Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 117

Bennett watched her quietly.

She wore a black dress, her face bare of any makeup, so pale it seemed almost translucent. In her eyes lingered a calm that bordered on tragic, a sorrow buried so deep it was almost invisible.

He didn’t try to stop her again. He just stood in silence for a few moments.

Sunlight poured into his dark, fathomless eyes, but it revealed nothing of what he felt—only a stillness, deep and impenetrable, like the surface of an ancient well.

Finally, he rose to his feet. His tall frame cast a quiet pressure over the room. His voice was steady, giving nothing away.

“I’ll have the driver take you.”

Gwyneth didn’t refuse, nor did she thank him.

She simply inclined her head, opened the door, and stepped outside.

———

Haven Cemetery. The sun blazed down, so bright it stung the eyes, as if it could burn everything away just as the fire in her dreams had once done. The stone path radiated heat, nearly scorching underfoot.

Gwyneth stood alone before a blank headstone and placed a handful of white lilies upon it.

Her body hadn’t fully recovered yet. She’d been standing for a long time, and the sharp spike of emotion left her weak. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness crashed over her.

The world spun. Darkness crowded her vision, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and she staggered, about to collapse backward.

“Careful!”

A low, familiar voice—tense, barely controlled—rang out behind her.

An instant later, a strong arm reached around her, steady and unyielding, holding her upright just in time.

Bennett.

He hadn’t simply sent the driver, after all.

He’d come himself.

Had he been standing nearby, quietly watching over her all along?

Gwyneth leaned against his arm, her head still spinning, vision filled with hazy light.

She could feel the solid strength of his support, the undeniable warmth of his presence.

His cool, steady scent wrapped around her, a strange kind of comfort in her moment of collapse—just enough strength for her battered body and shaken heart to cling to, if only for a moment.

“You…” She wanted to ask—why are you here?

But her exhaustion and tangled emotions left her too weak to speak.

Bennett didn’t answer the question she couldn’t quite voice.

He didn’t even look at her.

His gaze was fixed on the blank headstone, his expression unreadable and heavy, as if searching for meaning. Was there even a trace of respect—something he himself hadn’t realized?

He kept her close, letting her lean into his side, supporting her weight as she nearly collapsed.

There was an unyielding strength to his touch, yet beneath it, a careful gentleness, as if he feared she might break.

Brother?

Who was she calling for?

A small frown barely creased Bennett’s brow.

That blank headstone.

No name. No photograph. No flowers, no inscription—just cold stone, standing silent under the sun, like a secret the world had forgotten.

All of it tangled together, forming a web of mysteries that trapped Bennett in its center. For once, the man who prided himself on control felt a restless, helpless frustration.

He had to know.

He had to know who lay beneath that headstone.

He had to know who she meant when she whispered, “Brother.”

Bennett’s eyes sharpened, cold as drawn steel.

He turned away from the sleeping woman and, with swift, silent movements, pulled out his phone.

He dialed Hugo’s number.

The call connected almost instantly. Hugo’s crisp, efficient voice came through: “Mr. Boyd.”

“It’s me.” Bennett kept his tone low, careful not to wake the woman beside him, but each word carried a command and a chilling, relentless edge of curiosity. “I need you to look into something for me.”