Page 41 of The Rules
His smile is a loaded gun—calm, steady, waiting to fire.
"Oh, I'm sure you do." He tilts his head, studying her with the same intensity he uses to dissect witnesses. "But let's be honest, sweetheart—"
His voice drops lower, and she feels each word like a blade against her skin.
"That was bullshit."
A shiver licks down her spine, involuntary, but Katherine holds herself with practiced nonchalance.
"Is this an interrogation, Mr. S?" She lets Blondie's voice flow smooth and unconcerned, even as her breath shudders, betraying her.
Sinclair’s smile sharpens—slow, deliberate, the kind he wears before gutting an argument in cold blood.
"I don't need to interrogate you." His voice drops lower, each word precise and measured. "You're about to tell me everything I want to know."
Kath feels her pulse spike, but she keeps her face neutral, channeling every ounce of control she's learned both in and outof the courtroom. She shifts her weight, letting out a slow breath through her nose, refusing to let him see how his words affect her.
He leans back, his fingers tapping against his knee with deliberate patience. "You don't do repeats." His tone remains smooth, relentless. "You turned me down. Ian confirmed it."
The pause stretches between them, his gaze never wavering from her face.
"And then you came back."
The ache in her gut coils tighter with every second, a silent warning. Her body thrums with the primal urge to flee, to throw up the practiced walls and clever deflections that have served her so well. But she holds her ground, spine rigid, drawing on the steel-spined discipline that's made her reputation in front of judges and juries. Like prey caught in a predator's gaze, she knows that one wrong move now could shatter the fragile veneer of control she desperately clutches.
She shrugs, keeping her movements deliberately casual even as her pulse races. "Maybe I changed my mind."
The way his lips curve makes her skin prickle. It's not a smile. Cold. Calculated. Certain.
"Maybe." His voice stays low, wrapping around her like silk. "But not because of money."
Her chin tensed before she can stop it. She sees the satisfaction flicker in his eyes at catching her tell, and hatred burns in her chest—not for him, but for how easily he's pulling her apart.
His tone turns almost lazy, but she recognizes the cruel edge beneath it. "So what was it?"
She forces Blondie's smirk onto her face, though it takes more effort than it should. "Maybe I just missed your generosity."
The quiet laugh he lets out holds no warmth. His next words fall flat, unimpressed. "Try again."
Kath rolls her eyes, the picture of indifference. Her voice stays light, teasing—never mind the panic curling in her gut. "What answer would satisfy you, Mr. S?"
He tilts his head, and she feels stripped bare under his scrutiny. Then his voice drops, soft but dangerous, each word a carefully placed trap.
"The truth."
Her throat tightens as Benjamin's words hit their mark. The familiar sensation of being cornered in her own game crawls up her spine.
Her fingers twitch at her sides as she fights to maintain Blondie's carefully crafted persona. But his presence fills the room like smoke, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. His eyes never leave her face, studying every expression with the same ruthless attention he gives to depositions.
"Did you run because of me?"
The question slices through her defenses. A single beat—too long, too revealing. She knows he caught it. The way his posture shifts forward, the way his gaze sharpens, cataloging every tell she fails to suppress.
When his voice drops lower, each word feels like a blade against her skin. "Did you leave because of how it felt last time?"
Heat floods her cheeks, but she forces her breathing to remain steady. She rolls her hip in what she hopes looks like casual dismissal, channeling every ounce of Blondie's confidence.
"Please. I don’t run, sweetheart."
