Page 105 of The Rules
This moment was a rupture. A scream without sound.
The catastrophic shattering of everything she'd kept separate—safe.
It wasn’t just a mask slipping.
It was both of her selves, slammed into one breathless truth.
This moment should never have existed.
Not in this lifetime.
Not in any.
Her eyes snapped to his, searching desperately for uncertainty, for a hint that this was some cruel coincidence.
But his face was unreadable. Cold. Professional. Controlled.Deadly.The perfect mask of a man who had already collected all the evidence, built his case, and was now simply waiting for her to incriminate herself further.
No. No, this isn't—he can't—God, he can’t know. He doesn’t. He… no. Keep your face still. Don’t blink. Don’t run.
But he knew.
She saw it in the glacial stillness of his eyes, in the precise way he held himself—like a predator who no longer needed to chase because his prey was already cornered.
The game was over. And in the silence that followed, Benjamin Sinclair stood unshaken—his gaze razor-sharp, his mind already miles ahead. The pieces had clicked into place.
All of them. And now, he was just waiting to strike.
Chapter 27
Benjamin
Benjamin hadn't slept. Not a single hour. Every time his eyes closed, he saw her—writhing beneath him, gasping his name, her mask slipping in more ways than one. The memory of her body arching against his burned into his retinas, the phantom sensation of her skin still hot beneath his fingertips. Every time silence settled around him, he heard her voice—that breathy whisper, that satisfied sigh, that damning phrase.
Sinfully good.
The words had burrowed into his brain like a parasite, feeding on his rage. They echoed in his skull, a constant reminder of his lapse in judgment, his failure of control.
He'd spent the night pacing, drinking, replaying every interaction they'd ever had through this new, horrifying lens. The amber liquid in his glass did nothing to dull the edge of his thoughts—only made them sharper, more cutting.
Katherine Winters. Blondie. One and the same.
The realization sat like ice in his stomach, cold and immovable. The junior associate who challenged him in the boardroom was the same woman who'd unraveled him with her touch, who'd made him forget himself in ways no one had before.
He watched her now, standing before his desk, her expression shifting from confusion to shock to something else entirely. Something raw and primal. Fear.
Good. She should be afraid.
Her face had drained of color at the sound of that name on his lips.Blondie. The careful mask she'd constructed was cracking, hairline fractures spreading across her perfect composure.
"I don't—" she began, but he cut her off with a laugh.
Not amused. Not even close.
It was sharp. Cruel. A blade honed on betrayal.
"Don't."
The wordlanded like a slap. His voice was controlled, precise—but under it, the rage simmered, barely leashed.
