Page 83 of Dirty Play

Something’s very wrong. Has she told them? No, this job means too much to her. But if she hasn’t, why the fuck are we here?

I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I know one thing for sure.

This is fucking bad.

Chapter twenty-one

~LIVIA~

I sit in the HR office, my hands clasped in my lap, knuckles white from how tightly I’m gripping them. My heart is hammering, and my stomach is twisting into something ugly and cold.

I don’t know why I’m here. All I know is that I don’t like it. I was already drowning under the weight of everything that happened this morning. Hearing Rowan and Ares talk about the plan that was supposed to end me, knowing that he was supposed to end me. And now I’m here. The seconds stretch. The walls feel too close.

I open my mouth to ask Christina what we’re waiting for when the door clicks open behind me. A dark, woodsy cologne drifts over to me, and I know it’s him before I even turn my head. This confirms my suspicions.

They know.

Rowan strides in, his expression tight with confusion. His gaze immediately lands on me. There’s a flicker of relief like he’s just glad to see me. But then his eyes narrow, his body going rigid as he takes in my posture.

“Sit down, Rowan,” Christina says, pointing at the chair beside mine.

Instead of sitting down, Rowan turns back to me.

“Livia,” he says lowly.

I don’t respond. I’m piecing it all together in real time before him. Has he told them? He didn’t even wait for the ghost of his touch to disappear before he screwed me over?

The chair beside me scrapes against the floor as he pulls it out. I still don’t look at him. Rowan doesn’t take well to being ignored.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” His voice is rough, laced with something dark and impatient as he looks at Christina.

“You’ll both want to pay attention.” Christina clears her throat from across the desk.

That’s when I finally meet Rowan’s gaze. And I hate that, despite everything, despite how hurt I am, I can still feel him. That suffocating intensity. That raw attraction I feel each time I look at his infuriatingly perfect face. He uses it as a weapon to get what he wants. It’s not fair, but what is nowadays? You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few hearts.

And I’m about to find out if he’s shattered my career along with it.

“You wanna cut to the goddamn chase, Christina?” Rowan grits out.

“We have footage of the two of you violating the moral clause.” Christina folds her hands neatly on the desk, her expression unreadable.

My heart stops, my nails digging into my palms as my lungs feel impossibly small. Beside me, Rowan stiffens, his entire body going stone-cold still.

“What?” His voice is low. Dangerous.

Christina doesn’t even blink. She reaches for the laptop in front of her, taps a few keys, and then turns the screen toward us.

My breath is locked in my throat, and then I see it. The video plays—it’s grainy security footage from the stretching room.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Rowan’s behind me, his massive frame pressed against my back, his hands gripping my waist, his mouth at my ear.

My eyes are glued to the screen as one short sentence keeps playing on a loop in my head.You’re done.

The footage shows Rowan turning me around. And his hand slides down my leggings.

That’s where the footage ends before it can get worse. My entire body is on fire. Not with desire. With absolute mortification.

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