Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 97

Her fingertips still trembled, but she scrolled through her contacts with uncanny precision, stopping on “Yale” and dialing without a moment’s hesitation.

Ring… ring…

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable…”

The cold, mechanical voice cut through the dead silence of the room, unbearably harsh against her nerves.

Turned off?

Gwyneth’s grip tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white.

Yale’s phone was off?

At a time like this?

Was it just a coincidence… or was he deliberately avoiding her?

She could practically picture Yale now—maybe relaxing on some private island, cut off from the world.

After all, the Yardley project, with its massive fanbase and brand influence, was a strategic boon for the Locke Group’s media division.

And yet, here was Julian, using it as leverage to force her hand, all for his own petty vendetta?

Yale would never have agreed to this.

But now, with a power vacuum at the top of Locke Group, Julian could act this recklessly without fear.

So where was Yale, really? Off somewhere, biding his time, waiting for Julian to dig his own grave?

Either way, it was bad news for Gwyneth, who was already in way over her head.

Still, knowing Julian, he’d never let go of such a lucrative project—not with so much at stake.

This was a waiting game now. Who would blink first?

Bennett’s G-B Group was the only company in Banyan City that could match Locke Group’s influence—maybe even surpass it overseas.

He’d definitely be interested in this.

Fine, Julian. Let’s see how you like a little more heat.

“I know,” Bennett’s voice softened. “I know what to do. You just rest.”

So this was what people meant by “alpha male,” she thought wryly.

Her grip on the phone loosened a little, a strange warmth breaking through the heaviness in her chest.

“Okay,” she managed at last, her voice still rough but steadier—like something had finally settled inside her.

The call ended.

Gwyneth walked to the window, a dull ache of longing stirring in her chest. It had been so long since anyone had really cared.

——————

President’s Office, Locke Group.

Julian sat back in his expansive leather chair, his long fingers drumming restlessly on the mahogany desk. His gaze flickered between his cellphone and the office phone, a flash of irritation glinting behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

Outside, the sky above Banyan City was turning a brooding shade of gray—a heavy storm brewing on the horizon.