Page 125 of The Rules
"I didn't expect to see you here again," she said, voice cool and detached, a perfect performance of indifference.
Ben tilted his head, taking a slow step forward.
The floorboards creaked beneath his Italian leather shoes. "Didn't you?"
A flicker of something flashed in her eyes. Annoyance? Hesitation? Fear? Her pupils dilated slightly, her breath catching before she controlled it.
She straightened, slipping seamlessly back into her role, the same way she'd done a hundred times before. Her shoulders rolled back, chin lifting, hips canting just enough to draw his eye. Her mask was flawless, the sequins catching light as she moved.
Except Ben already knew what was underneath it. Knew the face she wore in daylight. Knew the voice that argued case law instead of whispering promises.
He took another step closer. Close enough to catch the scent of her—expensive perfume layered over something more familiar from the office. Close enough to see the slight tremble in her hands before she hid them behind her back.
"We need to talk. About your father," he said, cutting to the point. No games. No pretense.
The smirk vanished. Her face went blank, then pale beneath the stage makeup.
Katherine didn't move. Didn't breathe. The pulse at her throat jumped, rapid and uneven. A bead of sweat traced the curve of her collarbone, disappearing beneath the sequined bodice.
But Ben could see it now—the barely concealed panic beneath her perfectly painted lips. The way her thighs pressed from the instinct to flee. The slight tremor in her jaw as she clenched her teeth.
And there it was. Not Blondie. Not the act. Just Katherine—caught mid-step, eyes wide, mask slipping. Real.
Chapter 32
Katherine
Katherine's world tilted on its axis.
Ben's words—sharp, deliberate, impossible—hung between them like a blade pressed to her throat.
"We need to talk. About your father."
She hadn’t expected him to come. Not after everything—not after what she'd done. So when he said those words, her mind blanked. Her father. From Ben’s mouth. It hit like a strike to the ribs. Her thoughts scrambled. The world blurred at the edges. She’d told herself this conversation would never happen—buried the hope deep, far beneath the pain. And yet here it was, dragging all of it back.
Ben watched her, waiting. His gaze was unreadable, but there was something in the way he stood—too rigid, too still—that made her chest tighten. The air between them crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken accusations.
She licked her lips, tasting the remnants of her lipstick, and forced a smirk. "Bit of a mood killer, don't you think?"
The words came out steadier than she felt, a practiced deflection.
Ben didn't flinch. His eyes remained fixed on hers, stripping away pretense.
"Take off the mask, Winters. We're past that."
Her stomach twisted, a cold knot of dread coiling tighter with each passing second. The laced edge of her mask pressed against her cheekbone, suddenly suffocating rather than liberating.
She should fight this. Should redirect, tease, manipulate.
But she didn't.
With slow, deliberate movements, Katherine reached up and removed the mask, letting it slip from her fingers onto the chaise beside her. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, making her feelnaked in ways that had nothing to do with the robe barely covering her body. Her walls were still up, but they were thinner now—more fragile, transparent enough that she feared he could see straight through.
Ben exhaled sharply. He dragged a hand through his hair, tension radiating from every inch of him. Then, without a word, he reached up and removed his own mask, setting it down beside hers.
His gaze traveled over her face—her real face—with an intensity that made her skin prickle. He wasn't prepared for this—for her like this: exposed, unarmored, the line between Katherine the lawyer and Blondie the dancer suddenly, dangerously blurred.
Ben didn’t sit. Didn’t soften. He just looked at her. No mask. No distance. Just the woman who’d lied to his face and still expected him to play savior.
