Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 109

Julian’s voice was low, edged with a barely suppressed irritation—and something else he didn’t even recognize: a sharp, possessive sting.

He blurted it out before he could stop himself, his tone clipped with obvious displeasure and accusation.

“Gwyneth, what on earth are you wearing?”

His gaze bore into her like a spotlight, fixed on the breathtaking, backless gown she wore. Under the dazzling lights, the pale sweep of her skin and the elegant lines of her back seemed to burn into his eyes, sending a surge of hot anger rushing straight to his head.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the air seemed to grow even more charged and silent.

All around, guests exchanged glances, their eyes darting between Julian, Queenie, and Gwyneth—eager spectators sensing drama.

Gwyneth kept her professional smile firmly in place. “I know it doesn’t look good. I could never pull it off like Queenie does.”

She put a deliberate emphasis on “Queenie,” her voice laced with biting sarcasm.

But inside, she was laughing coldly.

Who are you to care?

Why should I answer to you?

Since when do I need your approval for what I wear?

Julian was caught off guard by her retort. The truth was, she looked far better than Queenie. He glanced at Queenie, then back at Gwyneth, at a complete loss for words—when silence spoke louder than anything he could have said.

Queenie’s face flushed bright red, then instantly drained of color, her carefully practiced sweet smile shattering into something twisted and ugly—a mixture of humiliation and hate. She clutched Julian’s arm so tightly her knuckles went white.

At that moment, Desiree arrived at the entrance to the gala. She was draped in a champagne-colored haute couture gown from last season—a piece she’d gone to great lengths to borrow.

The elegant shade, the fine lace embroidery, the sweeping mermaid silhouette—all of it was meant to accentuate her enviable figure.

Tonight, Desiree was certain she would be the most dazzling socialite at the Locke Group’s gala.

But as she strode into the glittering hall, head held high like a peacock in full display, the admiring stares and camera flashes she’d anticipated were nowhere to be found.

Instead, a peculiar, tense buzz hung in the air.

Guests clustered in small groups, murmuring in low voices, their eyes irresistibly drawn toward a single spot near the entrance—a small storm at the heart of the room.

It was as if a vortex had formed there, swirling with tension, shock, and a hint of eager anticipation.

A tiny crack appeared in Desiree’s flawless smile.

What’s going on?

Could someone even more important have arrived?

Suppressing her annoyance, she glided forward with practiced poise, inching closer to the center of attention.

The nearer she drew, the more charged the atmosphere became, taut as a wire about to snap.

The two voices rang out in unison, the matching greeting slicing through the hush like a bolt of lightning.

Desiree clearly relished the title; the jealous glint in her eyes had already given way to smug, imperious pride.

Somehow Gwyneth had managed to get her hands on V House’s latest exclusive. How could she, Desiree—the eldest daughter of the Sutton Group—be bested by Gwyneth, a mere secretary?

She glanced around, sensing that something unpleasant must have happened before she arrived. Queenie’s jealousy was barely concealed, her flawless makeup unable to hide the cracks.

Catching the restless flicker in Julian’s gaze, Desiree realized she might be able to use this situation to her advantage.

Even though Queenie had already told her about tonight’s little scheme, there was no harm in collecting a bit of extra satisfaction.

Feigning casual interest, she said, “Julian seems to like Gwyneth’s dress very much. Are you planning to buy Queenie one just like it?”

She shot Queenie a meaningful look.

Julian, behind his gold-rimmed glasses, gave nothing away, but he found Desiree’s meddling more than a little tiresome.

At that moment, a dark glint flashed in Queenie’s eyes, malice nearly tangible.

She stared at Gwyneth’s dazzling, priceless gown; she saw the way everyone was looking at Gwyneth, the way Julian seemed completely lost, his gaze glued to her. Rage and humiliation boiled over inside her.

Pretending to be jostled by Julian, Queenie stumbled forward, “accidentally” tipping her champagne flute at an impossibly precise angle—sending a cascade of golden liquid straight toward the sweeping hem of Gwyneth’s midnight-blue gown.