“Stop,” Rowan says.
One word.
The journalist’s mouth actually shuts.
Theo watches Rowan like he’s enjoying the show.
Rowan’s gaze stays on the journalist. “Who gave you that?”
She lifts her chin. “A source.”
Rowan’s mouth curves. Not a smile. A warning. “Your source is sloppy.”
Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
Rowan finally looks at the draft properly, scanning the header. The wrong code. The slightly–off formatting.
“This isn’t even our template,” he says, bored. “Whoever gave you this couldn’t even steal correctly.”
Theo lets out a delighted sound. “Oh my God.”
The journalist flushes. “It contains real internal information.”
Rowan’s gaze snaps back to the margin note.
“Only one line,” he says softly. “And you’re waving it around like it’s a confession.”
“It is,” she insists.
“It’s bait,” Rowan corrects. “And you took it.”
The journalist’s confidence wavers. She tries to recover fast. “So you’re denying allegations of illegal lobbying and
financial laundering?”
“I’m denying you oxygen,” Rowan says. “Leave.”
She opens her mouth again, but Rowan doesn’t let her breathe.
“Security,” he says, not raising his voice.
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Two guards appear like they were waiting for the cue.
The journalist’s hand tightens around her phone. “You can’t silence me.‘
“Watch me.” Theo murmurs.
One of the guards steps forward. “Ma’am. You need to exit the premises.”
“This is harassment,” she snaps.
The guard’s expression doesn’t change. “This is policy.”
She looks to Rowan, desperate to regain the upper hand. “I’m recording.”
Rowan’s gaze slides to her phone.
Then up to the cameras.
Then back down.
“Good,” he says.
She blinks.
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He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough that I can tell he wants it to sting.
“You’re on private property,” Rowan says. “And those cameras you keep looking at?” He gestures lightly overhead. “They’re recording too. With posted consent. With security signage. With legal coverage.”
Her face pales.
The journalist’s eyes dart around, realizing–too late–that she’s not the predator here.
She’s the one who walked into a cage.
Legal arrives then–two attorneys in matching suits, already tired, already done with this kind of day.
One of them, a woman with sharp cheekbones and a smile like a scalpel, looks directly at the journalist.
“You’ve been recording,” the lawyer says.
“That’s legal,” the journalist snaps.
“Not here,” the lawyer replies. “And not without consent.”
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Theo leans in, stage–whispering to Camille, “We should start charging admission to the lobby. It’s like a zoo.”
Camille hisses, “Theo.”
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“What?” he whispers back. “I’m coping.”
The journalist looks between them, furious. “You can’t make this go away.”
The lawyer’s smile doesn’t change. “We don’t have to. We only have to make you careful.”
The journalist tries one last shot, eyes snapping to me.
“You,” she says, voice sharpening. “You wrote that note. You know what’s going on. Are you really going to protect them?”
Protect them.
Like I’m not one of the people standing here with my own spine, my own choices, my own survival.
Rowan cuts in, voice flat. “She’s done.”
The guards step in again.
The journalist’s mask cracks. “This isn’t over,” she snaps.
I meet her eyes. “It rarely is.”
The guards escort her toward the doors.
She twists her head back as she’s walking, voice raised so the lobby hears it.
“Somebody’s going to talk,” she calls. “Somebody always does.”
Rowan doesn’t react.
Theo flips her a lazy wave. “Try Yelp next!”
Camille makes a strangled sound, half laugh, half horror.
The doors shut behind the journalist.
The lobby exhales like a single organism.
For a moment, nobody moves.
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Rowan turns his head slightly toward legal. “I want to know where that line came from.”
The lawyer nods once. “We’ll handle it.”
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Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.

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