Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 168

“Gwyneth, I’m asking you—are you up for this?”

Queenie’s icy voice echoed through the silent conference room, her words carrying an undeniable authority sharpened by a hint of cruel anticipation.

Every pair of eyes snapped to Gwyneth—some startled, some sympathetic, others quietly relishing the spectacle.

The air felt heavy, time stretching thin as Queenie lifted her chin, waiting for the inevitable: a panicked stammer, a desperate excuse.

But under the weight of so many stares, Gwyneth simply raised her head.

Her face remained calm, nearly expressionless, but her clear eyes met Queenie’s aggressive glare without flinching.

She parted her lips, her voice not loud, but cuttingly clear—like a drop of ice landing in hot oil, sending ripples through the room:

“Queenie.”

Her tone was steady, touched with just the right shade of innocent confusion.

“I’m Mr. Boyd’s dedicated secretary. My assignments come directly from him, or require his approval for any changes.”

She paused, her eyes holding Queenie’s as the other woman’s face darkened, then delivered her final, razor-edged line:

“Unless, of course, you outrank Mr. Boyd?”

A stunned hush fell.

No one dared speak, but a chorus of sharp intakes of breath, the scrape of chairs, and the soft thud of dropped folders filled the sudden void.

Everyone was stunned.

Gwyneth had just openly defied Queenie—the woman currently riding high with the CEO’s favor—and even invoked the name of the elusive, untouchable Mr. Boyd.

Queenie felt a rush of blood pound in her ears, her vision going dark for a split second.

Under the table, her fist tightened so hard her nails dug into her palm, pain barely keeping her in check.

Damn Gwyneth.

Such a calculating act.

She had the nerve to use Bennett as a shield.

Queenie wanted nothing more than to rip the calm mask off Gwyneth’s face.

But Queenie was nothing if not resilient.

She took a long, shaky breath, forcing down her fury, stretching a smile across her face—polished and polite, but so stiff it could have been carved from wax. Only her eyes betrayed the chill beneath.

“Gwyneth, you make it sound like we’re strangers.”

Queenie’s voice was syrupy-sweet, deliberately slow, as if she could still control the room.

“The company needs everyone to pull together right now. The Cloudview Resort project is critical to Harvest Group’s future. It’s urgent—I’m sure Mr. Boyd, as a senior executive, will understand and support some special adjustments in these exceptional times. We all have to look at the bigger picture, don’t you agree?”

Her forced smile was still plastered on, but her face had gone paper white.

Under the table, her hand shook violently from the strain.

Humiliation burned through her—the sting of a public slap, mixed with a bone-deep wariness of Bennett, threatened to unravel her composure.

Her elaborate trap, meant to cut Gwyneth down to size, had been effortlessly dismantled with just the mention of “Bennett,” leaving Queenie herself exposed and humiliated.

“Meeting adjourned!”

Queenie shot to her feet, her voice made shrill by suppressed rage. She didn’t dare look anyone in the eye, grabbing her files and nearly bolting from the room.

Ask?

How could she possibly confront Bennett directly?

That man was the very embodiment of unpredictability—untouchable, uncontrollable.

Gwyneth clearly knew Queenie would never dare approach Bennett.

Or was it something else? Was there something going on between Gwyneth and Bennett?

Did Gwyneth have some kind of special relationship with him?

Could she be the mysterious woman rumored to be Bennett’s girlfriend?