Page 133 of The Rules
He paused, letting the silence sharpen between them. "Tell me, Winters, what exactly do you think you're in a position to demand?"
Kath lifted her chin—a defiance built on sand. Ben recognized the gesture for what it was: a desperate attempt to summon power, to remind him she wasn't just a pawn in his game. But her voice betrayed her—tight with fear she wouldn't admit.
"How do I know you won't abuse this? That you won't twist your rules just to punish me?"
And oh—he loved that she asked. The question revealed everything: her fear, her understanding of the position she'd put herself in, her recognition of the power he now held. She should be afraid. She was right to question him. But that wouldn't save her.
"You don't," he said, voice low and blunt. He let the words hang between them for a beat. "There are no guarantees.
You either trust me, or you don't."
Her breath hitched—like his words had struck something vital. Ben watched the impact ripple across her face, her composure fracturing for just a heartbeat. He hadn't softened the blow. Hadn’t offered comfort, or shelter, or any of the mercy she might’ve been bracing for. Just raw, unvarnished truth—brutal and inescapable. And now she was left to drown in it.
"That's not good enough," she said finally, voice thin with strain despite her attempt to keep it steady.
Ben lifted a brow, gaze glinting with something unreadable. No fury. No satisfaction. Just cool calculation—the kind of patience that doesn’t bend, only waits to be proven right.
"Then walk," he said, flat as slate. As if it made no difference either way.
The silence that followed pulsed like a bruise. Heavy. Colorless.
He didn't flinch. Didn't lean forward. Just watched her—watched the standoff collapse behind her eyes. He saw it in the subtle tremor of her hands. The shallow swell of her breath.
The realization sinking in, slow and suffocating: this wasn’t powerlessness. It was choice.
She could leave.
She wouldn’t.
And they both knew it.
Her arms slowly unfolded from her chest, her shoulders sagging—not in defeat, but in grim acceptance.
"Okay," she murmured, each syllable scraped raw. "I'll trust you. For now."
Ben didn’t smile. Not fully. But something in his eyes shifted—like a lock turning in the right direction.
He nodded once, slow and deliberate.
Then he leaned back, reclaiming the space like it was already his. Because it was.
Ben watched as Kath's surrender settled between them, her words reluctant but final. He didn’t gloat. Just let the silence linger—a thin, tense wire stretched between them.
"Then we’re done negotiating," he said quietly.
"Terms accepted."
A beat.
"And onemore thing—since we're officially under contract..." His tone dipped—cooler now, almost calm. "You’re done with Crimson Bloom."
Kath’s head snapped up. Her spine straightened, eyes narrowing like twin blades.
"Excuse me?"
Ben stood slowly, his gaze cutting through her. "You want to go after Crawford? Walk straight into his world?" He took a step forward, voice low but razor-sharp. "Then maybe stop stripping for strangers in some backroom club like it’s not going to blow back on you."
"You don’t get to make that decision for me," she shot back, her voice low and lethal.
