Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 191

Inside the cramped car, all that remained was the faint sound of his hot breath brushing against the fabric over her legs, and the increasingly loud thud of her own heartbeat.

The air seemed to thicken, charged with a breathless tension.

Suddenly, the car swerved sharply as Carl jerked the wheel to avoid a vehicle that had cut in front of them.

“Ah!”

Thrown off balance by the sudden jolt, Gwyneth pitched forward, completely unprepared—Bennett’s head still resting on her lap.

Instinctively, she reached out to brace herself on the back of the front seat, trying to steady both herself and Bennett, but inertia pulled her downward.

“Mmm!”

In that split second, her lips landed against something soft and cool, tinged with the faint scent of alcohol and Bennett’s unmistakable clean fragrance.

Time seemed to freeze.

Gwyneth’s eyes widened in shock, Bennett’s face just inches from her own, every detail etched vividly in her gaze.

She could feel his eyelashes brushing against her cheek, and the heat-softened dryness of his lips. For a split second, she even thought she felt him move slightly in response.

A jolt—sharp and electrifying—shot through her entire body from the accidental touch of their lips.

Her ears rang, and it felt as if all the blood in her body had rushed to her head, only to explode in a wild rush.

Did that just happen?

Did she… did she just kiss Bennett?

“Ma’am! Are you alright?!”

Carl’s startled voice broke through the haze, snapping Gwyneth out of her petrified daze. She jerked upright as if burned, pressing herself against the opposite car door, her heart pounding so fiercely it threatened to burst from her chest.

Her cheeks and ears were burning, hotter than ever before.

“I—I’m fine!”

Her voice came out high and rushed, trembling with panic. She dared not glance at Bennett, instead fixing her gaze on the bright, blurred city lights racing past the window.

As she pulled away, the man who had been quietly sleeping on her lap let out a small, almost plaintive sound, as if disturbed by the loss of her touch.

His dark lashes fluttered, brows drawing together in a faint frown, and he murmured something under his breath—soft and indistinct, but it grazed Gwyneth’s nerves like a feather.

“…Gwyneth…”

He spoke nothing more than her name.

“Alright.”

Gwyneth ended the call, glanced once more at the closed master bedroom door, then instructed the waiting housekeeper, “Take good care of Mr. Boyd. If Dr. Lawrence needs anything, call me right away.”

She strode toward the entrance, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.

She didn’t notice that just as the bedroom door was about to close, the man lying on the bed—who seemed lost in a feverish sleep—let his lashes tremble, ever so slightly, before falling still again.

Night speeding by, she drove across the city to the old rendezvous spot.

Gwyneth pushed open the door and took in the scene: Elodie lounged easily in a single armchair, idly scrolling through her phone. On the sofa opposite, a woman in a hotel uniform sat rigid and anxious, beads of sweat dotting her forehead as her eyes darted nervously around the room.

The moment Gwyneth entered, the woman jolted upright like she’d been pricked, then forced herself to sit back down, chin raised in a last-ditch show of defiance.

“This is illegal detention!” The waitress’s voice quavered with false bravado. “You have no proof. Why won’t you let me go?”

Gwyneth let out a cold laugh, pulling a spare phone from her bag and pressing play.

A crystal-clear recording echoed through the room: “She’s already locked inside…”

The recording cut off abruptly.

The waitress’s face drained of all color, her earlier bluster evaporating, leaving her pale as a sheet.