Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 120

How could Gwyneth possibly know?

And how did she have the nerve to ask that—right in front of everyone?

Guests nearby, close enough to catch the explosive exchange, turned with shock and curiosity etched across their faces.

“I... I...” Queenie’s mind went utterly blank. She clung desperately to the front of Julian’s jacket, burying her face in his chest, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. She couldn’t muster a single word of explanation.

Julian, too, was caught off guard by Gwyneth’s sudden question and Queenie’s panicked reaction. He stood rooted to the spot, his complexion flickering between pale and livid—a portrait of utter humiliation.

At the height of this mortifying silence, when the air was thick with the sense of exposed secrets and illicit shame, Desiree, who had been watching with a cool detachment, finally spoke up.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was measured, even a little too calm, as if she were striving for fairness—though her real intent was to redirect the conversation away from the dangerous topic of the child’s paternity.

“Gwyneth, must you be so harsh?” Desiree frowned slightly, all feigned disapproval. “Queenie’s already suffered enough, losing her child. No matter who the father was, it was still her flesh and blood. Why choose this moment to rub salt in her wounds? Have some compassion, won’t you?”

It sounded like mediation, but in truth, Desiree was muddying the waters and excusing Queenie, all while casting Gwyneth as cold and heartless.

“And how exactly was it ‘an accident’?” Gwyneth replied, her tone breezy, but her next word landed like a grenade. “Or was the baby—illegitimate?”

Julian’s gold-rimmed glasses flashed with a cold gleam. He parted his lips, voice low and resonant, like thunder rumbling through the tense silence.

“Gwyneth, that’s enough.”

But Gwyneth ignored them all.

She just wanted to get away from this suffocating filth.

Head held high, she strode with composure toward the brightly lit entrance to the banquet hall.

But some people are like leeches—impossible to shake off.

“Gwyneth! Wait!”

Queenie immediately chimed in, feigning sudden realization and concern. “Fake? Oh, Gwyneth, if you’re caught, that’s not going to end well! They’ll think you’re just some gatecrasher. Why not use ours?”

Julian’s frown deepened as he eyed the unfamiliar white card in Gwyneth’s hand, suspicion written all over his face. He’d never seen anything like it before.

Gwyneth looked at the three faces before her, all twisted with malice and petty stupidity, and felt a surge of bitter amusement. Not worth another word, not even a glance.

She turned away, heading straight for the uniformed security guard at the entrance. The guard, having overheard the commotion and noting the trio of obviously privileged guests hounding her, regarded Gwyneth with a professional, steady gaze.

He extended his hand politely but with unmistakable authority. “Ma’am, may I see your invitation, please?”

Queenie and Desiree’s faces instantly lit up with mean-spirited anticipation, as if they were about to witness a public spectacle.

Gwyneth, without Julian, how will you ever compete with us now?

A fake invitation? How pathetic.