His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 119

Olive’s POV

The sound of my phone ringing pulled me from unconsciousnes like a drowning person being yanked to the surface.

My head throbbed. Sharp. Relentless. The kind of hangover that made you question every decision you’d ever made.

I cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it as sunlight stabbed through my curtains.

The phone was still ringing. Loud. Insistent. Somewhere near my head.

I groaned and reached for it blindly, my hand knocking over an empty wine bottle in the process.

It rolled across my nightstand and crashed to the floor.

Right. The wine.

I’d spent last night staring at my laptop screen, watching Hopkins Enterprise’s stock plummet in real-time. Watching investors pull out. Watching every pitch I’d submitted get rejected.

Watching everything Grayson had built crumble.

And I’d done it with an entire bottle of wine because I didn’t know what else to do.

My fingers finally closed around my phone. I pulled it to my face squinting at the screen.

Brenda.

Of course it was Brenda.

I swiped to answer, my voice coming out rough and scratchy. “Hello?”

“The fuck, Olive. Where are you?”

Her voice was too loud. Way too loud for whatever ungodly hour this was.

I winced, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I’m home.”

“Home?” She sounded incredulous. “You haven’t checked the news?”

“What news?” I asked, though part of me didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear about another disaster. Another company pulling their investment. Another nail in Hopkins’ coffin.

“Just check the fucking news,” Brenda said. “ESPN. Bloomberg. Any of them. Check now.”

She hung up before I could respond.

I stared at my phone for a moment, confusion cutting through the fog in my brain.

What could possibly be so urgent that Brenda would call me at glanced at the time-seven in the morning after I’d explicitly told her I was taking the day off on a Monday?

With shaking hands, I reached for my remote control and turned on the TV.

I flipped to Bloomberg first, grabbing the bottle of water from my nightstand.

And then I saw it.

I almost choked.

Water went down the wrong pipe, and I coughed violently, my eyes watering as I stared at the screen.

‘BREAKING: Williams Gary Mercer Facing Criminal Charges Fraud, Embezzlement, and Illegal Gambling Operations Exposed’

My heart stopped.

The screen showed footage of Williams Mercer. Video evidence of him with his secretary in what was clearly a hotel room. Audio recordings of him discussing gambling debts. Documents showing he’d been using Mercer company funds to cover his losses.

It was everywhere. Every news channel. Every financial outlet. Every sports network.

The Mercer empire was imploding in real-time.

But that wasn’t what made my hands shake.

It was the second headline. The one scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

Hopkins Enterprise Saved – Anonymous Buyer Acquires 80% of shares, Returns Full Control to CEO Grayson Sinclair

I blinked.

Read it again.

And again.

It didn’t make sense.

Hopkins was dying. Investors were fleeing. The company was drowning.

And now, suddenly, miraculously, someone had bought up the shares? Given them back to Grayson?

I grabbed my iPad with shaking hands, pulling up the financial reports.

The numbers swam before my eyes, but slowly, they started making sense.

Someone had purchased the shares at an outrageous price. Way above market value. Had outbid every other interested party…including Williams Mercer…and then transferred full ownership back to Grayson.

Hopkins Enterprise was not only saved. It was thriving.

The stock was already climbing. Investors who’d pulled out were scrambling to get back in. The company that had been on the verge of collapse was now one of the hottest investments on the market.

My chest felt tight.

I flipped channels, trying to understand what I was seeing.

Every station was covering both stories. The fall of Williams Mercer. The resurrection of Hopkins Enterprise.

But no one knew who the buyer was. The purchase had been made through so many shell companies and offshore accounts that it was impossible to trace.

Except.

Except I knew.

I knew exactly who had done this.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Brenda: HOLY SHIT. DID YOU SEE???

Brenda: Who the hell has that kind of money just lying around??

Brenda: Grayson’s not talking. He’s in meetings all morning. Place is going INSANE.

I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t form words.

Because while everyone else was asking who saved Hopkins, I was asking myself a different question.

What kind of man destroys his own father and saves his girlfriend’s stepfather’s company in the same night?

What kind of man has the resources, the connections, the sheer uthlessness to orchestrate something like this?

And what kind of man does all of it without asking for credit? Without demanding recognition?

I thought about the last conversation we’d had. When I’d asked him for help.

“Trust me, Muffin. It’s being taken care of.”

He’d said it so casually. Like it was nothing.

Like bankrupting his father and orchestrating a corporate takeover were just items on his to-do list.

My phone rang again.

Not Brenda this time.

Mom.

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