Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 91

Julian’s voice turned razor-sharp over the phone, colder than Winston had ever heard. “Keep a close watch on Harmony Hospital. Especially the VIP floor. Find out—now—if Gwyneth is meeting with Bennett.”

He barked the order and slammed the call shut before Winston could stammer a reply. Julian’s knuckles blanched as his fist tightened around the phone. Suddenly, he shot to his feet.

Queenie, startled, nearly dropped her purse. She rushed over, her voice soft and careful. “Julian? What’s wrong?”

But Julian was all frost and steel, a chill radiating from him that Queenie had never felt directed her way. “Come on. We’re going to Harmony Hospital to see my brother.”

The way he spat out “my brother” made Queenie’s heart clench uneasily, though she couldn’t say why. It felt as though something precious was slipping right through her fingers.

———

The corridors of St. Mary's Hospital’s VIP wing glowed with harsh white light, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic—and tension so sharp it could snap.

Julian strode ahead, his face set in a thunderous scowl, every step landing heavy with pent-up rage. Queenie had to almost jog to keep up, her heels muffled against the carpet, her face carefully composed, though her eyes flickered with nervous unease.

Winston trailed behind like a kicked dog, skittish and sullen, the fresh claw marks on his cheek glaring red beneath the lights. His eyes were wild—equal parts resentment and desperation.

The moment they stepped out of the elevator, Julian’s gaze snapped to the parking lot.

There it was: that familiar black sports car, sitting in the shadows like a silent accusation.

“Julian! That’s Gwyneth’s car! She’s here?” Queenie gasped, lowering her voice in a deliberate show of surprise, but her eyes were glued to Julian, watching the storm darken his face.

Julian’s jaw tightened, the muscles standing out as if he might grind his own teeth to dust. He didn’t say a word, but the sudden chill in the air had both Queenie and Winston holding their breath.

The door crashed against the stopper, echoing through the quiet ward.

Julian’s eyes, burning with fury and desperate need, swept the room like searchlights.

The scene he’d braced himself for—Gwyneth nestled by Bennett’s side, the two of them deep in intimate conversation—was nowhere to be found.

There were only two people in the room.

Bennett sat propped up in the hospital bed, a stack of documents across his lap. Though his face was pale from illness, his gaze was steady and unreadable, as if the interruption was nothing more than a passing breeze.

At the sound of the door slamming, Bennett merely lifted his eyes, calm and unflinching, and regarded the intruders with a flicker of mild annoyance—but not the slightest hint of surprise.