Page 126 of The Rules

"You wanted something from me," he said, voice low and unflinching. "You got it. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it comes with anything else."

Katherine scoffed, arms crossing over her chest, silk whispering against bare skin. The movement was instinct—defensive, sharp. She lifted her chin, but her voice cracked just enough to betray the effort.

"I don't need your pity."

Something flickered in Ben’s expression—brief, sharp, and gone.

“Good,” he said coldly. “Because I don’t have any.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping—quieter, but no less dangerous.

“But make no mistake—this is unfinished business.”

He exhaled sharply and sat down on the edge of the leather couch, the movement quiet but decisive. The silence between them shifted, and Katherine felt it like pressure against her chest—unspoken and heavy. Her pulse quickened, her throatsuddenly dry as tension thickened the air between them, making it difficult to breathe.

"I was there, Winters. At the trial." His voice dropped, becoming softer but no less intense. The unexpected intimacy of his tone slid over her skin like a caress. "I saw what happened. I was just a fucking intern, still green, still thinking the system worked the way it was supposed to. And then I watched them tear your father apart. I knew something was wrong. I knew it. But I wasn't anyone. I couldn't stop it."

Katherine stiffened, breath catching mid-chest. The world slowed, memories crystallizing with painful clarity. Heat rushed to her face, chest tightening as though gripped by an invisible hand.The courtroom came rushing back—tailored suits, cold eyes, and one man who didn’t belong.

The angry young intern. The one who had challenged the senior lawyers. The one with the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

Her gaze snapped to Ben.

And there they were. The same eyes. Older now. Sharper. Colder. But unmistakable.

Her father’s trial. The courthouse hallway. Raised voices. That intern—furious, uncompromising.

"How is this justice? We all saw the evidence. We all know—this wasn't right."

The words echoed, a ghost threading through years of silence.

Now he stood in front of her. The same man. The same voice. But no longer powerless. Now, his voice carried weight. Authority. And the fury? Still there—buried deep, reforged into something harder.

Breath faltered. Her legs gave, sending her down onto the edge of the chaise, silk pooling around her like water.

Heat surged beneath her skin—shame, shock, and something darker twisting low. Fingers gripped the robe at her thighs, anchoring her to the moment. The fabric felt too thin, tooexposing. No barrier at all against the eyes now locked on hers—sharp, knowing, merciless.

"It was you," she whispered.

Silence.

His gaze didn’t flinch. No denial. No confirmation.

He didn’t need to speak. The truth already sat between them—thick and electric.

Katherine's thoughts spun. Ben Sinclair—the man who had dismantled her career, unraveled her in ways no one else ever had, who had fired her without a second thought—was the same man who once stood up for her father. The connection felt too precise, too bitterly perfect. Like fate had sharpened itself just to carve her open.

Before she could even breathe through the weight of it, Ben straightened. That brief flicker of vulnerability—gone. In its place: precision. Authority. The version of him that didn’t flinch and didn’t bend.

“I can help you,” he said evenly. “But there are conditions.”

Katherine arched a brow, arms folding tighter across her chest. She lifted her chin—small defiance, barely covering the chaos clawing under her skin. He couldn’t see how deep it went. She wouldn’t let him.

“Of course there are,” she said, dry as ash.

She aimed for unimpressed. But tension was already knotting deep in her gut.

Ben’s smirk was surgical—precise, slow, meant to sting.