Page 256 of The Rules

Kath watched from the edge of the room, arms crossed, shoulders tight. She didn't say a word.

But Ben saw it—the shift in her. The way her gaze dropped to the handshake and lingered there. Like she was watching a bridge burn.

Like she knew there was no turning back.

And she was right.

They walked outwith an unspoken agreement hanging between them—no folder, no physical evidence, just a pact that the proof would come. A promise signed in silence, forged in everything they didn’t say aloud. Julian looked satisfied, like a man who’d just negotiated a flawless deal. Ben felt sick, like something vital had just been traded away and there was no getting it back.

Chapter 54

Katherine

The courtroom is too quiet.

Like something's about to snap. Every cough, every shift of fabric, every click of a pen soundslouderthan it should, because no one is really breathing.

Kath sits stiff-backed at the defense table, fighting the urge to drum her fingers against the cold wood. The table beneath her palms feels colder than usual, like it's warning her:This is it.

Her heartbeat drums against her ribs—steady but too fast—each pulse sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins that makes her skin prickle beneath her suit.

She lets her eyes sweep the room—jury box filled with twelve faces attempting neutrality but failing, media hunched like vultures in the back row with pens poised and hungry, prosecutors tight-jawed and bracing. The air feels charged, electric with anticipation that makes the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

Crawford sits across the aisle, expression carved from marble. He doesn't look worried. Doesn't look concerned.

His confidence makes her stomach clench, acid rising in her throat that she swallows back down. The man who destroyed her father sits mere feet away, his expensive suit and perfect posture a monument to corruption that's survived unchallenged for too long.

He thinks he's untouchable.

Kath's gaze shifts to Julian, lounging in the back row like this is all just entertainment. Their eyes meet briefly. He winks—casual, unbothered—but there's something sharp beneath the gesture. She breaks the contact first.

The judge enters. All rise. The rustle of fabric and scrape of chairs fills the silence. Kath's legs feel leaden as she stands,

her body locked between exhaustion and something that felt like panic. And with that, the trial begins. Ben stands beside her.

His movements are calm, crisp, sharp-edged—like every motion was rehearsed in a mirror lined with knives. The sleeve of his jacket brushes against her arm, and she feels the contact like an electric shock, her body hyperaware of his proximity.

"Your Honor," he begins, voice steady. Controlled. Devastating. "We submit into evidence—"

He places the folder on the prosecution's table.

It lands with a softthunk.

Not loud. But it echoes. In that moment, Kath feels her breath catch, her muscles tightening as if bracing for impact. Everything they've worked for, everything they've risked—her career, her safety, her sanity—compressed into that single manila folder.

Kath watches Crawford's attorney's expression tighten.

The man's hand freezes mid-turn of a page. His eyes dart down to the file, and though his lips remain still, his throat bobs.

He knows.Knows what this means. What thiscouldmean. Kath shifts her gaze. And there he is. Crawford. Still as a painting. Cold. Framed. Intentional.

Hands folded in his lap, suit perfect, not a wrinkle out of place. There's no expression on his face. Just that polished calm that always made her skin crawl. Like he'sneverin danger.

Like he's always three steps ahead.

The courtroom's controlled temperature feels too cold against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms beneath her blazer. Her pulse quickens, a warning signal she can't ignore. Crawford's fingers continue their steady rhythm—tap-tap, pause, tap-tap—a metronome counting down to something only he can see.

Kath presses her thighs together beneath the table, muscles tensing as if preparing to flee. She's seen this before—thiscalculated performance of a man who believes himself untouchable. The same expression he wore when he systematically destroyed her father's life.