Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 175

Gwyneth’s mind was still reeling, Bennett’s words echoing like thunder while the warmth on her cheeks refused to fade.

Then Bennett’s voice, lazy and teasing, broke the silence again, as if tossing another log on a blazing fire.

“They said—” He paused on purpose, his eyes drifting over Gwyneth’s flushed face with a hint of admiration. “You look beautiful.”

Gwyneth felt her face was about to catch fire.

She ducked her head in a flash, wishing she could hide in her sturdy ceramic bowl. Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt nervously, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Beautiful? He actually repeated that out loud.

How was she supposed to respond to that? Deny it? Stay silent? No matter what she chose, it seemed like she’d only embarrass herself more.

Just as the awkwardness grew unbearable—she was ready to disappear into the floor—footsteps sounded at the kitchen door.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrison entered, carrying the last steaming dish: a plate of glistening sweet-and-sour ribs, their aroma filling the room.

Mrs. Harrison smiled kindly, her eyes full of warmth. She clearly noticed Gwyneth’s discomfort, but said nothing, simply setting the plate down and pulling an old but spotless phone from her pocket.

Her fingers tapped the screen quickly, then she turned it toward Gwyneth with a gentle laugh.

On the screen, a simple message read: “Go on, try some! Bennett said these are all your favorites!”

Gwyneth blinked at the words, surprised. Instinctively, she glanced at Bennett.

He was already picking up a fork, moving with a grace that made it hard to believe he’d just teased her moments before. Sensing her gaze, he looked up, his expression unreadable, and gave a slight nod—quietly confirming what Mrs. Harrison had written.

Gwyneth’s eyes wandered over the table: a crisp salad of shredded lettuce, tender poached shrimp, rich braised pork, a fragrant mushroom soup, and the just-served sweet-and-sour ribs.

Every dish was one she loved—some of them so particular, she rarely even ordered them at restaurants.

She took a piece of rib, biting into it with care. The perfect balance of sweet and tangy sauce coated the tender meat, the taste so familiar it seemed to carry the warmth of old memories and the comfort of the present.

She chewed slowly, as if determined to imprint this long-missed sense of safety and belonging deep within her heart.

Bennett ate quietly, not looking at her, occasionally exchanging a few words in sign language with the Harrisons. Yet out of the corner of his eye, he never stopped watching the girl beside him—head bowed, eating in small bites, struggling to hold herself together.

Under the soft golden light, the little house seemed to glow. The aroma of dinner filled the air as the four of them sat together, the only sounds the gentle clink of cutlery and the silent language of hands.

Outside, the world’s storms and schemes felt impossibly far away, shut out by the garden gate.

As Gwyneth ate, a single warm tear slipped from her eye, falling quietly into her bowl. She quickly stirred her food with her fork, hiding all traces.

Her heart, now thawing, beat with a newfound gentleness and resolve in the hush of their shared comfort.

But that fragile peace was shattered by the sudden, shrill buzz of a phone vibrating on the table.