Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 222

“I don’t stoop to backstabbing or dirty tricks that don’t even benefit me in the end. That’s my line in the sand.” Serena’s voice was steady, almost proud.

She’d spent the past few days shadowing Gwyneth on the Calmgrove City senior living project, witnessing firsthand just how formidable this woman truly was.

Honestly, Serena doubted Julian could ever outplay her.

She knew she herself couldn’t, either.

It didn’t surprise her that her father had lost to Gwyneth.

In fact, she even thought Fletcher Group had a brighter, more legitimate future under Gwyneth’s leadership than it ever did with her or her father at the helm.

For all these reasons, Serena couldn’t see herself standing in direct opposition to Gwyneth.

At least, not now.

One day, she believed—she’d win against her, but she’d do it openly, on fair ground.

A brief hush fell over the office.

Gwyneth listened quietly, her fingertips absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee mug.

Her cousin truly was more principled than her father—at least when it came to work.

Bennett… Gwyneth wasn’t so sure about him.

After a pause, Gwyneth finally spoke, her tone as calm as ever, though some of its usual icy edge had faded.

“All right. Understood.”

Serena nodded, shooting one last searching look at the woman who even she had to admit was intimidating, then turned and left.

Once again, the office was silent.

Gwyneth was just about to refocus on her work when her personal cell phone lit up on the desk, vibrating insistently.

She glanced over, only mildly curious—it was a multimedia message from an unknown number.

She opened it.

A series of high-resolution photos loaded instantly.

In the pictures, Julian was fast asleep, his head resting intimately on a woman’s lap.

The woman herself was staring straight at the camera, flashing a triumphant V-sign, her smile vicious and gloating. Queenie.

The next few photos were even more explicit—shots of the two of them embracing and kissing in various settings.

Gwyneth’s face remained utterly impassive. She didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.

The moment she finished scrolling through the photos, the unknown number was calling her.

She watched the screen, the corners of her lips curling into a frosty, knowing smile—a smirk that said she saw right through these childish games and wasn’t even remotely impressed.

Without hurry, she picked up the phone and answered, not bothering to speak first.

She scrambled to recover, her voice rising with frustration:

“And? Gwyneth, listen to me! Julian and I have been together for ages—longer than you could possibly imagine! You’re just a pitiful fool, kept in the dark!”

Gwyneth switched her phone to her other hand, already scrolling through emails with the free one, sounding even less interested than before: “Uh-huh. So what?”

Again, that infuriating, indifferent tone—she might as well have been speaking to a telemarketer.

Queenie was losing it. She sounded like a clown giving her all to an empty theater.

“You—!”

But then she forced herself back to a semblance of composure, changing tack with a brittle, self-satisfied laugh:

“Gwyneth, drop the act! I know you’re hurting inside, more than anyone. You can pretend all you want, but you’ll always be a loser to me. Whether it’s love or anything else, you’ll always come second!”

She clearly thought that would sting—she wanted it to.

Gwyneth, however, was done.

She didn’t have the patience for any more of this empty, self-congratulatory nonsense. With brisk finality, she hung up.

Beep… beep… beep…

What a pest. Like a fly you can’t swat away.

And just then, the phone rang again.