Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 133

With a single move, Gwyneth ripped away Queenie’s mask of false kindness, exposing her incompetence and petty malice for everyone to see.

She didn’t bother to spare Queenie another glance, as if even looking at her was beneath her.

Instead, Gwyneth turned to the stunned young assistant nearby, her tone calm and businesslike. “Could you please bring me a glass of water? Thank you.”

She opened her laptop with practiced ease, the screen’s glow reflecting her composed, unreadable profile. It was as though the stormy confrontation moments ago was nothing more than brushing off a bit of dust.

From a dark corner, the security camera silently transmitted everything to a monitor in the executive suite on the top floor.

Julian watched, feeling oddly pleased. Clearly, Gwyneth still cared about him. She was still willing to go toe-to-toe with Queenie over him.

His older brother had just called to say Gwyneth had asked to return to Harvest Group herself. Clearly, she hadn’t moved on. He’d always known she could never truly escape his grasp.

On the 23rd floor of Harvest Group, in a tucked-away corner of the project coordination department, the air still crackled with the tension left behind.

Gwyneth was about to call Elodie when the phone on her desk shrilled, breaking the silence.

She glanced at the caller ID—Executive Office.

Her brow tightened the smallest fraction, irritation flickering in her eyes.

Seriously?

Queenie had barely left and now Julian couldn’t wait to summon her himself? Did those two ever get tired of tag-teaming her?

Expressionless, she picked up the receiver. Her voice was cool and measured. “Hello, Mr. Locke.”

“Gwyneth.” Julian’s voice came through the line, deliberately clipped and commanding. “Come up. Now.”

There was no room for argument.

“Understood, Mr. Locke.” Gwyneth replied crisply and hung up, not wasting a single unnecessary word.

Not far away, Queenie was just about to return to her office when she caught the words “Mr. Locke” at the corner.

Her face, twisted with resentment, pressed against the wall as she watched Gwyneth’s every move. The moment she saw Gwyneth get the call, a cold, triumphant smile curled on Queenie’s lips.

Tantrum? Who was throwing a tantrum? She was married now—her legal husband was literally across the street, running his own empire. Why would she waste her time acting out for Julian’s attention?

But her face gave nothing away. She lowered her gaze, long lashes casting a delicate shadow below her eyes. Her voice, carefully tinged with just the right note of wounded vulnerability, was barely above a whisper: “Is that really what you think of me?”

Her words were soft, carrying just enough hurt to tug at Julian’s favorite string: the conviction that she still cared.

Something in Julian softened. Seeing her standing there, meek and wounded, sent a rush of possessive satisfaction—and just a flicker of guilt—through him.

Maybe he really had been a little too cold lately. She’d acted out, distanced herself, even requested a transfer back, all because she couldn’t bear to be apart from him, wasn’t she? Wasn’t this proof of how much she cared?

“Gwyneth…” Julian’s tone gentled, almost coaxing, as he stepped closer and reached for her hand. “I know I’ve been… distant. But there’s nothing between Queenie and me—not the way you think. You know, after all these years, you’ve always been the one I love most.”

It had always been like this—just a few sweet words and she’d give him everything. It never failed.

Gwyneth’s stomach twisted.

Love? Julian’s “love” wasn’t worth a dime.