Page 247 of The Rules
But underneath that controlled fury, something bruised began to ache.
She had let herself hope.
After everything—after the lies, the blood, the grief she never let reach the surface—she’d let herself believe they could win. That justice could be more than a word. That the system, broken as it was, might still respond to truth if you pushed hard enough.
And now, it was slipping through her fingers like ash.
Unless she stopped it.
Unless they pushed harder. Dug deeper. Sank lower.
Because this was their shot. Their one real chance to bring Crawford down.
And Crawford wasn’t just playing the game.
He was rewriting the rules.
She saw it in the way his shoulders stayed tight even when he tried to look casual. In the way his hands couldn't seem to stay still—fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, the seam of his coat, his watch. He wasn't here to help. He was here to run.
And Ben knew it too. His stillness became something else.Poised. Ready. Then—he leans forward. Not aggressive. Just...inevitable.
His voice was low when he spoke. Controlled. Calm in a way that was somehow more dangerous than shouting. "You think Crawford will let you stay safe forever?"
Nicholas startled, head snapping toward Ben like the words physically struck him.
He didn't respond. Ben didn't expect him to. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied Nicholas like he was some equation he'd already solved. Like he'ddone this before.
Katherine watched the exchange. The air in the room felt charged, electric with tension. She recognized the shift in Ben—this wasn't the polished lawyer from the courtroom. This was darker, something Julian had pulled to the surface.
Ben's stare pinned Nicholas in place—cold, unblinking, precise. She saw the analysis happening in real time, the silent parsing of every flinch, every tremor, every drop of fear rising to the surface.
Nicholas’s face drained of color, leaving him ashen and hollow-cheeked in the dim light. His fingers twitched against his thigh—a nervous tell she’d clocked earlier, now amplified by raw fear.
“You’re a loose end,” came the quiet verdict. Smooth. Cold. “Even if you say nothing, he’ll still find a reason to clean up the mess.”
Nicholas paled further. Another twitch. A hard swallow.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The cutting had already begun.
He was trying to breathe through the panic now, to summon some kind of defense—but it was already too late.
And then Ben spoke—low, deliberate. Dark.
“You’re not choosing safety,” he said. “You’re choosing when you die.”
Silence didn’t fall. It expanded.
Nicholas stilled—first his hands, then his breath. His features tightened, the faint twitch at the corner of his eye betraying what he couldn’t suppress.
Fear.
Real. Immediate.
And suddenly, it wasn’t Crawford he was afraid of.
It was the man sitting across from him.
Because Ben didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t flinch.
