Chapter 39 #2
Julian leaned back in his chair, casual as ever—like he was waiting for the inevitable. The look in his eyes was knowing, almost expectant. Ben recognized it immediately. He had more. He was just waiting to be asked.
"I can get you more," he offered, confirming Ben's suspicion—then added with a cool smirk, "but you won’t like how."
Ben's head lifted. Tension coiling through his frame.
He knew exactly what Julian was suggesting.
"We're not doing anything illegal," he said sharply, immediately.
"Your call," Julian said, leaning back with casual confidence. "Just remember—Crawford doesn't play fair. You stick to the rules? You're gonna run out of options real fast."
Ben exhaled slowly, tension coiling in his chest. He hated this.
Hated how calm Julian was, perched there like he already knew the outcome.
Hated, even more, the possibility that Julian might be right.
Crawford had buried evidence before. He'd made witnesses disappear.
He'd twisted the system to his advantage for years.
And Ben had watched it happen once already.
Kath remained silent beside him, her expression carefully neutral. Ben felt her gaze shift between them—first to Julian, then settling on him. She didn't push. Didn't interfere. She just waited, her silence more potent than any argument she could have made.
That silence cut deeper than Julian's words ever could.
Because Ben understood what it really meant. This wasn't just about what Julian was willing to do to win. It was about whether Ben was willing to do enough. Whether he could live with himself if they lost because he'd refused to cross the line.
He met Kath's gaze, finding something complex beneath her careful composure. Determination burned there, alongside guilt. Fear. And beneath it all—control. She was letting him decide, but her stake in this was immeasurably higher than his.
"For now..." Ben said firmly, measuring each word, "we do this my way."
Julian leaned back further in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, like a man who'd already seen the final act of a predictable play.
"Whatever you say, big brother," Julian replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Let's see how long that lasts."
The light outside was fading—shadows stretching across glass and steel, painting the city in deepening shades of blue and gray. Ben watched the transformation from his office, the view a momentary distraction from the tension that had settled in his shoulders.
Ben watched her.
Across the room, Kath was laughing—really laughing—at something Julian said. It was too easy. Too effortless. The sound of it carried across the space, genuine and unguarded in a way he rarely heard from her anymore. Not with him, at least.
And Julian's smirk?
Practically criminal.
Ben’s fingers curled around the edge of the folder in front of him, the paper creasing beneath the pressure. His molars ground together. He shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t give a damn about whatever this rhythm was—Julian’s smirking charm, the easy cadence of her laugh in reply.
It was nothing. Just cooperation. Strategic alignment.
Then her eyes found his across the room.
Laughter gone. But the warmth? Still there. And beneath it—something else. Something razor-sharp. A dare.
Come on, Sinclair. What now?
Ben looked away first.
Not because he wanted to. Because he had to.
His spine went stiff as the irritation twisted low and hot in his chest. This wasn’t the time for distractions. Not when they were still a mile away from anything that could bury Crawford.
But that didn’t stop the heat from lingering.
Later, the meeting devolved into strategy talk.
Tension was already high—papers shuffling, voices sharp. Julian had brought more information, but it only highlighted how much was still missing. The frustration in the room was palpable, thickening the air with each passing minute.
But then—
Kath leaned in. Too close. Her words were about witness lists—dry, forgettable. Something about a former Sterling employee who might be willing to talk.
But her fingers?
They brushed his wrist.
Once.
Light. Accidental—maybe.
Ben didn’t react. Not outwardly. But his mind noted it. Logged it. Filed it away.
She kept speaking, her tone perfectly professional. But then her fingers drifted again. Slower this time. Fingertips tracing the edge of his sleeve like she was smoothing a wrinkle that wasn’t there.
Still, he said nothing.
But his body had already gone still.
The third time?
There was no ambiguity.
Her touch lingered—subtle, but certain. Deliberate.
Ben’s hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-gesture.
Not harsh. But firm. Controlled. Possessive.
Her breath hitched—so quiet most wouldn’t notice. But he did. Felt it in the quickening beneath his fingers. The pulse fluttering against his grip like a secret trying to escape.
He leaned in, voice just above a whisper.
"Careful, Winters," he said, voice low, quiet, threatening. "You don't want to start something you can't handle."
She didn't pull away.
And neither did he.
Then—a cough. Loud. Deliberate.
Across the room, Julian stood grinning like he was hosting dinner theater.
“Should I leave? Or is this one of those office scandals I get to witness in real time?” His voice dripped with amusement, eyes gleaming far too bright with entertainment.
Ben inhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, a quiet tether on the impulse to react. Of course he'd make a spectacle of this. He always did.
Kath smirked, pulling back slow. Controlled. Like she was still winning.
“Maybe you shut the fuck up,” she shot back.
The way they sparred made something tighten in Ben’s chest. Too familiar. Too easy. Like they’d found a rhythm behind his back.
Julian arched a brow and leaned against the table’s edge, clearly settling in.
“You know,” he said, grinning wider, “if I were directing this… I’d tell you two to slow it down.”
Ben exhaled sharply through his nose. The satisfaction radiating off his brother was almost tangible, needling into every nerve.
Pacing now, Julian’s voice turned lilting, theatrical. “Stretch out the tension. Let the audience suffer. Near-kiss. Misunderstanding. A tragic backstory montage with rain and violins...”
Each word scraped. This wasn’t a game. Not to Ben. But to Julian? It was the best seat in the house.
A lazy gesture followed, motioning between them.
“The brooding lead. The defiant heroine. The inevitable collision. It practically writes itself.”
Ben’s eyes flicked up—cold, hard, unamused.
“Julian—” Ben’s voice dipped, steady and cold, with just enough bite to turn heads. A warning in the shape of a name.
Ben watched Julian’s grin falter.
Not much. Just enough.
Something shifted behind his brother’s eyes—the glint of mockery dimming, cooling into something harder.
Julian’s voice dropped, lower and more dangerous—velvety on the surface, but threaded with malice. There was weight in every syllable, not loud, but unmistakably laced with threat.
"But here’s the thing about good stories— they don’t always burn out. Sometimes they implode. Spectacularly."
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full. Thick. Like smoke that hadn’t cleared yet. It lingered, coiling through the air between them.
"And not everyone makes it out in one piece."
Ben’s spine locked. A slow, involuntary tension threaded through his body like wire pulled too tight. This wasn’t Julian’s usual provocation. There was weight to it now. Cold. Certain. Like he knew exactly how this would end.
And for a flicker of a second, Ben saw it—if this thing with Katherine cracked in the wrong direction, the whole case could collapse. All of it. And then what the fuck were they doing playing chicken with Crawford?
Julian leaned back. No smirk. No show. Just his eyes, flicking between them. Watching. Calculating.
“So maybe... just maybe... you two should stop playing with matches before something catches fire.”
The silence that followed didn’t fall. It settled—thick as smoke, heavy as ash.
Even the sounds outside the glass—cars, voices, life—faded beneath it.
Ben didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Julian stood. Rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off dust. When the smirk returned, it felt artificial—painted on over the bones of something darker.
“But hey—what do I know?” he said, voice light again, like he hadn’t just gutted the room and left the organs neatly arranged.
He headed for the door. Tossed the last line over his shoulder with careless ease.
“Maybe you’re the exception. Maybe it ends in a happy ending.”
He let the words settle, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Or maybe not. But hey—decide for yourselves.”
Ben exhaled. A sharp, tight release of breath that barely moved his chest. His shoulders stayed high, muscles still coiled like he hadn't quite escaped the moment.
Across from him, Katherine didn’t move.
But her posture had shifted—just slightly. Shoulders tighter. Chin a fraction lower. Like she was holding herself still to keep something from shaking loose.
Whatever Julian had said?
It hadn’t just landed.
It had unsettled her.
Still there.
Still crawling under her skin.
The door clicked shut behind Julian.
Silence stretched.
Ben sat down beside her. Not close. Not far. Just there.
Kath didn’t look at him. Didn’t move.
Her fingers were still, but her breath wasn’t.
He stared ahead. Said nothing.
The quiet didn’t fix anything.
But neither of them left.