Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 265

He wiggled his supposedly “injured” finger, fixing her with a direct, unblinking gaze.

Gwyneth was so startled by Bennett’s sudden request that she nearly choked on her water, coughing uncontrollably as her cheeks flushed crimson.

Wait... was this really Bennett?

Had he been possessed by something bizarre?

Just yesterday, he’d gone ice-cold out of nowhere, and now—what, he’d suddenly turned into some needy, petulant child? The man’s mood swings were faster than flipping a page.

She eyed him up and down suspiciously, searching for any clue that he’d been swapped out for a doppelgänger.

But that handsome face, those deep-set eyes—there was no mistaking it. This was Bennett himself.

Her gaze landed on his outstretched hand, focusing on the faint, reddish mark on his finger—a little more noticeable against his pale skin.

Then she glanced at the table, at the meal laid out with obvious care—everything looked and smelled incredible.

In the end, a mix of guilt for eating food she hadn’t made, and a softening of her heart, won out over her lingering awkwardness and suspicion.

She pressed her lips together, as if steeling herself, then picked up her knife and fork. With a stiff motion, she speared the most tempting piece of sweet and sour pork, and awkwardly held it up to his mouth, not quite meeting his eyes as she mumbled, “Here...”

Bennett leaned forward obligingly, opening his mouth to take the piece. His lips brushed, just barely, against the tip of her fork, sending an odd jolt through her.

“Tastes great,” he said, slowly chewing, but his gaze never left the side of Gwyneth’s flushed face. There was a satisfied, almost triumphant gleam in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher.

Gwyneth quickly withdrew her utensils, her heart beating erratically.

She looked at the man before her—smiling with his eyes half-closed like a contented cat—and the feeling that “this can’t possibly be Bennett” only grew stronger.

What on earth had gotten into him today?

Before she could figure it out, Bennett spoke again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “I want another bite.”

Gwyneth stared at him, speechless.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved her chair back with such force she nearly knocked it over, got up without a word, and strode into the living room. She rummaged through a cabinet and returned, first-aid kit in hand, footsteps brisk and purposeful.

“Hand,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bennett raised an eyebrow, surprised, but obediently held out his “injured” hand.

“Wow, Bennett! How did you know I skipped dinner? You’re too thoughtful!” he said, reaching straight for the biggest piece of pork.

But before his fork could reach it, he felt a deathly cold glare pinning him in place.

Mikael froze and cautiously looked up, meeting Bennett’s icy, expressionless eyes.

His hand trembled so badly that his fork and knife clattered onto the table.

“Uh... Bennett, Gwyneth,” Mikael stammered with an awkward laugh, trying to salvage the moment, “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

He shot a pleading look at Gwyneth, who seemed the more reasonable of the two.

Gwyneth, unable to resist his pitiful expression, gave a small nod. “It’s fine. Go ahead and eat.”

Mikael darted another glance at Bennett—who still looked far from pleased but didn’t seem ready to throw him out—then cautiously picked up his utensils again and sampled a bite.

“Mmm! This is amazing!” he mumbled through a mouthful. “Mia’s really outdone herself! The pork is incredible!”

Gwyneth silently continued eating, thinking to herself: If Mikael knew that this meal wasn’t made by Mia, but by the same Mr. Boyd whose glare could freeze water, would he drop his fork in terror?