His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 176

Olive’s POV

The weight of Cole’s words hit me harder than I wanted to admit, settling somewhere deep in my chest where I couldn’t quite shake them loose no matter how hard I tried.

I knew I should be angry, still enraged, possibly ready to file for a restraining order against him the second tomorrow morning came, but his words had cut deeper than I’d expected, had planted questions in my mind that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

But Zane had been so fast to stop that distraction, had somehow made me redirect all that anxious energy toward the unsettling mixture of anxiety and excitement that was now brewing inside me, toward whatever he was about to show me that I was so desperately looking forward to and so terrified of at the same time.

“Where are we heading?” I finally broke through the silence in the car, watching from my periphery as his eyes glanced at me before slowly, deliberately, his hand came to rest on my thigh.

His palm pressed firmly against my skin through the thin fabric of my dress, fingers splaying wide and possessive, and I instantly tightened my left fist, trying desperately to suppress whatever arousal was about to slip through the carefully constructed walls I was attempting to maintain, because in every single way imaginable, Zane Mercer affected me.

“My apartment,” he said flatly, his hand still gripping my thigh, fingers slowly inching upward in a way that made my breath catch, and I tried to hold perfectly still, tried not to react even though I wasn’t nearly strong enough to actually pull his hand away.

Then I tried really tried to think about what secret he was possibly going to tell me, whether I was ready to hear it, whether this was going to be about Klaus.

There was no way Zane would tell me about Klaus willingly, would just volunteer information about my dead brother without being pushed into a corner first.

But what if I was overthinking everything?

What if Zane had nothing to do with Klaus at all?

But if he wasn’t involved, why would Judy have mentioned Klaus’s name before he died, why had I been receiving threatening messages from unknown numbers telling me to stop digging, why did everyone seem so terrified whenever Klaus’s death came up in conversation?

Suddenly the car came to a stop and I was too lost in my spiraling thoughts-and perhaps trying too hard not to react to Zane’s hand still resting possessively on my lap-to notice we’d arrived somewhere until Zane turned off the engine.

When I finally looked up, that’s when I realized we were sitting in front of a mansion.

A place I had never been before, somewhere completely different from his penthouse that I’d grown used to visiting.

This one was way bigger-massive, actually, and it was the only structure visible on this enormous piece of land, sitting right in the middle like a king surveying his domain.

Trees were planted strategically around the property, creating natural barriers and adding to the secluded atmosphere, and a long driveway curved elegantly through manicured grounds leading up to the impressive entrance.

But there was something about the mansion itself, something I couldn’t quite point out at first, something different about it that set it apart from every other wealthy person’s home I’d ever seen.

Not in a creeping, uncomfortable way, but in something else entirely.

This mansion was huge, probably equivalent to at least three of his penthouse apartment stacked on top of each other-with a large stone fountain positioned perfectly in the middle of the circular driveway, water cascading down from what looked like an angel statue perched at the top.

I turned to stare at Zane, questions bubbling up faster than I could organize them.

“Where are we?” I asked, even though part of me had already figured out the answer.

“One of my homes,” he said simply, like owning multiple massive estates was the most normal thing in the world.

My head snapped toward him more forcefully than I’d intended.

“What?” I managed to whisper.

“You own more than one house here in Seattle?” The question came out before I could stop it, and I immediately realized how foolish it sounded, how unreasonable.

Because someone as wealthy as Zane Mercer, who owned racing clubs in different parts of the world, who came from a family with connections spanning multiple continents, could absolutely afford having more than one mansion in the state- probably in the country, probably scattered across multiple continents.

“Are you curious about my number of houses now?” he asked, and I could feel that smirk forming on his face without even looking at him, that particular expression that said he could afford whatever he wanted and had earned every bit of it.

And for a second I wanted to say something sharp to wipe that smirk off his face, wanted to remind him that not everything could be bought with money.

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