Page 158 of The Rules
The kind of move he’d built a career refusing to make. Until now.
Across from him, Julian let out a low exhale—part chuckle, part something else. Not mockery. Not quite sympathy. Closer to... inevitability. Like he’d always known it would come to this.
"If you say so, big brother," Julian said quietly. Almost like a prayer. Or a curse.
Ben didn’t reach for his drink. Couldn’t. The condensation bled down the glass in slow, perfect drops—sweat the room wasn’t allowed to show.
Julian’s, by contrast, was half-gone. Swirled lazily in his hand like the conversation hadn’t just changed everything.
But between them?
Something had shifted. Permanently. And the cost of this choice was already breathing down Ben’s neck.
Because this wasn’t just a line crossed.
It was a door opened.
And now, the devil was sitting inside—legs crossed, drink in hand, waiting.
Chapter 38
Katherine
A low hum of jazz drifted through the walls, smooth as aged velvet—unhurried, intimate, the kind of music that made people lean closer without realizing it. Whiskey, cognac, and brandy glowed in cut crystal glasses, rich and inviting, as if each had stories of its own. The lighting hovered between presence and absence, shadows curling into corners like secrets long past due.
Katherine entered with calculated grace, as though each step had been mapped in her mind for days.
Power draped her form like liquid armor—stilettos that could pierce intentions, features carved by ambition rather than genetics, and a dress tailored to her body with such precision it felt like a beautiful threat. She moved with unflinching confidence. At least at first.
Her gaze dissected the room with clinical detachment—until it collided with him.
Ben.
Corner booth. Back rigid, jaw set, every inch of him wound tight beneath that faultless suit. He looked like a statue sculpted from pressure—classic, broad-shouldered, the kind of presence that demanded attention without asking for it.
But he wasn’t in control.
Not tonight.
Then her gaze shifted.
And everything slowed.
Julian sat across from Ben—legs casually crossed, one arm draped over the back of the booth like he owned the whole fucking building. The resemblance was there, unmistakable. The same sculpted cheekbones, the same precision-cut jawline. Butwhile Ben burned like a furnace behind locked doors, Julian radiated cold.
Ice-blue eyes—no, not even blue. Gray, like winter mornings. Sharp. Empty.
He was slighter than Ben. Leaner. More angular. Where Ben looked like a man who'd been built to hold weight, Julian looked like he’d never touched it. There was something deliberately unfinished about him, like he’d stepped out of a dream and hadn’t decided yet if it was going to be a nightmare.
He was already watching her.
Not glancing. Not idly observing.
Watching.
Like he was reading her mind in real time, file by file.
And suddenly, she understood.
