Page 122 of The Rules
But there was something else in Luna’s eyes. Something sadder. Something quieter. When she glanced toward the hallway—just for a moment—Katherine followed her gaze.
Ian.
It was subtle. A flicker of something unsaid. But it clicked.
Katherine tilted her head, curiosity flickering through the heaviness. "Wait... you and Ian?"
Luna blinked. Too fast.
"No," she said quickly, too quickly. "It's not a thing.
Not really. Just... in my head, maybe." She brushed the air with her hand like she could wave the truth away. "And it's also a secret. So—shut up."
Katherine held her hands up in mock surrender, but her expression softened. "Didn’t see that coming."
Luna's lips curved into a smile, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Ahhh. So that's what's going on with you," Luna said with a crooked smile, the tease in her voice softening into something almost gentle. Her gaze lingered on Katherine, eyes sharp but warm, like someone who knew the shape of a broken heart a little too well.
Kath groaned, pushing them away half-heartedly. "You two are insufferable."
Rea laughed—sharp and sweet, the sound cutting through the heaviness that had settled over them.
"And you, my dear," Rea said, still watching her closely,
"arewhipped."
She rolled her eyes, but the gesture couldn't mask the ache in her chest. Because maybe they were right. And maybe being whipped wouldn't hurt so much if she didn't feel like she'd lost someone she never really had to begin with.
When the laughter faded and the room emptied, she was alone again. As always.
Kath stood alone in front of the dressing room mirror, the familiar ritual suddenly hollow. She adjusted her mask with slow, mechanical fingers, the gold filigree catching the light like it always did. She’d done this hundreds of times before—become Blondie. The fantasy. The mask. The girl the audience waited for.
Tonight, it felt like theater. Like betrayal.
Her painted smile formed automatically, the curve as perfect as ever. Her costume hugged her body like a second skin.
But it was all noise. Muscle memory and nothing more.
The reflection looked right—but it didn’tfeelright.
Behind the mask, the eyes were empty. Not Katherine.
Not Blondie. Just someone suspended in the in-between.
She blinked. Adjusted her posture. Tilted her head. Watched the stranger in the mirror copy it all back. She used to own that reflection—radiate control, tease with power. Now?
The defiance was gone. So was the illusion of freedom.
But it wasn’t an escape anymore. Not when Ben’s presence clung to every shadow. His voice. His hands. His judgment.
His absence.
She couldn’t unsee the way he’d looked at her. Like he finally knew. Like it broke something.
Everywhere she looked, she found him. In cologne that wasn’t his but made her ache anyway. In glances that reminded her of how he watched her. In songs pulsing through the floor—songs she’d once danced to without thinking. Now they just echoed private moments she couldn’t escape. Every lyricscraped against old wounds, every bassline a heartbeat she couldn’t forget.
She kept trying to become Blondie again. To find that mask and wear it well. But no amount of red lips and glittered lashes could hide the ruin beneath.
