Page 20 of The Rules
The screen's glow casts harsh shadows across his features as he unlocks it. Each tap feels deliberate, weighted—like signing a contract he knows he shouldn't.
The Crimson Bloom’s booking page flickers to life on his screen. Sleek. Discreet. A trap waiting to be sprung.
Ben scrolls past the other performers without hesitation.
He knows exactly who he’s looking for.
Blondie.
The name alone sends a surge of something sharp and unwanted through his veins. Not desire—he refuses to call it that. This is about control. About clarity. About understanding why her presence lingers in his thoughts like an unsolved case.
His thumb hovers over the booking button. The rational part of his mind—cold, disciplined, familiar—tells him to close the app. To walk away. To maintain the careful distance he’s spent years cultivating.
But he doesn’t.
The confirmation flashes across the screen: Private room. Premium rate. No questions asked.
He sets the phone down with more force than necessary, the sound too loud in the quiet office. This is purely professional curiosity, he tells himself. One session. One encounter.
Proof that there’s nothing special about her. Nothing worth pursuing.
He tells himself it’s the truth—because it’s easier than admitting otherwise.
The city sprawls beyond the office window, awash in fractured light and motion. Ben leans back in his chair, fingers laced, shoulders coiled with tension.
He should feel in control.
This should feel like any other decision—measured, calculated, inevitable.
Instead, something in him stirs, coiling low and unwelcome.
His phone buzzes once—confirmation received. Done.
He stands, adjusts the cuff of his shirt with practiced precision, and lets the silence settle around him.
One night. That’s all. Then I forget her.
Katherine
The dressing room glows with warm golden light, casting soft halos over silk and whispered secrets. The faint pulse of music seeps in from the club floor, a distant rhythm beneath the quiet hum of conversation.
Kath sweeps a deep red across her lips, blotting the color with practiced precision. The mirror doesn’t reflect her—not really.
It reflects Blondie. Unshakable. Untouchable.
Just another night. Just another client.
The door swings open with a rush of energy, breaking the stillness.
Luna's reflection meets Kath's in the mirror, her grin widening as she leans in, arms crossed. "You’ve got that client again," she announces, striding in like the words are far more important than they should be. "No bidding war this time—
he booked and paid online."
Kath keeps applying her lipstick, gaze steady. Her hand stills for half a breath. A crack in the surface—but no one sees it.
The red glides over her lips, a stark contrast to the calm she forces into her expression. Inside, her heart kicks up a notch, but she doesn't let it show.
Luna leans against the vanity, arms crossed, smirking. "Well, well. Someone made an impression."
