Page 227 of The Rules

His breath leaves himslow, like he’s setting something down he never meant to carry this long.

Maybe this isn’t how it’s supposed to work.

But maybe it’s what’s left.

Behind him, there’s a sound—soft, nearly lost in the quiet. The pad of bare feet on hardwood. The brush of fabric against skin. Not loud, not sudden—just there. Certain.

He turns.

And she’s already halfway across the room.

Katherine.

Not lawyer-Kath. Not battle-ready or guarded. Just her.

Wearing nothing but one of his old shirts, the hem brushing high on her thighs. Her hair is tousled, still damp, a tangle of curls and defiance. Faint bruises shadow her arms, her neck—evidence of what she'd fought through just hours ago. But she walks like a woman who doesn't need protection. Like a woman who just made a decision.

Ben goes still.

Her expression is unreadable. Lips parted slightly, eyes sharp and steady, locked on him.

She's been listening.

Thinking.

Deciding.

"I want in," she says, her voice rough with sleep but firm.

"On everything. No more being left out."

The words aren’t loud. But they echo—sharp and unyielding in the quiet space.

Julian, seated across from Ben on the other couch, arches a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Ben doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His instincts roar with protest. With every reason to shield her from this—this part of him, of them—that she’s only brushed the edge of.

But she’s not asking.

His gaze traces the bruises. The resolve. The quiet heat burning just beneath her exhaustion. There’s steel in her spine. And a dare in her stare.

He exhales—slow. Controlled. His fingers flex once at his side.

"Then keep up," he says, voice low and quiet.

Julian doesn’t speak, but Ben sees the flicker in his brother’s eyes—the faintest curl of amusement. Like he just watched something shift.

Kath bobs her head once. A subtle nod. A silent pact.

She crosses the room and sinks down onto the couch beside him. Their thighs touch. She doesn’t flinch. Neither does he.

He glances sideways—just for a beat—and something shifts beneath his skin. Not soft. Not gentle.

Something brutal.

Something that coils deep in his chest and refuses to be silenced.

His eyes lock on her—the shadow of bruises on her throat, the tension coiled in her spine, the steady burn in her gaze.