Page 231 of The Rules
Kath stared ahead, but the office blurred around her—warped by the ringing in her ears, the pressure building behind her eyes. The light seemed too bright. The floor too far away. Her skin itched like it didn’t belong to her. Every breath felt like dragging air through wet cement.
She couldn't find her voice.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t feel anything but the pounding of her own heartbeat, everywhere—her throat, her skull, the tips of her fingers. Her body vibrated with it, sick with it.
Ben’s voice cut through again, low and deadly calm.
“You stay inside. Don’t open the door for anyone but the man I send. If anything feels off—even a little—you call me. Immediately. Understood?”
But Katherine was somewhere else entirely.
Her hands twitched. Her mouth opened—no sound. Her chest heaved like her lungs were folding in on themselves. A gasp caught in her throat and stayed there, frozen. Her fingers dug into the chair so tightly her knuckles whitened. She couldn’t blink. Couldn’t think.
She was cold. Burning. Drenched in sweat.
Then—another hand.
Not warm.
Not steady.
Cold. Precise. Calculated.
Fingers curled under her chin and tilted her face up with slow, deliberate pressure.
Julian.
He sat across from her, perfectly at ease, like they were discussing lunch plans. Like she wasn’t mid-panic, barely holding herself together. The distance between their chairs should've offered safety, but it didn't. Not when his presence filled the entire room.
"You're panicking, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low, coaxing. "That’s not like you."
His tone was silk stretched over razors. Intimate. Dangerous.
Katherine's hands gripped the arms of the chair like lifelines. Her chest heaved, every breath a battle. But her eyes refused to drop. She couldn’t. Not with those pale grey eyes pinning her in place, steady and unblinking. It felt like being trapped behind glass—like if she looked away, she might shatter.
Julian's gaze swept over her face, calm and methodical.
No cruelty. Just assessment—a surgeon studying exposed nerves.
She flinched when his thumb brushed her chin.
Hetilted his head.
"You don't have to hide it from me."
The words slid into her like smoke.
She wanted to recoil, but her body wouldn't move. Muscles locked. Skin prickling. She felt trapped inside herself, frozen.
Julian leaned in, closing the space between them with measured grace. His thumb still rested against her jaw—then, slow and deliberate, his fingers slid along the line of her throat. Not rough. Not overtly threatening. But firm. Possessive.
A silent demonstration of control.
His hand stayed there, cradling the column of her neck with a gentleness that only made the dominance more unsettling.
Then—just for a second—his eyes flicked to the far end of the room, to where Ben stood with his back turned, phone pressed to his ear.
