"Girl, you have to tell me everything," she insisted, grabbing my arm. "Because I have some theories about what you did to get a car like this, and they're all very scandalous."

"Fine, fine," I said, laughing despite myself. "I'll tell you everything later. But right now, we're going to have fun and you're going to stop interrogating me about my sex life."

"Deal," she said, grinning. "But I'm holding you to that."

The second we stepped out of the car, I noticed people staring. A lot of people. Girls mostly, their eyes tracking us—well, tracking the car—with expressions that ranged from impressed to jealous to confused.

I could hear the whispers, could feel their eyes on me, trying to figure out who I was and how I could afford a car like this. And of course they were confused—I wasn't a celebrity, wasn't anyone important, just some girl who happened to be dating a hockey star. But thanks to Vanessa posting forty fucking videos of my car online, half the city probably knew about it by now.

I decided to ignore them, holding my head high as we walked toward the entrance.

The VIP card Brenda had gotten meant we didn't have to wait in the ridiculously long line, just walked straight past everyone to the door. The bouncer barely glanced at us before waving us through, and then we were inside and the music hit through every nerve in me.

Loud. So fucking loud. Lights flashing from different places, different colors, blue, purple, red—strobing across the packed dance floor. Bodies everywhere, moving, grinding, drinks in hands.

"Let's go to the VIP section!" Brenda screamed over the music, grabbing my hand.

I nodded, following her through the crowd, and I could feel more eyes on me—on my dress, on the way I moved—people clearly trying to figure out if I belonged in the VIP lounge. My dress was expensive, designer, the kind of thing that screamed money, and I knew I looked good. Zane had made sure of that.

"Come on, let's go dance!" Brenda said once we'd settled into the VIP section, already pulling me toward the dance floor before I could protest.

"I don't know if I can dance to this," I said, laughing as she dragged me along.

"Just follow my lead!" she shouted back.

So I did. Let myself get lost in the music, in the movement, in the feeling of just existing without thinking about Zane or the new guy—Alonso—or any of the complicated mess my life had become.

We danced until we were both sweating, breathless, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. Then we stumbled back to the VIP section and Brenda immediately ordered drinks, expensive ones, the kind that came in fancy glasses with even fancier names.

"To you," Brenda said, raising her glass. "To new cars and new men and new lives."

"To not fucking everything up," I added, clinking my glass against hers.

"You're not going to fuck anything up," she said seriously. "You're doing amazing. Better than amazing. You're thriving."

I wanted to believe her. Wanted to feel like I was thriving instead of barely surviving.

We drank. Talked. Laughed. And for a while, I almost forgot about everything else.

I was alone now.

Then I saw something that made my blood run cold.

A man, tall, broad, expensive suit, walking toward a private room at the back of the VIP section. The same room Brenda had pointed out earlier when she was explaining the layout of the club.

"That's where the really exclusive stuff happens," she'd said. "Like, you need a special invitation to even get near that door."

But it wasn't the man that caught my attention.

It was Brenda following him into that room.

I frowned, watching as the door closed behind her. What the hell was she doing going back there? She hadn't mentioned anything about having access to those private rooms. And she said she was going to use the restroom.

"I'll be right back," I told my drink, setting it down.

I was about to go after her when I saw it.

Another girl, young, maybe early twenties, stumbling slightly, being grabbed roughly by a different man. He had his hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking her toward the same hallway Brenda had just disappeared into, and when she tried to pull away, he slapped her.

Not hard enough to make a scene, but hard enough that I saw her head snap to the side.

My heart jumped into my throat.

What the fuck?

The girl tried to say something but he dragged her forward, practically shoving her through the door into that exclusive hallway, and then they were gone.

I sat there frozen for a second, my mind racing.

That girl had just been assaulted. Right there. In front of everyone. And nobody had done anything. Nobody had even noticed because the lights were flashing and the music was loud and everyone was too drunk or too high or too busy to care.

I should mind my business. Should stay in my seat and pretend I didn't see anything.

But I'd always been the type to stick my nose where it didn't belong. Always been the private investigator, the one who couldn't let things go.

And that girl, she'd looked scared.

Fuck.