Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 188

The thick Persian carpet in the hallway swallowed Gwyneth’s footsteps, leaving nothing but the frantic thumping of her own heart racing in her ears.

She moved like a wary cat, knocking softly on each of the few doors on the top floor.

“Bennett?”

Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, laced with careful uncertainty.

“Bennett?”

Only silence answered from behind the first few doors.

But at the very last room, behind a heavy wooden door, a faint sound finally drifted out.

“…?”

The voice was slurred, so weak it was almost broken—something Gwyneth had never heard from Bennett before.

A cold wave crashed through her.

How could this be possible?

How could he fall prey to such a cheap trick?

The thought pierced her composure like an ice pick.

Desiree had actually... improved?

Or had Bennett made some fatal mistake?

Without hesitation, Gwyneth snatched her phone from her pocket, her fingers flying across the screen as she dialed Elodie. Her voice was sharp and steady:

“Elodie, top floor, last suite. Open the door. Now.”

Ten seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, tense and impatient.

The door opened.

A thick, cloyingly sweet scent hit her, suffocating in its intensity, like a wave of heat.

“An aphrodisiac!” she hissed, her pupils tightening. Instinctively, Gwyneth clamped her hand over her nose and mouth and motioned for Elodie to stay back.

Ignoring the discomfort, she strode into the dimly lit room.

What she saw made every warning bell in her mind go off.

An ornate golden incense burner sat on the table, pink smoke curling lazily from its spout, filling the air with its dangerous perfume.

In the center of the room, on the disheveled king-size bed—

Bennett lay sprawled across the sheets.

The man who was always so poised and calculating in the boardroom, cool and impenetrable like a machine, now looked utterly unlike himself. His face was flushed a wild, unnatural shade Gwyneth had never seen.

His usually immaculate designer suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor, and several buttons of his white shirt had been torn open, exposing a feverish red flush along his neck and collarbone.

He looked lost, like a child adrift, sinking helplessly into the mattress. His long fingers tugged restlessly at his tightened tie, as if it were the last shackle holding him together.

Damn it!

Gwyneth nearly swore out loud.

What the hell was wrong with Bennett?

This kind of cheap trick should have been child’s play for him to handle.

With his vigilance—and his knowledge of Desiree—how could he possibly...

Bennett seemed to sense her support. His heavy head lifted, and his dazed eyes struggled to focus on her face.

“Gwyneth…”

His voice was hoarse and cracked, soft as a plea.

“You… came…”

The sound was full of utter dependence and a vulnerability so raw it scraped at the barriers Gwyneth had carefully built around her heart.

She’d never seen Bennett like this. Never even imagined it.

At that moment, all those cold, contractual rules—marriage in name only, no interference—were swept away.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a gentle hush, as if soothing a frightened child. “It’s me. It’s all right now. Let’s go.”

She hoisted him upright, letting him lean heavily against her.

Up close, her gaze lingered on his face.

Beneath the feverish flush, there was a softness she’d never noticed before—a kind of innocence that seemed at odds with the man she thought she knew.

His long lashes drooped over eyes that were usually sharp and icy, so often dissecting the world with a single glance. Now, closed and still, they made him look almost… sweet.

The ridiculousness of that word nearly made her laugh.

How could this devil ever be called sweet?

She shook off the thought, bracing his weight as she half-dragged him toward the door.

Bang!

Desiree burst through the door, and when she caught sight of the scene before her, she screamed.