Page 71 of The Rules
And maybe he could've handled that—if she hadn’t said his name the way she did. If she hadn’t made him believe, for one fucking second, that he was the one she wanted.
The cab slowed outside his building. He tossed cash at the driver without looking, chin locked, body coiled too tight to sit still a second longer.
The elevator ride was silent, his reflection staring back at him in the chrome wall—disheveled, bruised-knuckled, eyes too dark. He looked like a man who’d lost a fight he never intended to enter.
In the penthouse, he didn’t even bother with the lights. Just grabbed the bottle, not a glass, and took a burning mouthful straight from the source.
The city stretched beyond the windows, glittering like a thousand lies.
She let someone else stay.
And here he was—alone, again, still trying to convince himself it didn’t mean a fucking thing.
He hurled the glass before the thought could finish forming. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack, amber spilling down white plaster like blood from a split lip.
Ben stood there, chest heaving, the room silent except for the slow drip of whiskey down the wall.
And still—he couldn’t stop seeing her. Hearing her.
“Ben… I need you.”Liar.
Or maybe he was just the idiot who wanted to believe it.
???
Ben sat at his desk, shoulders tense, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished wood. He had arrived early, far earlier than necessary, his mind too wired to linger at home any longer. Sleep had evaded him, the memories of the previous night taunting him relentlessly.
His gaze flicked toward the door, tension locking his face as he waited for her arrival. He needed to see her face, to know if the vulnerability she had shown him meant anything at all.
Or if it had been a fleeting moment, easily forgotten in the comfort of another's arms.
The sound of her laugh, light and unbothered, drifted through the office, and Ben's grip tightened on the pen he held.
Worse still, Joshua's voice accompanied hers, the two of them bantering with an ease that grated on Ben's already frayed nerves.
He remained perfectly still, a statue carved from cold fury, gaze fixed on nothing as their voices pierced through him.
Each muscle locked and tightened beneath his skin when Joshua's suggestive comment about her sleepless night sliced through the air. Kath's dismissive laughter followed—light, untroubled—the sound of it twisting like a blade between his ribs. The unspoken truth hung in the space between them, raw and unmistakable, confirming every suspicion that had tormented him since dawn. Ben's knuckles turned white, the pen in his hand threatening to snap under the pressure.
When she finally entered his office, Ben braced himself, but she didn't so much as spare him a glance. Pristine and composed, she carried herself as if nothing had happened, as if hehadn't been the one she had clung to with a trembling voice mere hours before.
It was her indifference that cut deepest, and Ben found himself speaking first, his voice smooth as ice.
"Sleep well, Winters?"
Kath barely reacted, her response dry and dismissive. "Eventually."
The word hung in the air, a sharp reminder that he had been an afterthought, a temporary solution until someone better came along. She didn't even look at him, simply taking her seat and starting her work as if he were just another Monday morning inconvenience.
It shouldn't have gotten to him, not like this. But it did. Because for a fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to believe that her desperate plea for help had meant something more. That her whispered "I need you" had carried weight beyond a simple cry for assistance.
But now, faced with her indifference, Ben realized how foolish he had been.
Leaned back in his chair, allowing the sharp edge of her indifference to sink in. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t accuse. Didn’t lash out.
He just sat back in his chair, eyes cool and steady on her face.
"You should be more careful with the things you say when you're scared."
