Page 208 of The Rules
And that? That's what claws at his insides.
Because her concern feels like acid on his conscience.
He doesn't want it. Doesn't deserve the gentle probe of her worry. Not after he stood there in shadows, listening to secrets never meant for him, and chose to remain—his feet rooted to the floor when any decent man would have walked away.
Ben feels her eyes on him, feels her studying the rigid line of his shoulders, the tension in his neck. He keeps his gaze fixed on the city below, on the cold glass beneath his fingertips—anywhere but her face.
"You don't seem fine," she says quietly, testing.
He doesn’t look at her. Just keeps his gaze on the window like the city might offer him something solid to grip onto.
A reflection of the man he thought he was. Something steady. Unmoved.
But it’s not there.
He says nothing at first. The silence stretches, taut as wire.
A breath. A shift.
“Don’t.”
Not harsh. Not cruel. Just low. Tired. Like he’s trying to hold too many things together at once, and that single word was the only one he could spare.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t push. But she doesn’t leave either.
Her presence lingers behind him like gravity—undeniable, even if he refuses to reach for it.
And the worst part?
He wants to. Just for a moment. Just long enough to catch his breath.
But he can’t. Not yet. Not when the image he’s built of himself is still wobbling.
The weight of last night claws at his chest. The handshake. The nod from Julian—that smug, inevitable look. Like he’d known this would happen. Like Ben had just stepped into the version of himself everyone else already saw.
"You don’t have to do this alone," Kath says after a long beat, voice quiet but sure.
The words hit harder than they should.
He exhales through his nose, slow and thin. Just one second too long.
Then he turns. Finally meets her gaze.
“I know. But I think I need to.”
Some time later, she was seated across the table, posture relaxed—but he saw the way her fingers tightened around the pen. Like she was waiting for the moment he shattered.
Like she was preparing for it.
He kept his eyes on the file in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the weight of her stare. But the silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
Then it came.
"Tell me I'm wrong," Kath said, her voice low and careful. "Tell me you're not turning into him."
Ben stilled. Just slightly.
The words hit with clinical exactness, finding the exact nerve she'd intended. Julian. She was comparing him to Julian.
