Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 143

The air froze solid in an instant.

It was as if Julian had been struck, right at some unguarded corner of his soul. For a split second, his expression stiffened; behind his glasses, his pupils dilated with shock.

He stared into Gwyneth’s eyes—those piercing, soul-searching eyes—and felt his throat tighten, as if something had lodged there. Every smooth excuse, every well-rehearsed deflection he'd prepared, suddenly stuck fast and wouldn’t come out.

He fell into a brief silence.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but under the weight of Gwyneth’s unflinching gaze and Queenie’s sudden, breathless anticipation, the silence stretched, heavy and endless.

His silence was an answer in itself.

A cruel, implicit answer.

A flicker of realization flashed through Gwyneth’s eyes, then quickly settled into something deeper and more calculating. She seemed to see straight through Julian’s invisible scales, the ones he used to measure personal gain and loss, and she caught the ruthless weighing of options behind his momentary pause.

Just as she expected.

A cold smile twisted in her mind.

Julian, flustered by the silence and his own lapse, was just about to recover, to say something and regain control of the moment, when Gwyneth abruptly let go of her relentless scrutiny.

The lines of her face softened in an instant, as if that piercing question had never happened at all. She even tilted her head slightly, a playful, almost girlish pout curling her lips. Her tone was breezy, startling in its sudden lightness.

“Oh, look at me—nearly forgot why I came,” she teased, blinking with just the right touch of affection and feigned innocence. “I thought you asked me here because your birthday’s tomorrow, and you wanted to celebrate early.”

She seemed completely caught up in her own “misunderstanding,” pouting a little as she added, “Got my hopes up for nothing.”

Bang.

Her words—so offhand, almost flirtatious—hit Julian like a thunderclap.

Tomorrow’s his birthday.

She actually remembered.

And she thought he’d invited her here to celebrate, just the two of them?

After everything she’d been through—the threats from Zayden, his own manipulations—this was what she cared about? His birthday? And she was even looking forward to it?

A wave of shock and disbelief crashed over Julian, sweeping away every shred of calculation.

That should be interesting.

She turned and walked in the direction Bennett had gone.

————

The Locke family estate blazed with light, filled with the swirl of fine clothes and murmured conversation. Crystal chandeliers threw brilliant patterns onto the polished marble floor, reflecting the mingling crowd of high society’s elite.

But when Gwyneth appeared at the entrance, dressed in a sharply tailored evening gown and radiating quiet authority, every head in the room turned at once.

She was, without question, the most striking woman there. She needed no theatrics; the effortless blend of cool poise and vibrant beauty in her very presence made everything else fade into the background.

She was like a dark blossom in full bloom at midnight—dangerous, mesmerizing.

Ignoring the stares—some admiring, some curious, some openly envious—Gwyneth moved unhurriedly toward the place of honor.

Yale sat there, the picture of a kindly patriarch, smiling as if the terse phone call Gwyneth had once hung up on him had never happened.

“Gwyneth, you’re here! Come, sit,” Yale said, his voice warm with the practiced affection of an elder, patting the seat beside him.