Page 193 of The Rules
"Careful, Benjamin," she said, her tone deliberately light. "Almost sounded like a compliment."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Don't get used to it," he replied, but there was no edge to his words.
A pause stretched between them. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "You've never called me that before."
Katherine blinked, realizing he was right. She'd called him Ben, Mr. Sinclair, Sinclair—but never Benjamin. The full name had slipped out without thought.
"Guess I'm feeling generous tonight," she said softly,
a teasing lilt to her voice that didn't quite mask the intimacy of the moment.
Ben huffed a laugh—a small, private sound that seemed to belong only to this room, this moment, this version of them that existed nowhere else.
The silence stretched again. Longer this time. Heavier.
The kind that tasted like truth waiting to be dragged out.
Katherine watched Ben's fingers tap idly against the sheets. Not restless. Just calculating. She could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, the way he was weighing his next words. She'd come to recognize this particular quiet—the one that came before a question she wouldn't want to answer.
And then—
"That second night at Crimson Bloom..." Ben's voice was low, thoughtful. "You recognized me the second you walked in. Didn't you?"
Katherine didn't respond. Didn't move. Her body went perfectly still, as if somehow that might make the question evaporate into the darkness between them. She just stared at the ceiling, heart thudding slow and stubborn in her chest, counting the seconds of silence.
Ben shifted slightly beside her, his voice softer now—but sharper. "So why did you let it go that far? Why did you touch me? Why didn’t you keep your distance like the first time?"
Katherine stiffened. The muscles in her shoulders tightened. She'd been hoping—praying—he wouldn't ask this. Of all the questions, of all the truths he could drag into the light, this one felt the most dangerous.
Because the answer wasn't something she could justify with logic or necessity. It wasn't about Lisa or money or survival.
"I don't know," she said carefully, her voice measured and controlled. A perfect deflection.
Ben turned his head toward her. She could feel his gaze even without looking at him—steady, penetrating, seeing through thelie before it had even fully formed. There was no mercy in his tone now.
"Lying to me? Bad idea."
Katherine exhaled sharply. Not the accusation, but the truth of it stung. She always calculated everything—every decision, move, word. Except that night. When she should have run, kept her distance...she hadn't.
"I just..." Her voice was tighter now, quieter. "I wasn't thinking."
Katherine felt the weight of Ben's stare, even as she avoided meeting his eyes. He didn't accept her answer—of course he didn't. She should have known better than to try such a flimsy deflection. Ben Sinclair didn't just let things go, especially not when he sensed there was something worth pursuing.
"You always think, Katherine. So why?" His voice was soft but unyielding, the gentleness of it more dangerous than any demand could have been.
Her pulse jumped. She turned her face away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. The truth sat heavy on her tongue, bitter and impossible to swallow back down. She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to hand him this piece of herself, this admission that would give him even more power than he already had.
But he didn't back off. Not this time.
"Say it." A quiet command, not harsh but absolute.
Her fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them like they might anchor her against the pull of his will. The silence stretched—taut, electric.
And then, finally, she spoke.
"I was mad at you," she admitted, voice low, reluctant.
