Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 302

As soon as Julian entered the main hall, the stares fixed on him only grew more intense. The mockery he'd sensed on the red carpet outside had subtly shifted—now every glance was laced with a tangled mess of pity and scorn.

He hadn’t yet figured out what had caused this strange undercurrent when, suddenly, the massive display screen at the front of the room—until now looping glossy previews of tonight’s auction items—cut to black. In the next instant, a set of explicit, unmistakably graphic photographs filled the entire screen.

Julian’s head snapped up instinctively. One look, and it felt as if ice water flooded his veins, freezing him in place. His pupils shrank, his heart pounding in his chest.

The woman at the center of the photos—there was no mistaking her. Queenie. The same Queenie who had just been claiming, again and again, that she was carrying his child, the same woman he’d only recently confined to his house for her own safety.

But the man holding her, clutching her so intimately it made Julian’s skin crawl—was none other than Winston, Gwyneth’s infamous uncle. A lecherous old playboy whose reputation had been ruined years ago.

And there was more than one photo.

In one, they were tangled together in the dim corner of some bar, faces pressed close. In another, they clung to each other in a hotel corridor, hands roaming, barely able to wait. Others were far worse—blatant, naked, sprawled across a bed. Shameless.

Each photo was stamped, in bold white letters, with a date and time.

The most recent? Just two weeks ago.

The room erupted into a frenzy.

Everyone in their social circle knew Queenie had claimed to be pregnant, and the Locke family had reluctantly protected her, at least for now. But these photos—what did they mean?

It meant the father of her child was now a running joke.

“My God… is that—?”

“Winston? That dirty old creep? I can’t believe Queenie would… Ugh.”

“Didn’t she claim she was madly in love with Julian? And now she’s cheating on him?”

“She couldn’t even wait until the baby was born before jumping into bed with someone else? How desperate can you get?”

“Poor Mr. Locke. Imagine being tied to a woman like that…”

“Maybe the baby was never even his to begin with. Look at those dates!”

Sympathy, shock, contempt, and barely-concealed glee turned every gaze into a needle, pricking Julian from all directions.

A tidal wave of humiliation and fury exploded inside him, obliterating all sense of reason.

Queenie.

That wretched woman.

Utterly revolting. He must have been blind to get involved with her in the first place.

Now all he could think of was her name—Queenie—and the wild, violent urge to destroy her.

He couldn’t stand another second in this hall, suffocating under the weight of everyone’s judgment and laughter. He spun around, shoving through the guests crowding around him, making a stumbling dash for the exit.

He had to find Queenie. He had to get answers. And then—he would ruin her.

And in a quiet, shadowed corner of the hall, someone stood perfectly still.

Desiree watched the spectacle unfold: the explicit photos on the screen, Julian’s broken, staggering retreat, and the chaos rippling through the crowd. Slowly, her lips curled into a cold, venomous smile, all her hate shining through.