Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 63

The sight before him rooted Julian to the spot, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice.

A tidal wave of questions and a sense of impossibility crashed through his mind, battering his grasp on reality.

He shook his head instinctively, desperate to find a logical explanation.

Yes. That must be it.

His brother was just here to sort out the Locke Group deal. As the CEO, it was second nature for him to protect the company’s interests—and his own flawless public image. And since he believed Gwyneth was his sister-in-law, it was only natural he’d step in to protect her in a crisis.

That had to be it.

His gaze drifted to Gwyneth’s hand, still gripping Bennett’s wrist. A slow, burning sense of betrayal flickered to life inside him.

The paramedics lifted Bennett onto the stretcher with brisk efficiency. Gwyneth climbed into the ambulance after him, leaving behind smears of Bennett’s blood—and her own—on the pavement, as if they’d splintered off from Julian’s heart.

But the anger didn’t last. Of course it couldn’t be what he feared.

She loved him—loved him to the point of foolishness. She was probably just in shock, that’s all.

Still, Gwyneth had done something good; maybe it was time his brother suffered a little, too.

Julian quietly lit a cigarette, then pulled out his phone to call Queenie.

“Queenie, where are you?”

***

The hospital.

The sharp sting of antiseptic dominated the air, choking out the lingering tang of blood.

Above the operating room, the red “IN SURGERY” sign blazed like three drops of blood suspended over Gwyneth’s heart.

She leaned against the icy wall, her fingertips digging unconsciously into her palm, where she could still feel the sticky warmth of Bennett’s blood from the floor.

How long had Bennett been in there?

Ten minutes? Half an hour?

He’d arrived before her?

Was he worried about her?

A sharp ache shot up her spine, bitter and overwhelming.

Time dragged on, heavy and suffocating.

***

Meanwhile—

On a massive flatscreen TV, the footage outside the Locke Galleria played on an endless loop: the chaos, Bennett sweeping Gwyneth into his arms like a guardian angel, the flash of a knife, the spray of blood… The high-definition camera caught every detail—the instant the blade pierced Bennett’s palm, the way his pupils shrank from the pain, the veins bulging at his temple.

Crash!

An expensive crystal wineglass shattered against the screen. Crimson wine trickled down like blood, blurring Bennett’s pale, agonized face.