Page 108 of The Rules
Then he looked at her—really looked at her. Like he didn’t recognize the person in front of him anymore.
"And what pisses me off the most?" His voice sharpened, cold and brutal. "You thought I’d buy that it was never a choice. That you were just a girl trying to survive?" He took a step closer, fury coiling just beneath the surface. "Don’t insult me."
He closed the distance again, slower this time, deliberate.
"Lisa didn’t make you beg for my fingers. Lisa didn’t make you ride me like you couldn’t breathe without it. That wasn’t for her tuition." His lip curled. "That was for you."
Benjamin watched her—reallywatched her. Every flicker behind her eyes, every stutter in her breath, every minute twitch in her fingers like she was resisting the urge to run.
But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because she knew—this wasn’t a conversation. It was an autopsy. And he was about to dissect every lie she’d ever told.
The silence between them wasn’t peace. It was judgment. The kind that came with no jury. No appeal.
He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, the rhythm of a man who didn’t need to shout to dominate a room. He braced onehand on the desk—right beside her. Not touching. But close enough to steal her air.
She flinched—just the tiniest shift—but he saw it. And he savored it.
The desk between them was no longer furniture. It was a weapon. His body radiated control, precision,cruel intent.
He wanted her to feel how utterly cornered she was.
"Tell me something, Winters," he said, his voice low—pure venom. "Do you even know what it means?"
Her brow furrowed, lips parting like she might askwhat. Like she might plead. Like redemption was still something she could buy if she just found the right words.
Good.
Let her think she had a chance.
Benjamin leaned in. Slow. Measured. Devastating.
His presence alone coiled around her like a snare, and he felt her tension spike, saw the pulse in her throat flutter like something hunted.
He brought his mouth close to her ear. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, but far enough that no part of him touched her.
"What it means when a man takes a woman raw?" he asked, quiet and sharp as a knife unsheathed in the dark.
Then—nothing.
He let the question hang.
No explanation. No follow-up. Just silence.
Deliberate. Cruel.
And effective.
Because that’s when it happened.
Kath's expression shattered.
Not dramatically—not like in the movies. It was worse. Slower. Her features buckled under the weight of understanding, the realization clawing its way across her face as if it physically hurt. Because it did.
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes searched his—desperately, like she needed him toundowhat he'd just said, or worse, confirm it.
Tears welled up, uninvited and vicious, slipping free despite her trying to hold them in. One blink. Then another. And she broke—right in front of him. No scream. No gasp. Just silent, awful unraveling.
And Ben?
