Page 107 of The Rules
The words came out as a snarl, low and lethal. He'd heard her say his name too many times now—gasped in pleasure, whispered in need, moaned against his skin. The memory of it burned through him, acid in his veins.
She had no right to use that voice here. No right to look at him with those eyes—the same eyes that had watched him come undone, that had held his gaze as she took him inside her.
Not after what she'd done.
Benjamin watched her body tense, shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle. It was the same stance she took in the courtroom—chin lifted, spine straight, eyes flashing with defiance. Like armor sliding into place.
You think this is a trial, Winters? That you can argue your way out of this?
The thought cut through him, bitter and sharp. She always did this—treated everything like a case to be won, like she could simply present the right evidence and walk away unscathed.
As if there were some technicality she could exploit to make this all disappear.
His voice shifted—low and clipped, honed to a cruel edge. "How long were you planning it?" he asked, each word measured, almost surgical. "How long did you sit across from me, nodding, taking notes, arguing case law—while you were lying to my face?"
He didn’t step closer this time.
He stepped back.
A single, deliberate move. Like he needed distance. Like the sight of her turned his stomach.
Each word fell between them like a blade, precise and cutting. He didn't raise his voice. The quiet intensity of it was far more devastating than any shout could be.
He watched the impact of his question hit her, watched something flicker behind her eyes—panic, perhaps, or guilt.
It was impossible to tell which, and that only fueled his anger. Even now, she was hiding. Even now, with everything laid bare between them, she was calculating, measuring, trying to find the right angle.
Benjamin’s mouth set into a grim line as he studied her face, eyes scouring for any trace of the woman who’d been in his arms just hours ago. The one who’d gasped his name, come undone beneath him—and made him believe, even for a moment, that it meant something.
But that woman had never existed. Just a mask. A perfect performance.
And the one standing before him now? She was the one who wrote the script.
Katherine’s voice cracked, barely audible. “I never meant to hurt you.”
A bitter laugh escaped him, harsh and cutting. "You think this is about feelings? You think this is about me being hurt?"
He turned away sharply—hands fisting at his sides, energy crackling off him in waves. Then, without warning, his fist came down hard on the edge of the desk. The impact was brutal—sharp and final. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot, paper and pens jumping in place, a mug toppling over with a sharp clink. One of his knuckles reddened instantly, the skin tight and flushed where fury met bone.
"This is about betrayal," he ground out, his voice low and lethal. Each syllable a blade. He didn’t look at her—he glared through her. "You fucked me with a mask on—and then walked in here like it meant nothing. Like you didn’t cum on my cock just hours ago."
Benjamin watched her expression shift, the defiance slipping like a mask too heavy to hold. And underneath it—desperation. Her eyes darted from his, voice catching on the edge of something far too fragile.
"I did it for Lisa," she said, barely above a whisper.
“Hertuition—”
She looked lost. Not composed. Not in control. Just cornered. But he doesn't care.
He laughed.Hard.Cruel and bitter, the sound punching through the room like broken glass.
"For Lisa?" he spat. "That's your excuse?"
He stepped back, shaking his head as the fury tore through him unchecked.
"You think I'm that stupid?" His voice lifted—no longer flat and composed, but edged and rising, like pressure breaking the surface.Sharper. Louder."You think I’m going to swallow that noble bullshit like you’re some tragic fucking hero?"
"You could’ve waited tables. Poured coffee. Taken student loans or two jobs or a hundred other options." His voice cracked with disbelief. "But no—you chose stilettos and shadows and whispers in dark rooms."
