Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 221

Gwyneth finally came to a halt and turned around.

Julian approached her, his steps heavy, positioning himself directly in her path.

The usual gentle mask he wore had cracked, revealing a rare, simmering anger. He fixed his gaze on her, as if trying to see straight through her.

“Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” His voice was tight, nearly breaking with restraint.

At that, a faint, icy smile tugged at the corner of Gwyneth’s lips.

Her eyes drifted past Queenie, who trailed behind Julian, her face twisted with jealousy, before settling back on him.

Julian had never seen her look at him this way before. It was as if she were regarding a stranger—someone utterly irrelevant to her—and, for a fleeting second, there was even a glimmer of pity in her eyes.

“Between us,” she said, her voice calm and measured, every word clear and cold as falling ice, “what is there left to say, Julian?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel, her high heels striking the marble floor with a determined finality.

She was really leaving?

The absolute disdain in her actions fanned Julian’s rage into a full blaze.

He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist in a fierce grip.

The force of it made Gwyneth’s brow knit ever so slightly.

“Gwyneth!” His voice cracked with anger. “How dare you—?!”

How dare she treat him like this?

How dare she look at him that way?

How dare she act as if he were nothing?

Gwyneth looked down at his hand clamped around her wrist, a flash of unmistakable disgust in her eyes.

She didn’t struggle. Instead, she simply looked up at him, her gaze so cold it made Julian’s heart skip.

“Let go.”

Her words weren’t loud, but they carried the weight of an order that brooked no argument.

For a moment, Julian almost released her out of reflex, but his pride kept his grip tight.

Gwyneth didn’t waste another second. She twisted her arm sharply, breaking free from his hold with a clean, resolute motion.

“Mr. Locke, show some respect.”

She rubbed her sore wrist, voice laced with open contempt. “I have work to do. We just secured Calmgrove City retirement home contract—there’s plenty left on my plate. I don’t have time to indulge in your little drama. Excuse me.”

She didn’t bother to glance at him again, as if even a second more in his presence would taint her.

With that, she strode off, her assistant and team following in her wake, leaving behind only the image of her cold, commanding back.

Serena’s grip on her cup tightened, her heart skipping a beat.

How did she know?

But a moment later, Serena realized it was foolish to be surprised. She’d seen Gwyneth’s abilities these past days—her grasp over every detail of the project. How could anything in that room escape her notice?

Her earlier shock almost seemed laughable.

“Yes,” Serena admitted, nodding, bracing herself for the inevitable interrogation.

But Gwyneth’s next words were calm, almost analytical. “He was trying to get information about our proposal—especially our trump cards and contingency plans. I’m curious…”

Gwyneth’s gaze was steady. “Why didn’t you take the opportunity to sell us out? From what I hear, he offered you a generous deal. And your father, if I’m not mistaken, would have been more than happy to see me—and this project—go down in flames.”

Serena was genuinely taken aback.

She looked up, meeting Gwyneth’s penetrating gaze—one that held no anger, no suspicion, just pure curiosity.

That genuine approach somehow put Serena at ease.

She took a sip of water, letting the warmth soothe her nerves, then set the cup down, her voice unexpectedly calm, even a hint self-deprecating.

“No reason,” she said simply.

She paused, sensing her answer was too flippant, maybe even disrespectful. Or perhaps Gwyneth’s straightforwardness had touched her. Serena looked up, her expression earnest as she continued: