Chapter 33
Benjamin
The lush glow of Crimson Bloom wrapped around them, seductive and warm, but it did nothing to dull the edge between them. Ben lounged on the couch like it was a throne—like the entire room, the night, her, all belonged to him. Fingers steepled. Gaze unflinching. A predator cloaked in calm.
Across from him, Katherine sat rigid, spine straight, arms crossed like armor. Her face was a mask of ice—impressive, practiced—but he saw through it. Saw the flicker just beneath: the rage, the doubt, the hesitation clawing at her composure.
And that? That was exactly where he wanted her.
"I need your answer, Winters. Are you in, or are you out?" The words sliced through the air, sharp, controlled, lethal.
She exhaled, a sharp breath through her nose, shifting like the seat was suddenly too hot.
"You really expect me to agree all of that?" Her voice was tense, challenging, but Ben caught the slight tremor beneath it.
He didn’t blink. Just tilted his head slightly—like a man analyzing a chessboard, already three moves ahead. She was stalling. Calculating. Searching for a crack she could slip through.
His voice came level. Measured. Final.
“These are the only terms. Take them, or walk.”
His expression didn’t shift, but beneath the surface, something coiled—tight, focused, deliberate. He hadn’t crafted these conditions out of cruelty. This wasn’t punishment. It was clarity and control. A boundary drawn with surgical intent.
He needed to know what she was really willing to give.
Because justice had cost him once—deeply. Now it was her turn to bleed for it.
And if she wanted his help?
She’d do it on his terms. Or not at all.
Silence stretched between them, suffocating and thick.
Ben watched her, unblinking, savoring the visible struggle playing across her features.
Kath didn't speak, but she was far from still.
Her eyes flicked from his face to the door, calculating distance, weighing options.
Tension bunched in her throat, a muscle twitching beneath smooth skin.
Her fingers flexed over her arm, gripping then releasing, as if physically holding herself together.
He could practically hear the mental war raging behind those dark eyes: Fight. Submit. Run. Or burn.
Ben kept his expression impassive, but satisfaction curled in his chest. Let her struggle. Let her feel the walls closing in.
This was exactly what he wanted—her cornered, desperate, with no good options left.
Then she lifted her chin. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. Steady. But something sharp edged beneath it.
"And what if I have terms of my own?"
Ben laughed—a short, disbelieving burst, like someone who’d just heard the punchline to a cosmic joke with no setup. No humor. Just the kind of cold, stunned amusement that came from sheer absurdity. She still thought this was a negotiation. Still thought she got to want things.
"You gave up the right to demand shit the moment you climbed into my lap in a fucking mask and used me like I was just a cock to ride," he said, voice cutting and merciless, every word meant to bruise.
Kath flinched. Not a full-body recoil—just the flick of her throat when she swallowed. He saw it. Felt it. Loved it.
It was just enough pain to remind her: She did this. And he hadn't forgiven her.
Ben watched her face harden at his words. The defiance in her eyes—that familiar, infuriating spark—both irritated and fascinated him. She thought she still had cards to play.
She thought she could negotiate her way out of this corner.
"Some of these are irrational," she said, her voice quiet and level, though he caught the slight strain beneath it. She was fighting to keep herself together, to not show how much his rules had gotten under her skin.
Ben leaned forward—slow, deliberate, dangerous.
He rested his elbows on his knees, bringing himself close enough that she couldn't escape his gaze.
Close enough to touch her if he wanted. Close enough that he could see the flicker of her pulse at the base of her throat, betraying the calm she tried to project.
"Then you shouldn't have lied to me," he said, each word cold and final, dropping between them like stones into still water.
Silence again—longer this time. Thicker.
A breathless pause before the fall. Ben watched her teeter on the edge of decision.
He saw the struggle playing across her features, pride wrestling with necessity.
He knew exactly what she was thinking—weighing her options, searching for an escape route that didn't exist.
And finally—finally—it tipped.
She exhaled. Measured. Heavy. Resigned.
"Fine," she said, the single word carrying the weight of her surrender.
Ben didn't gloat. Didn't smirk. He just nodded once. Slow. Final. Like a king accepting an offering. The satisfaction that coursed through him was private, contained—a quiet victory he wouldn't cheapen with display.
"Good choice," he said, his voice revealing nothing of the triumph he felt inside.
Ben watched the shift in her posture. Not resistance—acceptance. But it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t whole. Of course it wasn’t.
Because Katherine Winters never gave anything without conditions.
And sure enough, after a beat of silence, her voice came—low, tight, calculated.
"I need guarantees, Ben."
His name on her tongue—intimate, dangerous, a slip she should've never made. He noticed immediately, the familiar sound of it sending a jolt of something unwelcome through his chest. He let it slide. This time. A mental note filed away for later use.
"Guarantees?" he asked, voice silky with amusement.
He paused, letting the silence sharpen between them. "Tell me, Winters, what exactly do you think you're in a position to demand?"
Kath lifted her chin—a defiance built on sand. Ben recognized the gesture for what it was: a desperate attempt to summon power, to remind him she wasn't just a pawn in his game. But her voice betrayed her—tight with fear she wouldn't admit.
"How do I know you won't abuse this? That you won't twist your rules just to punish me?"
And oh—he loved that she asked. The question revealed everything: her fear, her understanding of the position she'd put herself in, her recognition of the power he now held. She should be afraid. She was right to question him. But that wouldn't save her.
"You don't," he said, voice low and blunt. He let the words hang between them for a beat. "There are no guarantees.
You either trust me, or you don't."
Her breath hitched—like his words had struck something vital.
Ben watched the impact ripple across her face, her composure fracturing for just a heartbeat.
He hadn't softened the blow. Hadn’t offered comfort, or shelter, or any of the mercy she might’ve been bracing for.
Just raw, unvarnished truth—brutal and inescapable. And now she was left to drown in it.
"That's not good enough," she said finally, voice thin with strain despite her attempt to keep it steady.
Ben lifted a brow, gaze glinting with something unreadable. No fury. No satisfaction. Just cool calculation—the kind of patience that doesn’t bend, only waits to be proven right.
"Then walk," he said, flat as slate. As if it made no difference either way.
The silence that followed pulsed like a bruise. Heavy. Colorless.
He didn't flinch. Didn't lean forward. Just watched her—watched the standoff collapse behind her eyes. He saw it in the subtle tremor of her hands. The shallow swell of her breath.
The realization sinking in, slow and suffocating: this wasn’t powerlessness. It was choice.
She could leave.
She wouldn’t.
And they both knew it.
Her arms slowly unfolded from her chest, her shoulders sagging—not in defeat, but in grim acceptance.
"Okay," she murmured, each syllable scraped raw. "I'll trust you. For now."
Ben didn’t smile. Not fully. But something in his eyes shifted—like a lock turning in the right direction.
He nodded once, slow and deliberate.
Then he leaned back, reclaiming the space like it was already his. Because it was.
Ben watched as Kath's surrender settled between them, her words reluctant but final. He didn’t gloat. Just let the silence linger—a thin, tense wire stretched between them.
"Then we’re done negotiating," he said quietly.
"Terms accepted."
A beat.
"And one more thing—since we're officially under contract..." His tone dipped—cooler now, almost calm. "You’re done with Crimson Bloom."
Kath’s head snapped up. Her spine straightened, eyes narrowing like twin blades.
"Excuse me?"
Ben stood slowly, his gaze cutting through her. "You want to go after Crawford? Walk straight into his world?" He took a step forward, voice low but razor-sharp. "Then maybe stop stripping for strangers in some backroom club like it’s not going to blow back on you."
"You don’t get to make that decision for me," she shot back, her voice low and lethal.
"I’m not," he said, and for the first time, there was something quieter beneath the words. Not softer. Just truer. "But I’m not going to help you walk straight into a target zone dressed like bait."
Her mouth parted, but no words came. Katherine looked away—just for a second—but that was all it took. He saw it.
The shift.
She straightened, the fight draining from her in one sharp exhale. "You're right," she said—quiet, but clear. No venom. Just truth. "You're fucking right."
She stood too. Looked him in the eye. "I’ll talk to Ian."