Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 140

Bennett slid one hand nonchalantly into the pocket of his perfectly tailored trousers. With the other, he brushed invisible dust from his shoulder, every movement unhurried and deliberate.

His strikingly handsome face was utterly devoid of emotion, and his deep-set eyes, cold as a winter lake, swept over Zayden—who stood frozen in place, arm raised and clutching a bottle like some absurd sculpture.

Finally, Bennett’s gaze settled, unwavering, on Gwyneth, who sat at the center of the sofa, never once glancing up, not even as the tension in the room mounted.

His voice, low and calm yet carrying the weight of an oncoming storm, cut through the stifling air like the whisper of death itself:

“Mr. Ford.”

Bennett cocked his head slightly—a graceful gesture, but one edged with lethal intent. He took his time undoing the black diamond cufflink on his left wrist, revealing a wrist with sharp, defined lines.

“Back in town for barely a day, and already causing this much trouble?”

He looked up, his eyes as chilling as shards of ice, stabbing straight through Zayden’s composure.

Behind him, the doorway still smoked from the force of his entrance.

And flanking Bennett, filling the threshold, were dozens of men in Nocturne Spirits’ security uniforms—silent, imposing, clad in black. Like a tide of shadows, they surged soundlessly into the room, swallowing every corner and quickly overwhelming Zayden’s four bodyguards.

Tiny crimson lights blinked on the earpieces of each guard, reminiscent of wolves’ eyes glinting hungrily in the dark.

The heavy bottle of Royal Salute tumbled from Zayden’s numb hand, crashing onto his expensive shoes. Whiskey and glass splattered up his trouser leg, but he didn’t flinch. He stood there, hollowed out, his raised arm still suspended in the air, stuck in a grotesque tableau.

He stared at Bennett, who had appeared like some avenging angel, radiating cold, unyielding authority.

A chill shot up Zayden’s spine, freezing every ounce of anger, arrogance, and calculation in his body, turning his blood to ice.

Bennett—why is he here too?

And was he… protecting Gwyneth?

The room was so silent, the faint hum of the chandelier’s filaments was the only sound that dared to intrude.

Julian’s hand was still suspended inches from Gwyneth’s shoulder, frozen mid-gesture. The shock of Bennett’s entrance doused his earlier rush of “knight in shining armor” bravado like a bucket of ice water.

He jerked his hand back, fingers curling into his palm.

Big brother? What on earth is he doing here?

Was this just a chance encounter… or had he come specifically for Gwyneth?

“Desiree…” His voice was hoarse, tinged with a panic he didn’t even recognize.

But Desiree didn’t seem to hear him at all. Every fiber of her being was fixed on the man in the doorway. She even leaned forward slightly, lips parted, as if on the verge of speaking.

Queenie, too, found herself mesmerized by Bennett’s commanding entrance. What a remarkable stroke of luck for Gwyneth, she thought with a trace of envy.

But as Queenie’s gaze shifted to Desiree’s rapt expression, her thoughts snapped into focus. If Desiree spoke now, she’d ruin Julian’s carefully laid plans.

She nudged Julian, trying to alert him before things got out of hand.

Julian, evidently attuned to the undercurrents in the room, registered the shift as well.

At that moment, his voice broke the taut, uneasy silence:

“Big brother?”

He took half a step forward, forcing a strained smile as his gaze flickered uncertainly between Bennett and Gwyneth.

“What brings you to Nocturne Spirits tonight? Just passing by, or…?”