Chapter 34
Katherine
Katherine stepped through the glass doors of Sinclair & Associates, the sharp click of her heels slicing through the hush like a metronome counting down to impact. The polished marble beneath her feet gleamed like ice, cold and unforgiving.
She’d rehearsed this moment countless times—imagined walking in, unbothered, unbroken. But the reality was heavier. Harsher.
The lobby, once a hive of motion and noise, had turned to glass. Conversations shattered mid-word. Keyboards fell silent. Even the air felt suspended, like the building itself had paused to watch her.
She didn’t flinch. Chin high, eyes forward, expression carved in marble. The leather portfolio in her hand felt heavier than it should, a weight she refused to shift. It was armor now, even if it couldn’t stop the judgment slithering through the air.
The elevator waited ahead. Thirty steps. She counted them like lifelines.
Thirty.
Twenty-nine.
Twenty-eight.
Each step echoed louder than the last, ricocheting off the walls and into the tense silence that followed her like a shadow.
Then it began—soft at first. A whisper from her left, too hushed to catch, but unmistakably about her.
Then a cough to her right, the kind people used to smother a laugh but failed miserably.
Papers rustled. A chair creaked as someone leaned toward a colleague, voice pitched just low enough to feign subtlety.
Still, she didn’t break stride.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-six.
"Isn't that—"
"I thought she was fired."
"Must be good on her knees."
The words sliced through the air, meant for her to hear.
She didn't break stride. Didn't allow her expression to crack.
The mask she'd perfected at the Crimson Bloom served her well now—smile pleasant, eyes forward, body language screaming confidence she didn't feel.
A young paralegal nearly dropped her coffee when their eyes met, quickly averting her gaze as if she were contagious.
Two associates by the reception desk didn't bother hiding their stares, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
Someone's phone camera flashed. Evidence. Proof. Tomorrow's gossip.
Katherine's stomach twisted, but her heels never faltered. Each step was deliberate, her posture immaculate despite the invisible weight pressing down on her shoulders. She could feel judgment crawling across her skin like insects, burrowing beneath her carefully applied makeup and suit.
The elevator was fifteen steps away now. Fourteen. Thirteen.
"I heard Sinclair got bored with her."
"Wonder what she did to get back in."
"Guess we know why she got hired in the first place."
The whispers followed her like a shadow, growing bolder with each step. She kept her eyes fixed on the elevator doors, refusing to acknowledge the burning in her throat or the ice in her veins.
Her heels sliced through the tension like weapons as she moved.
The elevator doors parted, and she stepped inside, turning to face the lobby as they closed.
For a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the audience she'd left behind—some still staring, others already turning away, dismissing her performance.
The elevator climbed, each floor bringing her closer to the real battlefield. Precious seconds to breathe, to reset, to brace for the war waiting above.
When the doors opened again, she stepped into the lion's den.
The 20th floor was quieter, more refined in its hostility.
No whispers here—just cold, calculated distance. Associates who once smiled at her now studied their phones with sudden fascination. Paralegals who used to ask for her advice suddenly found urgent business elsewhere.
Almost at her office. Almost safe. Almost—
Blocked.
Megan Chen stood directly in her path. Young. Sharp. Eager. Kath used to mentor her, spending late nights helping her prepare for mock trials, believing in her potential when others overlooked it.
The paralegal stepped deliberately into her path. Not by accident. Not as a mistake. But on purpose.
The woman lifted her chin. Met Katherine's eyes. Then— Without a word, she turned. Walked away.
Not with fear. Not with shame. But with dismissal. As if she wasn't even worth confronting. As if she was already gone.
Katherine froze for half a heartbeat.
Her pulse pounded. But her face? Untouched.
No reaction. No crack.
Because if there was one thing Blondie knew—it was how to wear rejection like glitter.
Still moving. One step. Then another. The whispers faded behind her, but the echo stayed wrapped around her.
They wanted her gone. They wanted her broken. They wanted her to crack.
But Katherine? She'd survived worse than this.
And now? She was back for blood.
Every step toward her office felt like walking through someone else's life. The firm no longer welcomed her—it studied her. Judged her. Waited for her to break.
Then—like sunlight cracking through storm clouds—Patty appeared.
The office secretary slid up beside Katherine with practiced ease, her smile bright and unaffected by the tension hanging in the air. Unlike everyone else, Patty's expression held no judgment—just that familiar, slightly mischievous gleam.
She froze for half a second—then, almost reluctantly, leaned into the hug. Just a breath’s worth of contact. Just enough to remember what kindness felt like.
Patty didn’t pull back right away. Just gave her a little squeeze before letting go, hands still light on Kath’s arms like she didn’t want to let her vanish again.
“Ignore them,” she said, voice gentle. “You being back?
That matters. They’ll figure it out, eventually.”
Katherine gave the smallest nod. Her shoulders stayed rigid, breath tight, like her whole body was bracing for another hit.
But Patty just smiled—brighter now, like she was trying to coax warmth back into the room.
“Oh, and… totally off the record?” she added, with that sudden pivot into office-gossip mode that felt too light for the weight of the moment. “He was a wreck while you were gone. Like, haunted-looking.”
Kath blinked. “Sinclair?”
Patty’s eyes widened, like she was letting her in on some secret. “I mean—he was still Ben, obviously. On time. Razor-sharp. Terrifying.” She rolled her eyes affectionately.
“But it was like someone unplugged his soul. Eyes all sunken. Looked like he hadn’t slept in days—maybe he hadn’t. Just caffeine and pure rage keeping him upright. Honestly? I’ve never seen him like that. It was kinda scary.”
Kath didn't move. Didn’t even breathe. Just stood there as Patty’s words burrowed deep.
“He looks better now,” Patty said, softer. “Yesterday was the first morning I saw him even react to the sunlight again.
That was when he told me you’d come back.”
Silence.
Patty didn’t press. Just gave her arm a gentle pat and stepped back.
“You’ve got more people on your side than you think, Katherine,” she said before slipping away down the corridor.
And this time, Kath didn’t feel like she was walking alone.
She approached Ben’s office, each step echoing louder than it should down the too-quiet corridor. The last time she’d crossed this threshold, she’d walked in blind—and walked out flayed. No mask. No power. Just truth and fury and the cold sting of humiliation.
Through the glass wall, he sat at his desk—impeccable, of course.
Suit flawless. Posture perfect. Fingers moving over a file that didn’t deserve the precision of his attention. A portrait of control.
Once, that control had thrilled her.
She paused at the threshold.
The air inside felt colder. Denser. As if the walls remembered the last time her voice cracked inside them.
But she wouldn’t flinch.
Not again.
She stepped inside without knocking, spine straight, chin high. Not defiant—just steady.
Ben didn’t look up.
Instead, he glanced at his watch with clinical disinterest, then reached for his phone, thumbs moving with the kind of practiced calm that always made her want to throw something.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice tight.
"Noting your rule violation," he said, tone smooth as glass. As if commenting on the weather.
Her brow snapped tight. "What?"
Still typing. Still maddeningly calm. "Late on your first day back. Normally I’d deal with that immediately..."
Then, finally—finally—he looked up. His gaze stayed cold, distant, unreadable. But something flickered underneath—subtle, fleeting. Not warmth exactly, but something sly. A quiet calculation. As if he was playing a game only he knew the rules to—and maybe enjoying it more than he should.
"...but I’m feeling generous."
Katherine stiffened. Heat flared behind her ribs. He wasn’t just enforcing their arrangement—he was savoring it. Cataloguing her failures like he was building a case. One he’d enjoy presenting.
"You’re keeping score?" she asked, disbelieving.
Ben tilted his head, studying her like a specimen under glass, the corner of his mouth twitching with a barely restrained smirk.
That look—amused, intrigued—sent a low pulse through her, sharp and unwelcome.
His next words unfurled like silk-wrapped barbs, smooth on the surface, but designed to draw blood.
"Would you prefer I handle it now?"
Katherine blinked. Her breath caught, lungs suddenly tight. Fury twisted low in her gut, tangled with something darker—something shamefully alive. His voice wasn’t just a threat.
It was a dare. A pull. Heat unfurled inside her, immediate and traitorous.
And she felt it.
Worse—she knew he saw it.
Still, she held steady.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
She bit back the retort forming behind her teeth, swallowed the burn rising in her throat. Because silence, sharp and deliberate, was all she had left. And in that moment, she made it her weapon.
Ben leaned back slightly in his chair, one brow lifting as his voice dropped low—mocking, coaxing, just a hint of mischief curled around the words. “Say thank you, Winters.”
The words landed like a slap.