Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 290

Back at the villa.

Gwyneth went straight for the first aid kit and set it down on the coffee table in the living room.

“Sit down.”

She motioned for Bennett to take a seat on the couch.

Watching her bustling around, Bennett couldn’t help but feel she was making a big deal out of nothing. He tried again, “It’s really just a scratch. It doesn’t need any special attention.”

But Gwyneth ignored him completely. She opened the kit, pulled out a cotton swab and antiseptic, and her tone left no room for argument. “Don’t move.”

Bennett looked at her—at this rare display of stubborn determination—all for a trivial little injury like his. He said nothing more, settling obediently onto the couch and tilting his head back so the cut on his lip caught the light.

Gwyneth leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady his face, the other carefully dabbing the antiseptic onto his wound. Her touch was feather-light and focused; her breath brushed against his skin, sending a faint tingle across his cheek.

Bennett’s gaze lingered on her face, now so close to his. Her brow was slightly furrowed, her eyes intent on his injury, and her long, thick lashes cast delicate shadows beneath the warm glow of the lamp. The soft light haloed her skin with a gentle radiance.

He watched her in silence, and, bit by bit, the chill and residual anger from the earlier confrontation with Julian faded away. His expression softened, as if some winter ice inside him had finally started to thaw.

A quiet warmth seemed to settle between them, peaceful and intimate.

In that moment, Bennett realized—maybe getting hurt wasn’t so bad after all.

Gwyneth finished tending his lip, tossed the used swab in the trash, and snapped the first aid kit shut before rising briskly to her feet.

Bennett’s eyes followed her out of instinct, watching as she put the kit back in its place.

Halfway across the room, Gwyneth suddenly stopped and turned. The light outlined her slender figure, and on her face was an expression that seemed casual but hid a gentle concern.

“Bennett, are you hungry?”

She’d noticed, of course, that at the tense and ultimately disastrous dinner with the Locke family, he’d barely touched his food.

The question caught Bennett off guard. He didn’t have time to answer, or even process why she’d asked, before Gwyneth made up her mind. Her voice was bright with a hint of excitement, leaving no room for protest:

She said the word quietly, but with unmistakable certainty.

Mrs. White’s eyes lit up immediately, her smile stretching as she nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Gwyneth, you’re married! I’m so happy for you. Wait right here—I’ll make you both my very best ravioli!”

Her joy was infectious, and Gwyneth just laughed, pulling Bennett to sit with her at a little folding table beside the stall.

Bennett sat down, glancing calmly around at the modest but tidy setup. He showed no sign of discomfort or impatience—as if sitting at a street-side table was no different to him than dining in the finest restaurant.

Gwyneth watched him closely, searching his face for any hint of reluctance. When she saw none, she let out a quiet sigh of relief, and a subtle warmth bloomed in her chest.

Soon, Mrs. White brought over two steaming bowls of ravioli, each one fragrant and sprinkled with chopped herbs, the aroma of savory broth drifting in the night air.

“Here you go, dears! Eat up while it’s hot—let me know what you think!”

The familiar scent made Gwyneth’s mouth water. She picked up her spoon and nudged Bennett. “Go on, try it! Mrs. White’s ravioli is amazing.”