The Billionaire Jock's Game of Love (Taylor and Aiden) novel Chapter 131

Chapter 131

Taylor POV

Aiden didn’t fight fair. He fought to win.

In the cabin’s dim light, the man who’d held me last night vanished. In his place stood a predator. Laptops glowed as he built a war room on the rustic table. Every click of the keyboard felt like a bullet loading.

“Watch this,” he said, voice cold enough to frost glass.

First strike: internal documents. Dylan’s own team’s complaint logs–dates bleeding across the screen like fresh wounds. Bullying. Sabotage. Threats. Every ugly secret management had swept under the rug for years.

Second strike: voices from the grave. A former massage therapist, her voice shaking even now. An equipment manager who still jumped at loud noises. Their testimonies painted Dylan as the monster we knew he was–a man who broke people for sport.

Third strike: the kill shot.

Audio crackled to life. Dylan’s voice, slick as oil.

“…just say she was crazy. Obsessed. Maybe hint she asked about confidential plays… You’ll get paid. Generously.

A weak, unfamiliar voice protested: “Dylan, man, I can’t just make up—

“You can and you will. Or should I tell everyone about those ‘missing‘ team funds? The ones that magically appeared in your account?”

Silence. Then the sound of a soul selling itself: “…what do you need me to say?”

Aiden killed the audio. The silence that followed was heavier than any sound.

“He was trying to buy witnesses,” Aiden said, eyes dark as a storm. “My team intercepted three of these calls. Different former teammates, same script.” His gaze found mine. “I’ve been saving them. For this exact moment.

He unleashed hell all at once–not to gossip sites, but to every major sports network and legal outlet. Simultaneously, his lawyers sued the three biggest rumor channels. The damages? Astronomical. A message in zeroes: Fuck with us, and I’ll own your soul.

The internet exploded. Then the tide turned–fast and brutal.

My turn came at sunset.

No glam squad. No script. Just me, a camera, and all the truth I’d been choking on.

I wore my oldest sweater, hair in a messy bun. No filter. No bullshit.

When the red light blinked on, I stared straight into the lens.

“My name is Taylor. You’ve been fed lies about me. Let me tell you the truth.” My voice was calm, steady– deader than the drama they wanted. “I raised my siblings before I learned to drive. I worked jobs that broke my back so they could have shoes that fit. That’s not a secret–it’s my fucking resume.”

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