Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 67

Queenie’s heart twisted with a surge of wild delight and jealousy as she watched Desiree put on that “heartbroken queen” act by Bennett’s bedside. But soon, a wave of satisfaction washed over her.

Gwyneth, oh Gwyneth—who did he really care about? Who was the one he let stay by his side when he was wounded and vulnerable?

You’re nothing but a plaything he can toss aside at any moment!

Neither she nor Julian moved to interrupt the dramatic scene unfolding inside. It was as if they were both waiting for confirmation—who held the true place in Bennett’s heart?

Just then, a faint, pained groan drifted from the hospital bed.

Bennett was waking up.

His thick lashes fluttered a few times before he slowly opened his eyes.

Those deep, dark eyes were glazed from blood loss and the lingering effects of anesthesia, but the icy sharpness in his gaze remained—etched in his bones.

As clarity returned, he instinctively, and with a hint of urgency he didn’t even realize, scanned the room.

He saw Desiree first, sitting by the bed, her face streaked with tears.

Then, by the door, stood Julian and Queenie, both clutching their things and wearing masks of concern.

No Gwyneth.

The person he’d expected to find here—or maybe, the person a hidden corner of his heart had hoped to see—was nowhere to be found.

A chill, heavy with disappointment and a sudden, inexplicable irritation, swept across his pale features like an icy tide.

“Enough.”

Bennett’s voice was hoarse and brittle, but the cold authority in that single word froze the air in the room.

Desiree’s sobs stopped instantly. She looked up at him, stunned, her tear-filled eyes reflecting confusion and hurt.

He was awake?

He saw her keeping vigil at his bedside—

Shouldn’t he… feel something for her? Even just a little?

Julian and Queenie both jumped, immediately rearranging their faces into more “genuine” expressions of concern as they hurried inside.

“Bennett, how are you feeling?” Julian asked first, voice full of brotherly worry.

“Mr. Boyd, we were all so worried about you!” Queenie chimed in, eager to show her care.

Bennett didn’t so much as glance at either of them, as if they were nothing but ghosts.

He turned instead to Hugo, his voice cold and flat:

“Hugo. Show them out.”

“Yes, Mr. Boyd.” Hugo stepped forward, stone-faced, and gestured to Julian and Queenie. “Mr. Locke, Ms. Sutton—Mr. Boyd needs his rest. If you’d please…”

Julian and Queenie’s smiles froze, awkwardness written all over their faces.

They hadn’t expected Bennett to be so heartless, sending them away the moment he woke up.

Desiree gazed at his pale, still strikingly handsome profile, at his hand wrapped thickly in bandages. Her heart brimmed with pity—and a heady thrill that she was finally about to “rise to the top.”

She turned quickly, schooling her expression into just the right mix of concern and a bashful, privileged flush. Softly, she approached the bed.

“Bennett, how are you feeling? Does your hand hurt a lot? I—”

“Desiree.” Bennett’s voice sliced through her words, colder than ever, each syllable a blade honed in ice, landing with devastating precision on her exultant heart.

He turned his head slowly. In those deep eyes, she saw none of the tenderness or gratitude she’d imagined—only a fathomless, frigid depth, full of scrutiny and… disgust.

“Spare me the tears and the little games.”

“My injury—how it happened, and because of whom—” His gaze was razor-sharp, as if cutting straight through her carefully crafted mask. “You know better than anyone.”

Desiree felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, her blood freezing in her veins.

He—he knew?!

How could he possibly know?!

A wave of terror seized her.

For the first time, a real, soul-chilling fury flickered in his icy stare.

“This is your warning.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure every one of you—and everything you care about—burns in hell.”