Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 260

“Julian and the mistress—what a pair of clowns!”

She scrolled through her phone with frantic, trembling fingers, desperate for even a shred of evidence that this was just a rumor. One skeptical comment, a hint that it was fake—she would’ve clung to anything.

But there was nothing.

The proof was overwhelming, every comment a fresh wave of ridicule aimed at her and Julian.

The cold, harsh truth stabbed into her eyes, her heart, like a thousand icy needles.

She could no longer deceive herself. The phone slipped from her shaking hand and hit the carpet with a sharp crack. The screen shattered—just like her pride, and every last stubborn illusion she’d been clinging to.

As the despair threatened to swallow her whole, the broken phone on the floor suddenly buzzed with life.

The piercing ringtone tore through the suffocating silence, yanking Queenie out of her frozen stupor.

She lunged for it like a drowning woman grabbing for a lifeline, kneeling to snatch the phone with trembling hands.

A strange number flashed on the ruined display.

She drew a shaky breath, forcing down the sob that threatened to rise in her throat. Then she pressed “answer.”

On the other end, a low, oddly monotone male voice, ageless and eerily calm, spoke her name directly:

“Queenie?”

“…Yes, this is she.”

Her voice was brittle and raw, strained with fear.

“Who is this?”

The caller ignored her question. Instead, his words came fast and cold, edged with command:

“Do you want back everything that’s yours? Do you want to see Gwyneth pay for what she’s done?”

The words unlocked something dark and vengeful inside her, sliding straight into the heart of her most secret fury.

Her pupils shrank. In that instant, every trace of hesitation was swallowed by icy resolve.

She barely needed to think. Jaw clenched, she forced out two words through gritted teeth:

“I do.”

The man sounded satisfied.

“Good. Leave your apartment now. There’ll be a black sedan waiting by the back gate. Get in.”

No pleasantries, no explanations—not even a destination.

But Queenie didn’t care. The hateful, reckless frenzy inside her drowned out every rational thought.

Someone tried to hush him, tugging on his sleeve.

But Julian jerked his head up, red-rimmed eyes blazing. His voice was hoarse, almost a growl.

“Keep going.”

The friend shook off the hand holding him, emboldened by the alcohol and his own frustration.

“Remember—remember her birthday that year? You invited us all out to celebrate. She was so happy, man, you could see it in her eyes—she kept looking at you, just waiting for the present you’d got her.”

“And you’d just been to that charity auction, right? Dropped a fortune on some necklace. We were all teasing her, saying, ‘Julian must really love you to spend that much.’ She thought for sure it was for her… But then…”

He trailed off with a sigh, regret heavy in his voice.

“But then you handed her that little jewelry box… and it wasn’t the necklace from the auction, it was just a designer trinket. I saw her face—she couldn’t hide the disappointment. But she smiled anyway, pretended to love it, put it on right there in front of everyone. For a long time after that, I’d see her still wearing it, every time I ran into her…”

A designer necklace.

The one he’d paid a fortune for, just for the chance to have dinner with Nimbus.

Wait.

Was it possible the necklace he’d so carelessly handed over, the one she wore for so long after—

Was it really that designer necklace?