Page 159 of The Rules
Why Ben had been so tense. So rigid. Why his control had frayed at the edges the moment this meeting came up.
Because Julian wasn’t just dangerous.
He was the kind of man who never had to raise his voice to break someone in two.
Ben gestured her over—short, sharp, a signal.
Kath feels her pulse quicken, but her face betrays nothing. This is what she wanted—what they needed. Another angle. Another weapon. But now that she's here, something cold settles in her stomach.
She moves, slides into the booth. Not too fast. Not too casual. Controlled. Calculated.
The second she sits—Julian turns.
His eyes flick over her like a scanner.
"So..." Julian leaned forward, voice smooth with a glint of teeth, "you're the reason Ben hasn’t been sleeping."
Katherine didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. She met his gaze head-on, cool and unbothered. This was a game—and she knew the rules.
She leaned forward just slightly, mirroring him—not submissive, not defensive. Just... equal. Calculated.
"I thought he didn’t have weaknesses," she said dryly, a hint of amusement tugging at her mouth.
From her side, Ben shifted—not dramatically, but enough.
A slow inhale that never quite made it to his lungs. His eyes locked on the glass in front of him, but his attention was fixed elsewhere.
Julian clocked it. His eyes flicked to his brother, and for a split second, his grin sharpened. Not joy—something more twisted. Like watching a crack form in polished marble.
"Oh, he does," he said, turning back to her, voice dipping just enough to make it dangerous. "He just likes to pretend he doesn’t."
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was loaded. Julian’s gaze roamed, slow and intentional, as if he were mapping her edges, looking for fault lines.
"But you already knew that... didn’t you?"
The way he said it was deliberate. Not loud. Not crude.
Just enough weight behind it to make the implication hit.
Katherine felt the tension beside her, radiating off Ben.
He didn’t move, but she could feel the shift in his posture.
She noted it—catalogued it—but didn’t rise to it.
She crossed her legs, laced her fingers on the table, and gave Julian a slow, razor-edged smile—like she was settling in.
Like she’d brought sharper teeth to the table.
Julian reclined with the kind of practiced elegance that came from never having to apologize for anything. The smirk.
The voice. That lazy amusement curling at the corner of his mouth, like he was already five moves ahead.
"Blondie, huh?" he said, swirling the ice in his glass. "Didn’t see that one coming."
The name hit like a slap wrapped in velvet. Her fingers tightened around her glass. She didn’t flinch, blinked slowly. Once.
"Excuse me?" Her tone was clipped, precise—a scalpel, not a question.
