Chapter 43 #2
Her pulse jumped. She turned her face away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.
The truth sat heavy on her tongue, bitter and impossible to swallow back down.
She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to hand him this piece of herself, this admission that would give him even more power than he already had.
But he didn't back off. Not this time.
"Say it." A quiet command, not harsh but absolute.
Her fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them like they might anchor her against the pull of his will. The silence stretched—taut, electric.
And then, finally, she spoke.
"I was mad at you," she admitted, voice low, reluctant.
Ben blinked. That? He hadn’t expected.
"Mad?"
“I was angry,” she said tightly. “You made my life hell those first few months—every shitty task, every impossible deadline, and I don't forgot what you assumed about me the first time we met.”
Her voice wavered, not with weakness but with fury that had been building for too long. The emotion rose in her chest, hot and sharp.
"I wanted to mess with you. To make you feel the same heat you made me live in every single day."
Ben absorbed that. Let the silence settle around it like smoke, taking his time to process her words. Then—
"So it was revenge. So you wanted to turn me on and then walk away." he said, his tone calm, almost amused.
Katherine turned to glare at him, finally meeting his gaze directly.
“I didn’t want to ruin you. I just wanted to flip the script—for once.”
Ben hummed, a low sound in the back of his throat. He wasn't angry. Wasn't hurt. He looked very, very interested, like he'd just discovered a new side of her he'd very much like to keep playing with.
And maybe? He liked her more for it.
Ben shifted beside her. Kath could feel the mattress dip slightly with his movement, the sheets rustling as he turned toward her more fully. The darkness didn't hide his intensity—it only made it sharper, more focused.
"Then tell me this," his voice dropped lower, quieter—like this one question cost more than the rest. "Why did you come back for the third dance?"
Katherine’s silence stretched, her gaze shifting like she needed to find the right shelf in her mind to store the question on. It touched something quiet. Personal.
She'd spent so long building defenses against him, against this exact type of moment—where he would strip away her excuses and make her face the truth. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her breathing steady, refusing to let him see how much the question unsettled her.
“Not just about the money,” she said, her voice defensive, clipped.
“I needed a reason. Ian would’ve asked questions if I passed on a high-ticket guest. Saying no without cause draws attention.
You know how it works—we don’t reject unless they’re drunk, grabby, or violent. You weren’t any of those.”
She hesitated. Just a breath.
“I could’ve said you were. Lied. Claimed you crossed a line, and that would’ve been it—problem solved. But I didn’t want to put you in that kind of position.”
Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp and unreadable.
“Especially when it wasn’t true.”
Her voice was calm. Controlled. Legal-grade logic. But it was a shield. And he knew it. She could tell by the way he watched her, waiting for the real answer beneath her careful explanation.
Ben nodded, slowly. His eyes never left her face, studying her with that infuriating patience that made her feel like he had all night to wait for her truth.
"Fair," he said quietly. "I hadn't thought of that."
A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. Kath felt her pulse quicken as she waited for him to accept her answer and move on. But she knew better.
"Still," he said, his voice softer, pressing gently against her defenses. "That doesn't explain what came next."
Kath stilled. The sheets suddenly felt too warm, too tight around her legs. Her skin prickled with awareness as his words hung in the air between them. She knew exactly what he meant.
"You didn't just come back," Ben continued, his tone measured but relentless. "You gave me more. Got closer. Why?"
Her stomach dropped. Her mouth dried. The question stripped away all her careful explanations, all her rational justifications. It demanded the truth she'd been avoiding since that night—since she'd knelt between his legs and changed everything.
In a sudden, childish impulse, Kath yanked the blanket over her head, hiding from his penetrating gaze.
"Because I don't want to talk about this," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.
"Oh, come on." Ben's tone carried a hint of amusement. "You don't get to hide now."
Kath groaned, curling deeper under the blanket. "I don't want to tell you."
“That’s unfortunate,” Ben said, his mock sympathy laced with something sharper. “Because I really, really want to know.”
There was a smile in his voice, but it didn’t reach softness.
It coiled, deliberate, the kind of voice meant to crawl under skin.
Kath could feel his attention through the blanket between them—persistent, focused. Like heat through fabric.
"Mmmph," she mumbled incoherently, stalling.
"Say that again?" Ben's smirk was audible.
A pause stretched between them. Then—
"Because I felt like I lost control," Kath admitted quietly, miserably, still hidden beneath the blanket.
The teasing in Ben's voice vanished instantly. Something else replaced it—something that made the air between them feel charged, dangerous.
"Explain," he said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding tone that wasn't a request.
Kath peeked out from beneath the blanket, her eyes narrowed defensively, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, but she didn't retreat back under her shield. Didn't try to deflect with another joke or
half-truth.
"When you confronted me that night..." she began, her voice tense, "it rattled me. I thought I had the upper hand. I had the mask. The secrets. The game."
She took a breath, steadying herself against the weight of his undivided attention.
"And then suddenly... I didn't."
Kath pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like she was trying to contain something volatile inside her—or perhaps just holding herself together so she wouldn't fall apart under his scrutiny.
"I panicked," she continued with a bitter laugh. "I hated that you saw through me. That I felt... small. Powerless."
Ben remained perfectly still beside her. He didn't reach for her. Didn't try to fill the silence with reassurances. He just listened, his eyes never leaving her face, absorbing every word with an intensity that should have made her stop.
But somehow, his silence made her want to keep going—to finally release the truth she'd been holding back.
“I thought if I gave you something—if I could make you lose focus, make you come undone even a little—I’d get it back.
The control. Even if it was just for a second.”
She paused, the confession stretching into the space between them like a live wire.
Then—barely audible, more breath than voice—she added, “And maybe… maybe it excited me.”
The shift in Ben was instant. His body didn’t move, but something in the air between them changed—tightened. Like a string pulled taut. His gaze, already sharp, turned razor-edged.
Her pulse stuttered.
The room was too quiet. His presence too much.
She turned her head, eyes locking on the shadows across the wall. Anywhere but him.
“Kath.” His voice was low. Careful. But not gentle.
There was no teasing in it now—just a quiet demand threaded through the sound of her name.
A pause. Heavy.
Then— “What part?” Quieter still. Slower. No pressure.
Just precision. Like he was cutting exactly where she couldn’t defend.
She didn’t answer.
Not because she didn’t want to. Because she did.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
Ben didn’t touch her. Didn’t move. But she felt him—his stillness, his certainty. The way he waited not like a man who hoped she'd speak, but like one who knew she would. Eventually.
Her fingers curled in the blanket. A breath caught in her throat. The silence stretched.
“Katherine.”
Her name again—this time softer.
It wrapped around her like a palm at her throat.
Not squeezing.
Just holding.
Just there.
She closed her eyes. Exhaled. And with it, something inside her gave way.
“The risk,” she whispered. “The secrecy. You.”
The words hung, fragile and raw, barely formed before the silence reclaimed them.
She didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to. She felt the shift—the way his breath caught, shallow and slow, like he’d taken the hit straight to the chest. A pause.
A flicker of movement against the mattress.
Then stillness again—like he was holding his own body still, too aware of how close they already were.
Finally, his voice cut through the quiet. Low. Rougher than before.
“…Of course it was me.”
No mockery. No smugness. Just the simple, grounded certainty of someone who already knew the answer—but needed to hear her say it anyway.
Katherine let out a soft, strangled sound—half sigh,
half laugh—as she buried her face in her hands.
“I hate you.”
“No,” Ben murmured, and this time there was the faintest curve in his voice. Not quite a smile. Just warm enough to make her skin flush.
“You don’t.”
Another silence followed, heavier than the last. The kind that stretched across bare skin and unsaid things, wrapping around them like a secret neither of them was willing to fully name.
“You walked in wanting power,” he said, voice low and cutting. “And still, you handed it to me—every time.”
Katherine’s fingers curled into the sheets. Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t look at him.
“Don’t remind me.”
Ben didn’t laugh. Didn’t gloat. But when he spoke again, his voice was quiet fire.
“I won’t.”
A pause.
“But I’ll remember.”