Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 153

Bennett’s words landed like a brand against Gwyneth’s skin, sending a flush racing across her cheeks and her heart thundering in her chest.

The raw, unapologetic hunger in his eyes made her whole body tense, every nerve set alight by the certainty of his intent.

She couldn’t stay here—not for another second.

If she did, he’d really have his way with her.

A surge of adrenaline she didn’t know she possessed shot through her, and with it, Gwyneth managed to shove Bennett off her.

He stumbled back, completely caught off guard, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it twisted into something darker, more amused.

He watched her—a skittish rabbit bolting from danger—as she scrambled off the bed, tripping and nearly twisting her ankle in her rush to the door, not even caring that her shoes threatened to betray her. All she could think about was escaping this room, thick with his presence and danger.

Gwyneth didn’t dare look back. As she fumbled to fix her disheveled blouse and tousled hair, she stammered out a line in a voice barely her own, “I—I’m heading home!”

The guest room door flew open, then slammed shut behind her with a bang, shutting out the weight of Bennett’s gaze—the one that lingered, amused, as though it could reach right through the wood.

Bennett stood where she’d left him, staring at the door still quivering in its frame. He replayed the image of her embarrassment, her flushed cheeks and wild panic. His tongue pressed unconsciously to the roof of his mouth, as if he could still taste her lips, the faint, teasing sweetness left behind.

A low, satisfied chuckle slipped from him. He brushed his thumb across his still-warm bottom lip, and deep in his eyes flickered an affection he didn’t even realize was there.

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The next morning at Harvest Group.

Gwyneth forced herself to push aside every chaotic memory of the previous night, donning her most professional mask as she entered the office—this time, returning in a new role.

She needed to pack up her things, get ready for her official transfer that afternoon. Soon, she’d be working at Bennett’s side—as his secretary—in an office that used to be hers, though now she’d return under a different title.

She had barely reached her desk when a cloud of heavy perfume and the sharp click of stilettos approached, the owner moving with feline grace and predatory intent.

Queenie.

“Well, well!”

Every word from Queenie dripped with jealousy and thinly veiled venom.

That “overnight transformation” was meant for everyone’s ears—her implication couldn’t be clearer: Gwyneth must have used underhanded means to get ahead, trading on something other than talent.

Sure enough, the colleagues who’d been watching with idle curiosity now looked at Gwyneth with something new in their eyes—speculation, doubt, even contempt. In an office, rumors about a woman and her boss always spread the fastest, and ruined reputations best.

Gwyneth stopped in her tracks.

She didn’t snap back, nor did she show any sign of being rattled. Under Queenie’s triumphant, spiteful gaze and the scrutiny of the crowd, Gwyneth slowly turned to face her.

Her expression was calm, not a flicker of anger or panic—only a flawlessly professional, almost gentle smile. But the warmth never reached her eyes.

She inclined her head gracefully, her poise unshaken, and spoke in a clear, even tone—as if stating the most ordinary fact in the world, but choosing the one address that would cut deepest:

“Queenie,” Gwyneth’s voice was just right—loud enough for everyone to hear: