Chapter 18
Benjamin
Ben sank into his couch, the whiskey burning down his throat, but it did nothing to take the edge off. He was already two drinks in, yet the tension coiled tighter with every passing moment.
It wasn't lust. It was something worse. Joshua was still with her. At her apartment. In her space. The thought gnawed at him, an incessant itch he couldn't scratch. Not because Katherine wanted him there, but because she didn't stop him.
And the part that wrecked him? She had called him first.
She said she needed him. And he had believed her, letting everything else go just to reach her.
He had cleared his schedule, gotten in the damn car, his sole focus on getting to her as quickly as possible.
And Joshua? He didn't even know what was happening, yet somehow, he was the one who got to stay.
Ben laughed bitterly to himself, the sound hollow and mirthless. It wasn't funny. It was pathetic.
"You're not her boyfriend, Sinclair," he muttered, the words sharp and biting. "You're not even her fucking friend."
Ben didn’t want to think about it. And yet, he was.
Not because of jealousy—he wasn’t the possessive type.
He didn’t do need, or longing, or late-night spirals over someone who wasn’t his.
And Kath Winters? She’d never been his. Hell, he’d never even wanted her. Not like that.
Not until she said his name like a lifeline. Not until her voice broke on “I need you.”
That was the crack.
That was the moment that lodged itself under his skin like shrapnel he couldn’t dig out.
She’d called him. Not Joshua. Him. And now she was wrapped up in someone else’s arms like the moment had never happened. Like Ben had imagined all of it.
He hated how it clung to him.
Not because she’d chosen Joshua. But because she’d said those words to him. And now she was acting like they hadn’t meant anything at all.
He grabbed his jacket—then changed his mind. No keys.
No wheel. He ordered a cab instead, drinking from a flask he shouldn't still carry while the city blurred past the window, loud and distant and uncaring.
He needed noise. Impact. Something to drown this out.
The boxing club was mostly empty. Good. He didn’t want witnesses.
He didn’t wrap his hands. Just gloves. Just contact. Fist to bag. Over and over. Until the ache in his chest dulled enough to pass for exhaustion.
Still, her voice lingered. “Ben… I need you.”
She didn’t mean it. She was scared. That was all. It was adrenaline, panic, the heat of the moment. It didn’t mean a goddamn thing.
Except that it had.
To him.
And that’s what fucked with his head the most.
Ben slumped into the back of the cab, still slick with sweat, hands raw from leather and rage. The night air stung through the open window, sharp against his flushed skin—but it didn’t cut deep enough.
What the hell did you expect? You are not her hero. Not anything that lasts longer than the next bad decision.
You were the panic call.
And the second she found something softer? She let you go.
The thought landed like a blow to the ribs. Sharp. Brutal.Unfair.
And yet—he felt it. That twist in his gut. That hollow ache he refused to name.
The cabbie glanced back in the mirror. “Long night?”
Ben didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, breath still uneven.
He let out a humorless exhale, eyes fixed on the city flickering past the window.
“It’s only Tuesday,” he muttered.
The driver gave a quiet grunt of sympathy and said nothing more.
Ben scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers digging into his temples. He’d moved for her. Reacted without thinking. Dropped everything. And she? She ran straight into someone else’s arms like he’d never mattered at all.
No goodbye. No closure. Just silence.
And maybe he could've handled that—if she hadn’t said his name the way she did. If she hadn’t made him believe, for one fucking second, that he was the one she wanted.
The cab slowed outside his building. He tossed cash at the driver without looking, chin locked, body coiled too tight to sit still a second longer.
The elevator ride was silent, his reflection staring back at him in the chrome wall—disheveled, bruised-knuckled, eyes too dark. He looked like a man who’d lost a fight he never intended to enter.
In the penthouse, he didn’t even bother with the lights. Just grabbed the bottle, not a glass, and took a burning mouthful straight from the source.
The city stretched beyond the windows, glittering like a thousand lies.
She let someone else stay.
And here he was—alone, again, still trying to convince himself it didn’t mean a fucking thing.
He hurled the glass before the thought could finish forming. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack, amber spilling down white plaster like blood from a split lip.
Ben stood there, chest heaving, the room silent except for the slow drip of whiskey down the wall.
And still—he couldn’t stop seeing her. Hearing her.
“Ben… I need you.” Liar.
Or maybe he was just the idiot who wanted to believe it.
◆◆◆
Ben sat at his desk, shoulders tense, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished wood. He had arrived early, far earlier than necessary, his mind too wired to linger at home any longer. Sleep had evaded him, the memories of the previous night taunting him relentlessly.
His gaze flicked toward the door, tension locking his face as he waited for her arrival. He needed to see her face, to know if the vulnerability she had shown him meant anything at all.
Or if it had been a fleeting moment, easily forgotten in the comfort of another's arms.
The sound of her laugh, light and unbothered, drifted through the office, and Ben's grip tightened on the pen he held.
Worse still, Joshua's voice accompanied hers, the two of them bantering with an ease that grated on Ben's already frayed nerves.
He remained perfectly still, a statue carved from cold fury, gaze fixed on nothing as their voices pierced through him.
Each muscle locked and tightened beneath his skin when Joshua's suggestive comment about her sleepless night sliced through the air.
Kath's dismissive laughter followed—light, untroubled—the sound of it twisting like a blade between his ribs.
The unspoken truth hung in the space between them, raw and unmistakable, confirming every suspicion that had tormented him since dawn.
Ben's knuckles turned white, the pen in his hand threatening to snap under the pressure.
When she finally entered his office, Ben braced himself, but she didn't so much as spare him a glance. Pristine and composed, she carried herself as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't been the one she had clung to with a trembling voice mere hours before.
It was her indifference that cut deepest, and Ben found himself speaking first, his voice smooth as ice.
"Sleep well, Winters?"
Kath barely reacted, her response dry and dismissive. "Eventually."
The word hung in the air, a sharp reminder that he had been an afterthought, a temporary solution until someone better came along. She didn't even look at him, simply taking her seat and starting her work as if he were just another Monday morning inconvenience.
It shouldn't have gotten to him, not like this. But it did. Because for a fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to believe that her desperate plea for help had meant something more. That her whispered "I need you" had carried weight beyond a simple cry for assistance.
But now, faced with her indifference, Ben realized how foolish he had been.
Leaned back in his chair, allowing the sharp edge of her indifference to sink in. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t accuse. Didn’t lash out.
He just sat back in his chair, eyes cool and steady on her face.
"You should be more careful with the things you say when you're scared."
His voice was calm. Measured. But every word landed with precision.
"Some people might take it seriously."
He let that hang between them—long enough for her to feel it. To really feel it.
"But don’t worry," he added, with the faintest curl of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I didn’t."
No mockery. No heat. Just… detachment. Cold, practiced detachment.
"I know what fear sounds like, Winters. People say a lot of things when they’re desperate. Anything to make someone come save them."
He tilted his head, gaze unreadable.
"And it worked, didn’t it?"
Silence.
Ben leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. Not aggressive. Just close enough to make sure she didn’t miss a word.
"I’m not offended. Just… noted."
Hours later, the hallway was quieter—its usual rhythm dulled by the slow crawl of late afternoon.
Ben strode past the rows of glass offices, his steps clipped and purposeful, not lingering or eavesdropping—until a familiar voice drifted from the break room, freezing him in his tracks.
"So, what do you say? You, me, a proper date?" Joshua's voice was light, teasing, and Ben felt his body tense involuntarily.
He shouldn't listen. He should keep walking, ignore the conversation unfolding mere feet away. But then Kath's soft laughter reached his ears, and he found himself rooted to the spot, exhaling slowly through his nose, like it might contain the heat rising in his chest.
"You're persistent," she remarked, amusement lacing her tone, and Ben braced himself, silently praying for her to deflect, to change the subject, to do anything but— "Fine. Yes."
The words hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath. He didn't need to hear more.
Ben turned sharply, every movement tight, desperate to escape before he snapped. Another word and the mask would crack, taking everything with it.
He strode from the break room, gut twisting at the laughter behind him. Only when his office door slammed shut did he stop.