Chapter 10 : "The Rules"

Monday arrived with a headache and a plan. I dragged myself out of bed with a spreadsheet already glowing on my phone screen, a color-coded monument to my own insanity.

I hadn't slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw one of two identical faces looking back at me, and my traitorous brain couldn't seem to decide which one it wanted to linger on longer. By four in the morning I had given up on sleep entirely and started typing instead, fingers flying across the screen with the kind of manic focus I usually reserved for closing arguments.

If Cole could see me now, weaponizing a spreadsheet against two billionaires, he would never let me live it down.

I showered, dressed in the most severe blazer I owned, black with sharp shoulders, the kind of thing that said Managing Director and absolutely nothing else, and stopped for coffee on the way in because I was going to need every ounce of caffeine New York City could legally sell me.

The barista, a sweet college kid named Priya who had clearly seen the blog posts, gave me a sympathetic look along with my order. "Rough week?"

"You have no idea."

"For what it's worth," she said, sliding my cup across the counter, "my money's on the quiet one."

I didn't have the energy to ask which brother she meant. I already knew.

Rule one. No public displays of affection or possession. Rule two. No unannounced visits to my office. Rule three. One outing each, alternating, scheduled through Madeline like a proper business meeting. Rule four, the most important one. Break the rules and you are done. Completely.

I printed it. Actual paper, because I wanted them to hold something tangible when I dismantled their sense of control.

Madeline took one look at the paper in my hand when I walked in and wisely said nothing, though her eyes lingered on the bolded word RULES at the top for a beat longer than necessary.

"Get Mr. Carter and Mr. Carter to the fourteenth floor conference room," I told her. "Both of them. Nine sharp."

"Which Mr. Carter?"

"Exactly."

She blinked, then nodded slowly, like she had just decided this was above her pay grade and wanted no further part of it. I couldn't blame her.

By nine o'clock I had summoned them both to the small conference room on the fourteenth floor, the one with frosted glass that gave me at least a sliver of privacy from the gossiping vultures outside.

Killian arrived first, dropping into a chair like he owned it, which, technically, he did now. Kade came a beat later, quiet, watching me the way he always did, like he was reading something written just beneath my skin.

"If you called us here to yell at us again," Killian said, propping his ankle on his knee, "I came prepared. Emotionally."

"Sit down and be quiet," I said, sliding the paper across the table.

Kade picked it up first. His eyes moved down the page, unreadable, while Killian leaned over his shoulder to read along, his easy grin fading by careful degrees.

"You made rules," Killian said flatly.

"I made rules," I confirmed. "Because apparently neither of you can function like an adult without them. You want to take me out? Fine. One outing each. Separately. Scheduled. No overlapping, no ambushes, no leaked photos, no cornering me in bathrooms."

"That was one time," Killian muttered.

"It was one time too many," I snapped.

Killian tapped a finger against rule two, reading it aloud in a mocking imitation of a courtroom voice. "'No unannounced visits to my office.' Mia, I own this building. Technically every visit I make is announced. I'm the announcement."

"You are the reason I need the rule, Killian."

"Semantics."

"Read rule three again," I said flatly, "and tell me where the ambiguity is."

He scanned it again, lips pursed, clearly hunting for a loophole he could exploit later. Kade, beside him, hadn't said a word, his eyes still fixed on the page like he was memorizing it instead of merely reading it.

Kade set the paper down, folding his hands over it like he was closing a merger. "And if we agree to this?"

"Then you stop turning my office into a circus. You stop letting people speculate about my sex life by the printer. And you give me room to figure out whatever this is." I gestured between the three of us, vague and furious.

Killian studied me for a long moment, the playful mask slipping just enough that I caught something sharper underneath it. "And if we win?"

"This isn't a game, Killian."

"Everything is a game, Mia. You just wrote the rules. That means you already agreed to play."

I hated that he had a point.

Kade slid the paper back across the table toward me, his gray eyes steady. "I accept the terms."

Killian rolled his eyes but nodded too, slower, like he was already three moves ahead of both of us. "Fine. Terms accepted." He paused at the word, tasting it. "But Mia?"

"What?"

He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, close enough that I caught the low, expensive scent of his cologne. "Don't expect me to play fair. I never have."

He straightened before I could respond, buttoning his jacket, unbothered, like he hadn't just threatened me with a smile. At the door he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Thursday, princess. Wear something that isn't a business suit for once. I want to see the woman I met that night, not the Managing Director."

"Out, Killian."

He grinned, wide and unrepentant, and finally left. Kade watched him the entire way to the door, something tight and unreadable moving across his face.

When Killian was gone, I turned to Kade, waiting for the calm, reasonable half of the twin equation to reassure me that everything would be fine now that there were rules.

Instead, he studied me for a moment too long.

"You should know something," he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. "What."

"Killian doesn't lose. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not since we were children." He rose, buttoning his own jacket with the same unbothered grace, and paused at the door. "I need you to understand that before this goes any further."

"Understand what, exactly?"

He looked back at me, and for the first time since he had walked into my life again, something almost like fear moved behind his composed gray eyes.

"That when he wants something badly enough," Kade said, "he stops caring how he gets it."

The door clicked shut behind him.

I sat alone in the conference room for a long time, staring at my own handwriting on the page between us. Four simple rules. I had thought they would give me control. Instead, all I felt was the particular dread of someone who has just realized she handed two very dangerous men a scoreboard and called it a boundary.

Outside the frosted glass, I could hear the low murmur of the office resuming its usual rhythm, phones ringing, printers churning, the ordinary hum of a workplace that had somehow become a stage for my personal life. I pressed my palms flat against the cool surface of the table and made myself breathe, slow and deliberate, the way I used to before walking into a courtroom.

Four rules. That was all. I could manage four rules.

I gathered the paper, smoothed the crease where Killian's shoe had nearly wrinkled it, and made my way back toward my office, ignoring the curious glances that followed me down the glass hallway. Madeline caught my eye from her desk and gave me a small, questioning thumbs up, which I answered with a noncommittal shrug that satisfied absolutely no one, least of all myself.

My phone buzzed on the table.

Killian: Dinner Thursday. Wear the red dress. I already know you own one.

I hadn't told him that. I hadn't told anyone that.

A second buzz came a moment later, an unknown number this time, though I already knew exactly who it belonged to.

Kade: Friday. I'll pick the place. You won't need to dress up.

I stared at both messages until the screen dimmed on its own, my rules already in ruins before either of them had even left the building.

Chapter 10

Monday arrived with a headache and a plan. I dragged myself out of bed with a spreadsheet already glowing on my phone screen, a color-coded monument to my own insanity.

I hadn't slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw one of two identical faces looking back at me, and my traitorous brain couldn't seem to decide which one it wanted to linger on longer. By four in the morning I had given up on sleep entirely and started typing instead, fingers flying across the screen with the kind of manic focus I usually reserved for closing arguments.

If Cole could see me now, weaponizing a spreadsheet against two billionaires, he would never let me live it down.

I showered, dressed in the most severe blazer I owned, black with sharp shoulders, the kind of thing that said Managing Director and absolutely nothing else, and stopped for coffee on the way in because I was going to need every ounce of caffeine New York City could legally sell me.

The barista, a sweet college kid named Priya who had clearly seen the blog posts, gave me a sympathetic look along with my order. "Rough week?"

"You have no idea."

"For what it's worth," she said, sliding my cup across the counter, "my money's on the quiet one."

I didn't have the energy to ask which brother she meant. I already knew.

Rule one. No public displays of affection or possession. Rule two. No unannounced visits to my office. Rule three. One outing each, alternating, scheduled through Madeline like a proper business meeting. Rule four, the most important one. Break the rules and you are done. Completely.

I printed it. Actual paper, because I wanted them to hold something tangible when I dismantled their sense of control.

Madeline took one look at the paper in my hand when I walked in and wisely said nothing, though her eyes lingered on the bolded word RULES at the top for a beat longer than necessary.

"Get Mr. Carter and Mr. Carter to the fourteenth floor conference room," I told her. "Both of them. Nine sharp."

"Which Mr. Carter?"

"Exactly."

She blinked, then nodded slowly, like she had just decided this was above her pay grade and wanted no further part of it. I couldn't blame her.

By nine o'clock I had summoned them both to the small conference room on the fourteenth floor, the one with frosted glass that gave me at least a sliver of privacy from the gossiping vultures outside.

Killian arrived first, dropping into a chair like he owned it, which, technically, he did now. Kade came a beat later, quiet, watching me the way he always did, like he was reading something written just beneath my skin.

"If you called us here to yell at us again," Killian said, propping his ankle on his knee, "I came prepared. Emotionally."

"Sit down and be quiet," I said, sliding the paper across the table.

Kade picked it up first. His eyes moved down the page, unreadable, while Killian leaned over his shoulder to read along, his easy grin fading by careful degrees.

"You made rules," Killian said flatly.

"I made rules," I confirmed. "Because apparently neither of you can function like an adult without them. You want to take me out? Fine. One outing each. Separately. Scheduled. No overlapping, no ambushes, no leaked photos, no cornering me in bathrooms."

"That was one time," Killian muttered.

"It was one time too many," I snapped.

Killian tapped a finger against rule two, reading it aloud in a mocking imitation of a courtroom voice. "'No unannounced visits to my office.' Mia, I own this building. Technically every visit I make is announced. I'm the announcement."

"You are the reason I need the rule, Killian."

"Semantics."

"Read rule three again," I said flatly, "and tell me where the ambiguity is."

He scanned it again, lips pursed, clearly hunting for a loophole he could exploit later. Kade, beside him, hadn't said a word, his eyes still fixed on the page like he was memorizing it instead of merely reading it.

Kade set the paper down, folding his hands over it like he was closing a merger. "And if we agree to this?"

"Then you stop turning my office into a circus. You stop letting people speculate about my sex life by the printer. And you give me room to figure out whatever this is." I gestured between the three of us, vague and furious.

Killian studied me for a long moment, the playful mask slipping just enough that I caught something sharper underneath it. "And if we win?"

"This isn't a game, Killian."

"Everything is a game, Mia. You just wrote the rules. That means you already agreed to play."

I hated that he had a point.

Kade slid the paper back across the table toward me, his gray eyes steady. "I accept the terms."

Killian rolled his eyes but nodded too, slower, like he was already three moves ahead of both of us. "Fine. Terms accepted." He paused at the word, tasting it. "But Mia?"

"What?"

He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, close enough that I caught the low, expensive scent of his cologne. "Don't expect me to play fair. I never have."

He straightened before I could respond, buttoning his jacket, unbothered, like he hadn't just threatened me with a smile. At the door he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Thursday, princess. Wear something that isn't a business suit for once. I want to see the woman I met that night, not the Managing Director."

"Out, Killian."

He grinned, wide and unrepentant, and finally left. Kade watched him the entire way to the door, something tight and unreadable moving across his face.

When Killian was gone, I turned to Kade, waiting for the calm, reasonable half of the twin equation to reassure me that everything would be fine now that there were rules.

Instead, he studied me for a moment too long.

"You should know something," he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. "What."

"Killian doesn't lose. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not since we were children." He rose, buttoning his own jacket with the same unbothered grace, and paused at the door. "I need you to understand that before this goes any further."

"Understand what, exactly?"

He looked back at me, and for the first time since he had walked into my life again, something almost like fear moved behind his composed gray eyes.

"That when he wants something badly enough," Kade said, "he stops caring how he gets it."

The door clicked shut behind him.

I sat alone in the conference room for a long time, staring at my own handwriting on the page between us. Four simple rules. I had thought they would give me control. Instead, all I felt was the particular dread of someone who has just realized she handed two very dangerous men a scoreboard and called it a boundary.

Outside the frosted glass, I could hear the low murmur of the office resuming its usual rhythm, phones ringing, printers churning, the ordinary hum of a workplace that had somehow become a stage for my personal life. I pressed my palms flat against the cool surface of the table and made myself breathe, slow and deliberate, the way I used to before walking into a courtroom.

Four rules. That was all. I could manage four rules.

I gathered the paper, smoothed the crease where Killian's shoe had nearly wrinkled it, and made my way back toward my office, ignoring the curious glances that followed me down the glass hallway. Madeline caught my eye from her desk and gave me a small, questioning thumbs up, which I answered with a noncommittal shrug that satisfied absolutely no one, least of all myself.

My phone buzzed on the table.

Killian: Dinner Thursday. Wear the red dress. I already know you own one.

I hadn't told him that. I hadn't told anyone that.

A second buzz came a moment later, an unknown number this time, though I already knew exactly who it belonged to.

Kade: Friday. I'll pick the place. You won't need to dress up.

I stared at both messages until the screen dimmed on its own, my rules already in ruins before either of them had even left the building.