Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 71

Desiree’s voice was cold as ice, a cruel sort of calmness slicing straight through the phone line.

“Was it fun lying to me? Julian’s girlfriend? Please. I just found out—his real fiancée is Gwyneth. You’re nothing but a fraud!”

She didn’t wait for so much as a gasp, a protest, or any sign of shock from the other end. With a vicious stab of her thumb, Desiree ended the call.

She pictured the look of panic that must be twisting Queenie’s face right now. A twisted satisfaction welled up, nearly smothering her rage.

But jealousy burned hotter than ever, threatening to consume everything.

Wasn’t Gwyneth the one who stole Bennett from her?

Then who was it?

Who had the power to slip into his life without a trace, to quietly take over his heart?

Whoever had taken Bennett’s love, stolen his very name, Desiree needed to know.

Outside, the night was thick and inky, like spilled ink that refused to fade.

Desiree stood surrounded by chaos, her gaze wild at first, then settling into a glacial, razor-sharp resolve. Settling the score with Queenie was only the beginning—Gwyneth was a thorn she couldn’t swallow.

But the real enemy was the mysterious woman hiding behind Bennett—the one she most wanted to tear apart.

“Mom, I need you to find out who Bennett’s girlfriend is,” Desiree spat, biting off the word “girlfriend” with extra venom.

————

Time slipped quietly by in the hospital room.

At some point, Gwyneth had curled up on the wide, overstuffed couch and drifted off. Her head was tilted to one side, a few strands of hair brushing her cheek, her breathing soft and even.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Gwyneth’s voice was raw with sleep, cracking with panic and anger. She sprang from the couch and rushed to his side in seconds.

She grabbed his shoulder, steadying him as he wavered from the pain. The muscles beneath her hand were rock-hard, but she could feel his body shivering and burning with fever. “You’re going to tear your stitches! Have you lost your mind?! Why didn’t you wake me?”

Her sudden touch and barrage of scolding froze Bennett in place.

He winced, pain still shadowing his eyes, but there was also a flicker of embarrassment—and even a hint of happiness at her concern.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and brittle with pain, clipped almost to the point of rudeness, “I just needed the bathroom.”

“You couldn’t just wake me up?” Gwyneth snapped, more anxious than angry now. She caught sight of the white bandage on his arm, now tinged with more blood from his reckless attempt, and her temper flared. “Did the doctor’s warnings mean nothing to you? Do you even care about this hand?”

Bennett only pressed his lips together, frown deepening under her scolding, but he didn’t argue. He let her—firm and determined—help him up from the bed, careful to support him without letting him stubbornly refuse her care.