His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 1

OLIVE’s POV

I had three client presentations due tomorrow and a marketing strategy that was nowhere near finished, but all I could think about was Cole coming home in two weeks.

It had been two months since I’d seen him in person. Two months of video calls and texts that came later and later each night.

Grayson would tell me I was overthinking again. My stepfather had been the steady one since Mom remarried ten years ago—the kind of dad who actually showed up, who remembered what mattered.

I pulled my laptop onto the bed, staring at the half-finished campaign for Hopkins Company.

Pathetic.

I shoved the laptop aside and reached for my nightstand drawer.

The feeling of having my vibe pressed right where I needed it, imagining Cole in his blue practice jersey, hair slicked back, hands braced on the headboard above me…

Close. So close.

The door slammed open.

My mother stood in the doorway like she hadn’t just walked in on something she definitely shouldn’t have seen. When I scrambled to sit up, tangled in my sheets and trying to shove the vibe under my pillow, she smiled.

Actually smiled.

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry I interrupted. But playtime’s over.”

“God, Mom, knocking is a thing adults do.” My face was on fire. I shoved the vibe into my nightstand drawer so fast I almost broke my finger.

“Your door was wide open, Olive. Be grateful it was me and not Hunter.”

God, if my stepbrother had walked in on that I’d have to move to another state.

“Mom, stop. Please just stop talking.”

She pressed her lips together, but amusement danced in her eyes. I wanted to die right there.

Living in the renovated space above the garage was supposed to give me independence, but it didn’t stop my mother from barging in whenever she felt like it. Still, it beat paying two grand a month for some shoebox apartment in Seattle.

“We need to talk to you.” Her voice changed, got serious. “Grayson and I have some exciting news.”

Exciting news in this family usually meant something that benefited everyone except me.

“Olive Monroe, I want you downstairs in five minutes or I’m dragging you out of that bed myself.”

The second the door closed I grabbed my phone. I needed to hear Cole’s voice, needed something good to balance out whatever disaster my parents were about to drop on me.

I hit his contact. One ring. Two rings. Three.

Cole always answered. Always picked up when I called.

The screen flickered—video call accepted—and suddenly I was staring at a shaking camera propped up on something, angled weird.

I could see him.

Cole.

Not alone.

“Oh god, yes—Cole, right there—”

A woman’s voice hit me first, high-pitched and breathless. For a second my brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

Cole on his back, head thrown against the pillow, mouth open as he groaned. A girl on top of him, blonde hair spilling down her back as she moved.

“Fuck, you feel so good—”

“Sophia—Christ, Sophia—”

His name for her. The way he said it like it was something precious. The phone jolted with every thrust.

I should’ve hung up.

Should’ve thrown my phone across the room and pretended I’d never seen this, never heard this.

I just sat there like an idiot. Frozen. Watching my boyfriend of two years moan another woman’s name.

“God, I’m close—Cole, I’m so close—”

His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down harder. That deep groan I thought he only made with me—

The phone slipped from my fingers.

It clattered onto my bed face-up. I could still hear them—the wet sounds, her moans, his name in her mouth over and over.

Two years.

Two years of standing in freezing arenas watching him play. Two years of driving three hours just to see him for a weekend. Two years of wearing his jersey like any of it mattered.

The entire time he’d been with someone else.

Someone named Sophia.

I grabbed the phone and stabbed at the screen until the call ended. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hit the right button.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry over him.

But my throat was tight and my eyes were burning and I hated that I could still hear her voice in my head.

I pressed my palms against my eyes hard enough that it hurt.

He wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth a single tear, wasn’t worth the two years I’d given him or any of it.

But my face was already wet.

*******

I didn’t bother fixing my hair or washing my face before heading downstairs. What was the point.

The main house smelled like coffee and whatever my mom had baked earlier that week.

The second I opened the door both my parents’ heads snapped toward me.

“I was about to come drag you out of—” Mom stopped mid-sentence. “Olive, what’s wrong?”

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