His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 177

Olive’s POV

I walked into the room and my eyes widened as everything came into focus slowly, like my brain needed extra time to process what I was actually seeing.

At first there was nothing, just darkness and shapes I couldn’t quite make out, until I blinked and the room became clearer, sharper, more real than anything I’d expected.

The walls were painted in deep wine red, almost burgundy, the kind of color that looked black in certain lighting but glowed rich and dark when the dim overhead lights hit it at the right angle, and something about that color made my stomach flip with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness I couldn’t quite name.

The bed dominated the center of the room, massive, draped in black silk sheets that looked obscenely expensive, with a headboard made of dark wood that had two sets of leather cuffs hanging from it, positioned exactly where someone’s wrists would be if they were lying spread out beneath them.

My breath caught.

I’d walked into sex shops before, had giggled nervously with Brenda as we browsed through toys and accessories like we were sophisticated adults who knew exactly what we were doing, but this was different, this wasn’t playful curiosity or awkward exploration.

This was an upgraded version of everything I’d ever imagined, everything I’d ever seen in movies or read about in books that made my cheeks flush hot.

Whips hung on the wall in neat rows, leather and something that looked like braided rope, ranging from thin and wicked- looking to thick ones that seemed designed to make a statement rather than inflict serious pain.

A bench sat in the corner, padded, adjustable, with restraints attached at various points that I didn’t want to think too hard about yet.

And more toys than I could count lined shelves along one wall, vibrators of every size and shape, plugs that made my eyes widen, clamps that looked both terrifying and fascinating, things I didn’t even have names for.

“How many women have you brought here?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.

I turned to look at Zane, confusion and something else—jealousy, maybe-flickering through me.

He was standing near the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness, and when he spoke his voice was rough.

“None,” he said simply. “You’re the only one.”

My heart stuttered. “What?”

“I’ve never brought anyone here,” Zane continued, his jaw clenching. “This room-this part of me—I couldn’t share it with anyone. Not until you.”

The weight of those words settled over me like a physical thing, heavy and significant and terrifying.

“Zane, what is this?” I asked, gesturing around the room. “What are we doing here?”

He walked toward me slowly, each step deliberate, and I watched as something shifted in his expression, vulnerability I’d never seen before, fear that he was trying desperately to hide.

“This is my past,” he said quietly. “This is the secret I’ve never told anyone. The part of me I’ve kept locked away for over a

decade.”

His body stopped inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell his cologne mixing with something darker.

“When I was fourteen,” Zane started, then stopped, his jaw working like the words were physically painful to say. “My mother had a best friend. Someone we all called Aunt Melissa. Someone who was supposed to be safe.”

My stomach dropped.

“She abused me,” he said flatly, and I watched as he turned his head away from me, like he couldn’t bear to see my reaction.” For two years. Every time she visited, every time my parents left us alone together. She told me it was normal, that it was our secret, that if I told anyone they’d blame me for seducing her.”

Oh god.

“It started with touches,” Zane continued, his voice getting rougher. “Then more. Then everything. And by the time I was sixteen and she finally stopped because I’d gotten too old for her tastes, this-” he gestured around the room, “–all of this had become part of me. The need to control. The need to dominate. The need to make someone submit because I’d been forced to submit for so long.”

Tears were burning in my eyes but I didn’t let them fall, didn’t want him to think I was pitying him.

“I’m not telling you this to make excuses,” Zane said, finally looking back at me, and the raw pain in his eyes made my chest ache. “I’m telling you because you asked for my secrets. Because you deserve to know why I am the way I am. Why I need control so badly it sometimes consumes me.”

He took a step back, putting distance between us.

“And now that you know,” he said quietly, “I’ll understand if you want to leave. If you can’t look at me the same way. If this is too fucked up for you to handle.”

For a long moment I just stared at him, watching the way his shoulders were tense like he was bracing himself for rejection, watching the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides.

And I realized with stunning clarity that this was the first time I’d ever seen Zane Mercer truly vulnerable, truly broken, truly scared of losing something that mattered.

He’d trusted me with this.

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