Page 48 of The Rules

She hated the way Crawford moved—slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Like this wasn't her space.

Like he didn't need to look around because he already knew everything he needed to.

What neighborhood she chose. How she lived. Where she felt safe.

Or rather, where she thought she was safe.

She realized it too late. That she was standing in her own home—and yet, somehow, he was the one who belonged here. The thought made her sick.

But she didn't let it show. She turned toward the kitchen, keeping her movements casual. Normal. A performance.

“Drink?” Her voice came clipped.

His smirk sharpened. Like he found it adorable.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Always so well-mannered."

Katherine’s face hardened, muscles tensing beneath the surface. It was a game, and a transparent one—every word a calculated prod, every glance a silent dare. He was testing her boundaries, savoring each second as he waited for the crack in her composure.

But surrender wasn't an option. Not now.

She turned, heading for the kitchen. One step. Then another. And behind her, Crawford watched. Like a wolf, entertained by the little lamb pretending it still had a choice.

Kath felt the air grow thinner as Crawford stepped closer.

Not too close—but just enough. Just enough to make her breath ragged, her body tensing.

He watched her, gaze clinical, like a scientist observing.

His voice was low, conversational. "You know, I admire determination."

Kath didn't move. Didn't shift. She refused to let her body betray her fear.

Crawford smiled, soft and almost pleasant. But his voice carried a sharp edge. "But I've found that, sometimes, ambition makes people careless."

Her pulse kicked up. This wasn't advice. It wasn't even a threat. It was a statement—a truth he'd seen play out before.

Exhaling slowly, she tilted her chin up, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Her words came steady, biting. "You must be an expert, then."

His smile never faded, but his eyes gleamed colder. "Careless people make mistakes, Miss Winters."

Kath felt the shift, the implicit danger behind his words.

Not all threats were loud. Some came with a smile, delivered in a stranger's living room—with no one to hear a scream.

He adjusted his coat with unhurried precision, as if they’d just concluded a pleasant conversation.

“I appreciate your time.”

And with that, he turned and walked out—unbothered, unhurried, leaving silence in his wake like smoke.

Kath watched as Crawford checked his watch, the motion smooth and relaxed. As if this was just a routine visit. As if he didn't just walk into her home and lace the air with something cold, something suffocating. As if he didn't just leave a veiled threat sitting between them, unspoken but perfectly understood.

He exhaled, slow and unbothered. "Well." His voice was light, amused. "I should let you get back to your evening."

Kath didn't move. Didn't nod. Didn't breathe. She just watched as he strolled to the door, no rush, no urgency. Because Crawford never hurried.

He opened the door, pausing to look back at her. And that was the worst part. That final glance. Like he owned this. Like he owned her. Like he'd already decided how this would end.