Page 123 of The Rules
And maybe that was the truth.
Maybe Katherine—the daughter, the lawyer, the fighter—was already gone.
Not because someone took her.
Becauseshehanded herself away. Piece by piece. Smile by smile.
And now she didn’t know who she was performing for anymore.
Chapter 31
Benjamin
The office was still, soaked in late-night silence and the cold gleam of fluorescent fatigue. The world outside had gone quiet, but inside Ben Sinclair's head? It was a battlefield.
The only light came from the desk lamp, casting harsh lines across the papers like a spotlight on guilt.
He stared at the file—herfile—spread open before him.
Niel Winters. Embezzlement. A case he'd buried in his memory years ago, filed away with all the other disappointments from his early career. A case he'd witnessed firsthand, watched as evidence disappeared, as justice bent to power's will.
Fingers traced the edge of the document, feeling the weight of what this meant.
Ben exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Kath Winters had played him. Oh, she'd played him hard. Twisted him in knots, pushed his buttons, got under his skin like no one ever had. But this?
This wasn't manipulation. This wasn't part of the act.
This wasreal.
His fingers started to drum against the desk. Not with boredom, but with barely-contained pressure. The kind that builds behind your ribs when you know you fucked up years ago.
Ben's teeth clenched as memories crashed over him.
The courtroom. The evidence that didn't add up. The way Crawford had looked at him—that smirk of absolute certainty that nothing would touch him. Not the law. Not the truth. Nothing.
He saw Crawford's face again. Heard the gavel. Smelled the courtroom—sterile, suffocating. And remembered exactlywhen he learned that justice doesn't always win.
It rarely wins.
He rubbed his temples, his whole face drawn tight, every muscle tensed with the decision that was already forming.
The right choice was clear, but that didn't make it easy.
That didn't make it clean.
He didn't want to do this. He hated what it meant. But there was no escaping it now.
He shoved the chair back, grabbed his jacket without hesitation.
There was a meeting waiting.
???
The moment he stepped into the club felt it—the shift, the weight, the suffocating air of a place that used to be an escape and now felt like a battlefield.
Everything looked the same. The air was thick with expensive perfume and cigar smoke. The music hummed low, sensual, calculated.
