Page 157 of The Rules

This was recognition. Sharp. Inevitable. It slid beneath his skin like something long buried, finally surfacing.

Because what Julian said wasn’t cruel. It was true.

This wasn’t just about legal wins or moral high ground.

This was about setting fire to the very scaffolding Ben had built his identity on—the clean divide between his world and Julian’s.

The lie that his choices made him better.

That his ethics made him untouchable.

That boundary? It was already burning.

Ben took a slow sip of his whiskey, buying himself time.

But Julian wasn't finished. His brother watched him with renewed interest, a flicker of genuine curiosity cutting through his usual calculated indifference.

"All this..." Julian said quietly, his tone almost puzzled.

"For a woman?"

Ben looked up. Steady. Cold. This wasn’t about pride anymore. Or old grudges. It was about something he hadn’t been able to let go of for years.

"This isn't about her," Ben said.

A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken history.

"This isthe case," he continued. "The first one. The one they buried. The one I never got over."

Something shifted in Julian's expression. The mocking gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something more focused. He leaned back slightly, but this time it wasn't casual—it was calculating. The teasing was gone, evaporated like morning mist under harsh sunlight.

"...Oh," he said softly, almost impressed.

And for the first time all night—he got it. Not the strategy. Not the power play. Thewhy.

Ben felt the shift between them, the subtle realignment. Julian had always been perceptive, but rarely did he use that perception for anything beyond manipulation. Now, though, Ben could see his brother truly looking at him, seeing past the carefully constructed walls to the wound that had never fully healed.

Ben stared at him across the table, allowing himself a rare moment of vulnerability.

"I wouldn't be here if I had another option," he said quietly.

Julian stared back. Unblinking. Unsmiling. The mask of indifference had slipped, revealing something more complex beneath—a recognition, perhaps even a grudging respect.

Then—he nodded. Slow. Controlled.

But the look in his eyes? It didn't say agreement.

It saidconfirmation.

Confirmation that Ben had already crossed the line. That by sitting in this booth, by speaking Crawford's name aloud, by asking for Julian's help—Ben had already compromised the principles he'd built his life around.

Ben sat motionless, but the tension rolled off him in waves.

He didn't blink. Didn't look away from the gaze across the table—sharp, unreadable, already dissecting him.

"I know exactly what I’m doing," he said at last, each word slow, deliberate. Like they had to be carved from stone.

And he did know. That was the worst part. This wasn’t panic. It wasn’t recklessness. It was cold, conscious calculation.