Page 178 of The Rules
Because deep down, she already knew.
This wasn’t about protection anymore.
This was war.
And standing beside him?
That was the only place left that felt like armor.
Chapter 41
Katherine
Kath woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The sheets beneath her were too smooth, the pillow too firm.
For a moment, disorientation gripped her—then reality settled back into place.
Ben's apartment. His guest room. His bed.
She inhaled deeply, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. His scent clung to everything—clean, sharp, with something dark and woodsy tucked into the sheets. Not overpowering, but undeniably present. Like he'd deliberately left his mark on every surface, every fabric, every corner.
His scent clung to her skin too. She hadn't showered last night, too exhausted from the break-in and the rush to pack essentials. Now his apartment's signature smell had transferred to her, as if claiming her as part of the space.
Kath pushed back the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool against her bare feet as she padded into the hallway, the silence enveloping her like a physical presence.
No traffic sounds penetrated the walls. No music played.
No neighbors arguing, no sirens wailing, no construction crews starting their day. Just... stillness. The kind of quiet money could buy. The kind that kept the world at bay.
She moved through the apartment cautiously, feeling like an intruder. Everything was in its place—not a book out of order on the shelves, not a single coaster slightly askew on the coffee table. The kitchen gleamed with unused perfection. The living room looked like a furniture showroom rather than a lived-in space.
It was meticulous. Controlled. Designed to keep things out.
Including her.
And yet—she couldn't help but look.
Kath drifted past the living room, fingers brushing the leather arm of the couch as she passed. The low hum of the refrigerator provided the only soundtrack to her exploration. A closed bedroom door—his—made her pause briefly before she continued on.
She hesitated at the entrance to his office, then stepped inside.
Case files were stacked with military precision on the desk. Legal journals lined the bookshelf in perfect chronological order. A framed law degree hung on the wall, the only personal touch in the entire room. All clean. Precise. Untouchable.
But underneath all the order—she was searching.
For something human. Something soft.
Somethinghim.
Behind her, a voice—low, a little rough around the edges, like it hadn’t been used yet this morning. Out of nowhere.
"Coffee?"
Kath jumped, her heart lurching into her throat. Not from fear. From being caught—like a child with her hand in the cookie jar, exploring places she shouldn't.
She turned to find Ben standing in the doorway. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
His hair was still damp from the shower, darker than usual, a few strands falling across his forehead. Less Sinclair. More... Ben.
