Page 132 of The Rules
And if she wanted his help?
She’d do it on his terms. Or not at all.
Silence stretched between them, suffocating and thick.
Ben watched her, unblinking, savoring the visible struggle playing across her features. Kath didn't speak, but she was far from still. Her eyes flicked from his face to the door, calculating distance, weighing options. Tension bunched in her throat, a muscle twitching beneath smooth skin. Her fingers flexed over her arm, gripping then releasing, as if physically holding herself together.
He could practically hear the mental war raging behind those dark eyes: Fight. Submit. Run. Or burn.
Ben kept his expression impassive, but satisfaction curled in his chest. Let her struggle. Let her feel the walls closing in.
This was exactly what he wanted—her cornered, desperate, with no good options left.
Then she lifted her chin. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. Steady. But something sharp edged beneath it.
"And what if I have terms of my own?"
Ben laughed—a short, disbelieving burst, like someone who’d just heard the punchline to a cosmic joke with no setup. No humor. Just the kind of cold, stunned amusement that came from sheer absurdity. She still thought this was a negotiation. Still thought she got towantthings.
"You gave up the right to demand shit the moment you climbed into my lap in a fucking mask and used me like I was just a cock to ride," he said, voice cutting and merciless, every word meant to bruise.
Kath flinched. Not a full-body recoil—just the flick of her throat when she swallowed. He saw it. Felt it.Lovedit.
It was just enough pain to remind her: She did this. And he hadn't forgiven her.
Ben watched her face harden at his words. The defiance in her eyes—that familiar, infuriating spark—both irritated andfascinated him. She thought she still had cards to play.
She thought she could negotiate her way out of this corner.
"Some of these are irrational," she said, her voice quiet and level, though he caught the slight strain beneath it. She was fighting to keep herself together, to not show how much his rules had gotten under her skin.
Ben leaned forward—slow, deliberate, dangerous. He rested his elbows on his knees, bringing himself close enough that she couldn't escape his gaze. Close enough to touch her if he wanted. Close enough that he could see the flicker of her pulse at the base of her throat, betraying the calm she tried to project.
"Then you shouldn't have lied to me," he said, each word cold and final, dropping between them like stones into still water.
Silence again—longer this time. Thicker. A breathless pause before the fall. Ben watched her teeter on the edge of decision. He saw the struggle playing across her features, pride wrestling with necessity. He knew exactly what she was thinking—weighing her options, searching for an escape route that didn't exist.
And finally—finally—it tipped.
She exhaled. Measured. Heavy. Resigned.
"Fine," she said, the single word carrying the weight of her surrender.
Ben didn't gloat. Didn't smirk. He just nodded once. Slow. Final. Like a king accepting an offering. The satisfaction that coursed through him was private, contained—a quiet victory he wouldn't cheapen with display.
"Good choice," he said, his voice revealing nothing of the triumph he felt inside.
Ben watched the shift in her posture. Not resistance—acceptance. But it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t whole. Of course it wasn’t.
Because Katherine Winters never gave anything without conditions.
And sure enough, after a beat of silence, her voice came—low, tight, calculated.
"I need guarantees, Ben."
His name on her tongue—intimate, dangerous, a slip she should've never made. He noticed immediately, the familiar sound of it sending a jolt of something unwelcome through his chest. He let it slide. This time. A mental note filed away for later use.
"Guarantees?" he asked, voice silky with amusement.
