Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 68

Each word landed like an icy sledgehammer, pounding mercilessly against Desiree’s heart.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the carpet with a dull thud, her perfectly styled hair falling in disarray around her shoulders. Terror and despair twisted her face until she forgot even how to cry—only the sound of her chattering teeth remained.

Bennett didn’t spare her another glance. To him, the woman sprawled on the floor was nothing more than a piece of worthless rubbish.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion claiming him as fresh waves of pain and weakness from blood loss washed over him.

With a wave of his hand, Hugo appeared at his side and quickly dragged the disheveled Desiree out of the room.

Outside, dusk was settling in.

At the end of the hallway, the elevator chimed and its doors slid open.

Gwyneth stepped out, still carrying an air of tension despite the fatigue etched on her face. Her eyes were steady, her stride purposeful, heading straight for the hospital room.

Inside the VIP suite, the silence was so deep you could hear a pin drop. Only the faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor marked the passing of time.

Bennett lay with his eyes closed, the pallor of blood loss casting a fragile veil over his sharp features. His thick lashes threw shadows onto his cheeks.

Gwyneth eased the door open as quietly as she could, moving as if she was afraid to disturb something precious.

He looked more peaceful in sleep than at any moment she could remember—almost… vulnerable.

He really was handsome.

The thought startled her, and she immediately chastised herself for how ridiculous it was.

Handsome? Since when did she care about that?

Was it just because he’d been hurt saving her that she was suddenly seeing him in a different light?

Her gaze traced the lines of his face—the strong brow, the defined jaw.

Then, without warning, his eyes snapped open.

Their gazes collided.

“Oh!”

Caught staring, Gwyneth nearly jumped out of her skin.

She jerked upright, instinctively stepping back. Her cheeks flushed a furious red, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of her ears.

Mortification crashed over her. She wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow her up.

What on earth had she just been doing?

Staring at a man until she lost track of herself… and then getting caught in the act?!

Bennett looked up at her.

She was so close he could see every flicker of worry and frustration in her eyes, the anger clearly born of fear for him.

He didn’t try to explain or pull away. He just watched her, the storm of emotion in his gaze settling into something softer, almost gentle—a hint of weakness, and perhaps, just a touch of satisfaction.

“Thirsty,” he rasped, his voice cracked and rough.

Gwyneth’s next scolding caught in her throat.

Instead, she grabbed a tissue and, a bit awkwardly but with surprising tenderness, dabbed the sweat from his brow.

Only after that did she pour a fresh glass of water, testing the temperature with her finger. She gently slid one arm behind his neck to support him, steadying the cup with her other hand as she pressed it lightly to his lips.

“Drink slowly,” she murmured, her voice so soft she barely recognized it as her own.

Bennett obediently parted his lips.

Warm water trickled into his parched mouth, soothing his burning throat.

He drank slowly, his lashes lowered—not looking at the cup, but at Gwyneth’s face, so close to his own.

For the first time, being injured didn’t seem so bad.