Page 136 of The Rules
That matters. They’ll figure it out, eventually.”
Katherine gave the smallest nod. Her shoulders stayed rigid, breath tight, like her whole body was bracing for another hit.
But Patty just smiled—brighter now, like she was trying to coax warmth back into the room.
“Oh, and… totally off the record?” she added, with that sudden pivot into office-gossip mode that felt too light for the weight of the moment. “He was a wreck while you were gone. Like, haunted-looking.”
Kath blinked. “Sinclair?”
Patty’s eyes widened, like she was letting her in on some secret. “I mean—he was still Ben, obviously. On time. Razor-sharp. Terrifying.” She rolled her eyes affectionately.
“But it was like someone unplugged his soul. Eyes all sunken. Looked like he hadn’t slept in days—maybe he hadn’t. Just caffeine and pure rage keeping him upright. Honestly? I’ve never seen him like that. It was kinda scary.”
Kath didn't move. Didn’t even breathe. Just stood there as Patty’s words burrowed deep.
“He looks better now,” Patty said, softer. “Yesterday was the first morning I saw him even react to the sunlight again.
That was when he told me you’d come back.”
Silence.
Patty didn’t press. Just gave her arm a gentle pat and stepped back.
“You’ve got more people on your side than you think, Katherine,” she said before slipping away down the corridor.
And this time, Kath didn’t feel like she was walking alone.
She approached Ben’s office, each step echoing louder than it should down the too-quiet corridor. The last time she’d crossed this threshold, she’d walked in blind—and walked out flayed. No mask. No power. Just truth and fury and the cold sting of humiliation.
Through the glass wall, he sat at his desk—impeccable, of course.
Suit flawless. Posture perfect. Fingers moving over a file that didn’t deserve the precision of his attention. A portrait of control.
Once, that control had thrilled her.
She paused at the threshold.
The air inside felt colder. Denser. As if the walls remembered the last time her voice cracked inside them.
But she wouldn’t flinch.
Not again.
She stepped inside without knocking, spine straight, chin high. Not defiant—just steady.
Ben didn’t look up.
Instead, he glanced at his watch with clinical disinterest, then reached for his phone, thumbs moving with the kind of practiced calm that always made her want to throw something.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice tight.
"Noting your rule violation," he said, tone smooth as glass. As if commenting on the weather.
Her brow snapped tight. "What?"
Still typing. Still maddeningly calm. "Late on your first day back. Normally I’d deal with that immediately..."
Then, finally—finally—he looked up. His gaze stayed cold, distant, unreadable. But something flickered underneath—subtle, fleeting. Not warmth exactly, but something sly. A quiet calculation. As if he was playing a game only he knew the rules to—and maybe enjoying it more than he should.
