Page 21 of The Rules
From across the room, Rea adjusts her mask in the mirror, catching Kath’s gaze through the reflection. A slow smirk curves her lips.
“Men with that kind of money don’t come back for nothing."
Kath exhales, slow and measured, setting the lipstick down with a quiet click.
“They want a show, they get a show,” she says, voice flat as glass.
Luna tilts her head, sing-song sweet. “Orrr… maybe this one is in love with you."
Kath doesn’t let the words land. She won’t.
Instead, she stands, smoothing out her dress, spine straight, sliding effortlessly into character.
It’s just another night. Just another paycheck. Nothing more. Nothing that touches her.
And that has to be enough.
Chapter 7
Katherine
The dressing room's warmth wrapped around Kath like a second skin as she slipped out of her costume. Her fingers worked methodically at each clasp, each button, trading sequins and stage lights for something softer, thiner. The black silk dress whispered against her skin—a piece reserved for private dances, intimate moments.
Her heart still raced, but her mind drifted beyond the pulsing music, past the scattered applause. Her gaze kept finding its way to the curtained entrance, searching through gaps in the fabric for a familiar silhouette.
She had rules. Boundaries. Steel-locked lines she never crossed.
That was the first rule of survival here—keep it professional, keep it distant.
But tonight was different. Tonight, she found herself looking for Mr. S.
The memory of his presence lingered like smoke—the way he'd watched her, completely still, completely focused.
No desperate grabbing, no drunken promises. Just that steady, penetrating gaze that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed walls.
Other men came to escape, to pretend, to lose themselves in fantasy. But he—he had been fully present, sharp as a blade, taking in every movement with an intensity that made her skin prickle even now.
A shiver traced down her spine as she remembered the weight of his attention. It wasn't just flattery, wasn't just another ego boost from another wealthy client. This felt different.
Darker. Deeper.
Her insides coiled like a serpent preparing to strike.
Deep meant dark waters, meant drowning, meant giving up the iron control she'd perfected. Katherine Winters hadn't survived this long by leaving herself exposed. Vulnerability was a luxury reserved for women who didn't have secrets worth killing for.
The private lounge wrapped around her, warm and suffocating. The silk of her dress whispered against her thighs, her muscles remembering their practiced rhythm. This was familiar territory—the gentle sway of her hips, the tilt of her chin, the way her fingers traced the doorframe as she entered.
Then her gaze landed on him, and everything stopped.
Her blood turned to ice in her veins. The world tilted sharply, reality fracturing around the edges as she stared at Benjamin Sinclair—her boss, her mentor, her daily tormentor—sitting there in the private room of the Crimson Bloom.
The same man who'd torn apart her legal arguments, now reclined on the velvet couch, his tie loosened just slightly, his sharp green eyes fixed on her with that familiarintensity.
But this time, he didn't see Katherine Winters, the determined lawyer fighting for his approval. He saw Blondie, the dancer he'd paid to watch.
The air crystallized in her chest, each breath a jagged shard. Her heart thundered so violently she feared her ribcage would splinter beneath its savage assault. Every nerve ending blazed to life, her body coiling tight.
One pulse of blood through her veins. One shallow gasp past her lips. One crystalline instant where panic threatened to swallow her whole.
