Page 134 of The Rules
"I’m not," he said, and for the first time, there was something quieter beneath the words. Not softer. Just truer. "But I’m not going to help you walk straight into a target zone dressed like bait."
Her mouth parted, but no words came. Katherine looked away—just for a second—but that was all it took. He saw it.
The shift.
She straightened, the fight draining from her in one sharp exhale. "You're right," she said—quiet, but clear. No venom. Just truth. "You're fucking right."
She stood too. Looked him in the eye. "I’ll talk to Ian."
Chapter 34
Katherine
Katherine stepped through the glass doors of Sinclair & Associates, the sharp click of her heels slicing through the hush like a metronome counting down to impact. The polished marble beneath her feet gleamed like ice, cold and unforgiving.
She’d rehearsed this moment countless times—imagined walking in, unbothered, unbroken. But the reality was heavier. Harsher.
The lobby, once a hive of motion and noise, had turned to glass. Conversations shattered mid-word. Keyboards fell silent. Even the air felt suspended, like the building itself had paused to watch her.
She didn’t flinch. Chin high, eyes forward, expression carved in marble. The leather portfolio in her hand felt heavier than it should, a weight she refused to shift. It was armor now, even if it couldn’t stop the judgment slithering through the air.
The elevator waited ahead. Thirty steps. She counted them like lifelines.
Thirty.
Twenty-nine.
Twenty-eight.
Each step echoed louder than the last, ricocheting off the walls and into the tense silence that followed her like a shadow.
Then it began—soft at first. A whisper from her left, too hushed to catch, but unmistakably about her. Then a cough to her right, the kind people used to smother a laugh but failed miserably. Papers rustled. A chair creaked as someone leaned toward a colleague, voice pitched just low enough to feign subtlety.
Still, she didn’t break stride.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-six.
"Isn't that—"
"I thought she was fired."
"Must be good on her knees."
The words sliced through the air, meant for her to hear.
She didn't break stride. Didn't allow her expression to crack.
The mask she'd perfected at the Crimson Bloom served her well now—smile pleasant, eyes forward, body language screaming confidence she didn't feel.
A young paralegal nearly dropped her coffee when their eyes met, quickly averting her gaze as if she were contagious.
Two associates by the reception desk didn't bother hiding their stares, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
Someone's phone camera flashed. Evidence. Proof. Tomorrow's gossip.
Katherine's stomach twisted, but her heels never faltered. Each step was deliberate, her posture immaculate despite the invisible weight pressing down on her shoulders. She could feel judgment crawling across her skin like insects, burrowing beneath her carefully applied makeup and suit.
